13. Chapter 13
Daