Chapter Thirty-Five
T he living room is empty when I get home from school two nights later.
Marcia’s door is closed, but I can hear muffled voices coming from her room.
Adam’s in there. Something prompts me to listen in, even though the last time I eavesdropped on their private conversation, I wished I hadn’t.
But my name isn’t mentioned at all this time.
They’re debating whether it’s better to collect music on vinyl or CD.
Marcia is team CD, insisting it’s cheaper and the audio quality is superior, but Adam’s focus is on the process and how much cooler it is to put a record on a turntable and drop the needle.
As far as I know, Marcia doesn’t own a record player and if Adam does, he didn’t bring it here.
The whole exchange is odd but also adorable.
Then “Beast of Burden” by the Rolling Stones plays and the conversation stops.
They’re listening together. My nose prickles as I picture grandma and grandson singing the lyrics duet style.
The guilt over potentially getting between Adam and his grandma haunts me, not constantly, but often enough that I second-guess our battle.
This bonding moment doesn’t help matters.
Maybe Adam’s more committed to living with his grandmother than I’m giving him credit for.
I assumed switching jobs every six months and delaying making long-term plans meant those plans wouldn’t include staying with Marcia. What if I’m wrong?
From the other side of Marcia’s door, Adam says, “Night, Grams. See you tomorrow.”
Assuming he’ll enter the hallway any second, I spring to my room.
When I toss my schoolbag on the bed, I knock a small stack of papers onto the floor.
I peer at them from my standing position.
They weren’t there when I left for work this morning.
I bend to pick them up, sit on the edge of the bed with my feet dangling, and read the yellow Post-it note on top.
I printed these out from Roomster during lunch. See anything interesting?
I recognize Adam’s loopy and annoyingly neat handwriting from his handwritten grocery lists. Boomer. I can guess where this is going and should probably save my mental health by tossing them in the trash, but my curiosity gets the better of me.
Midfifties female looking to rent out bathroom in my one-bedroom West Village home. Bathroom is large enough to fit a twin air mattress. I will just need you to remove the mattress whenever I need to use the bathroom. $450 a month.
I laugh on instinct. The ad is hilarious, unlike the obnoxious note Adam left on top.
In case you’re looking for something more affordable
I read the next one.
For rent: Studio apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. Red Sox and Patriots fans only. Yankees and Giants fans and friends/relatives of Yankees and Giants fans need not apply.
I wasn’t sure if as a Connecticuter you were Team Yankees or Red Sox, but maybe? (Go Phillies!)
My muscles tense. I don’t need to keep going but read the next one anyway.
Roommate wanted: Seeking a roommate for my two-bedroom apartment in Long Island City. Water, heat, and electricity included but must contribute to various streaming channels. Also must agree to keep track of daily bowel movements on shared Excel spreadsheet.
This one speaks for itself.
I flop backward on the bed and groan, kicking my feet.
Just when I start to feel like the villain, he pulls this crap!
I freeze with my legs mid kick as it occurs to me that this is exactly what I wanted: to be so annoyed with Adam—quite difficult when he’s spewing bullshit like not wanting the worst for me and feeding me chocolate chip cookies—that it reignites my motivation to win this battle.
My breathing slows. This is good. I sit up and contemplate whether to confront him or act like it never happened. And then I have an even better idea.
A half hour later, I text him.
Sabrina : See attached links to RoomBridge.
Didi sounds sweet and her apartment is centrally located in Turtle Bay.
There’s a no drinking or pets rule, and she prefers her roommate to be home in the evenings after 10.
But it’s not like you have much of a social life anyway, right?
And Joselyn lives in Rockaway. Isn’t that where Patti Smith lives? Maybe you’d be neighbors!
When it’s off, I give myself a pat on the back and do a little victory dance. As you sow, so shall you reap!
My stomach grumbles. Competition makes me hungry, and also, I haven’t eaten since lunch.
With a spring in my step, I go to the kitchen, passing Adam in the living room on my way with a smug grin.
I pretend to ignore him getting up to follow me and proceed to compile the ingredients for tuna fish while softly singing the chorus to “Because the Night.”
“I’m impressed you know where Patti Smith lives.”
With my back to him as I use the can opener, I say, “There’s this thing called the Internet. You used it too, remember?”
“I was trying to help. Four-fifty a month is a steal.”
I roll my eyes, though he can’t see me. “To live in someone’s bathroom.” I stop squeezing the water from the tuna and place the can in the sink. “It was a really messed-up thing to do.” I swallow down the tightness in my throat. “Mean.”
“What? Printing out roommate ads?” There’s an edge of disbelief in his voice.
I turn around. “Yes! After pretending to be all nice after what happened with my phone bill.” I lift my chin and work on keeping my face a blank canvas so as not to betray that he hurt my feelings. This competition was my idea. It’s not personal, so why does it feel like it is?
His eyes go soft. “I wasn’t pretending. It was in the spirit of the battle! All’s fair in…” He swallows. “Real estate.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “The battle was supposed to be to prove who was a better roommate for Marcia, not play mind games with each other!”
He leans against the island. “I’m playing by your rules, Sabrina. And you said there weren’t any rules in the competition aside from my grams not getting hurt.”
“Why would I get hurt?”
As my heart leaps to my throat, I lock eyes with Adam.
At the same time, we swing our heads and face Marcia, who’s looking between us with a wrinkled brow and holding what I recognize as the Roomster ads.
“I went to your room hoping to catch up… it’s been a minute…
and I saw these on your bed.” She waves the ads with sad eyes.
“Are you moving out? And where’s the metaverse? ”
Adam snorts.
I glare at him. I didn’t even see that one. How would that even work?
“And what’s this about a competition?” she asks.
Neither of us say anything at first, but then Adam blurts, “I told Sabrina I want to stay here and that she should move out when her lease expires but she refused, so we’re battling it out.”
I gawk at him. Seriously? Wasn’t the whole point of competing privately to hopefully come to an agreement ourselves and avoid worrying Marcia and potentially escalating her stress and blood pressure?
He didn’t even attempt to sidestep the question before folding like a cheap suit.
He wouldn’t last a minute in an interrogation.
But now that it’s out, like a fresh comforter out of the tiny bag it comes in, we can’t put it back in.
“Based on Adam’s track record of not sticking around, I wasn’t convinced he’d thought it through and didn’t want to uproot my life only for him to change his mind in a few months.
I told him if he convinced me he was serious, I’d agree to move out.
” I chew my cheek. The plan sounded so much better the first time I said it out loud.
Marcia ekes out a laugh. “I don’t know if I should be pissed off or flattered. Were either of you planning to ask what I wanted?”
Of course, now Adam is tight-lipped. “I’m sorry for keeping it from you,” I say. “I hoped he’d prove me right and you’d never need to find out. The competition was a delay tactic.”
Adam frowns at me, looking genuinely wounded. “It was?”
I shrug.
Marcia shakes her head. “What was the competition anyway?”
Adam sighs. “We’ve both been trying to prove we’re the better roommate.”
Marcia slides into a chair and drops the ads onto the table. “So that’s what this has been about? Cleaning the bathroom with a toothbrush? Making homemade treats for Rocket? The elaborate dinner? All the tension between you two?”
I gulp on that last one. Much of that is sexual tension.
“Your intentions are all well and good, but you could have saved yourselves a lot of time and effort if you’d just asked me.
The only thing this ‘competition’ has accomplished is stressing me out more, which is exactly why my doctor was concerned with this living arrangement in the first place. ” She rubs her temple.
I tuck my elbows to my chest. Our attempts to protect Marcia backfired.
A lump forms in my gut. Who am I kidding?
As much as we want to say this was all for Marcia’s benefit, we were 100 percent also looking out for our own interests.
And I enjoyed flaunting my breasts at Adam as much as he relished parading around his six-pack abs. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me too, Grams.”
She gazes up at Adam. “Take a seat, honey.”
Adam, who’s resting his arm on a chair, drags it farther away from the table with a loud screech. Then he sits, stretching his long legs in front of him.
Marcia gives him a wistful smile. “I love you, but when I suggested you consider your next steps, they didn’t include moving in with me permanently.
No matter how old you are, you’ll always be my grandson, which means if we live together, I’m always going to want to take care of you…
to mother you. And I did that already with your father.
I don’t want that responsibility again. I’m seventy-two years old.
I did the work and now it’s my time to be selfish. You need to go.”
I gasp, then cover my mouth. My heart races while bracing myself for Adam’s reaction to Marcia’s order. Will he fight it or go easily?
Adam nods. “I get it. I’ll figure something out.”
She pushes herself to a standing position and squeezes my arm. “I hope you’ll stay.”
I blink back tears of relief and nod.
“And I promise to never make you document your bowel movements.”
I press my lips together as bubbles of laughter rise in my chest.
She walks out of the kitchen leaving me alone with Adam, who’s still seated at the table.
I return my half-opened can of tuna to the refrigerator to make later.
I’ve lost my appetite. It’s over. The threat to my home has been vanquished.
But with every winner comes a loser. The air in the room is thick and I don’t know what to say.
What would Adam do if the tables were turned?
He’s been so inconsistent the entire time that whether he’d throw his victory in my face or be a gentle good sport about it is a toss-up.
His gaze on the wall in front of him, Adam says, “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” I swallow. “I’m sorry. I mean… I’m not sorry I get to stay, but I’m sorry you have to leave… if that makes sense.”
He stands and faces me. “We always knew one of us had to leave.” His eyes do a circle of my face. “All’s fair in real estate, right?”
I bite down on my lip. “Right.”
He nods, then scoops the roommate ads off the table and walks out of the kitchen.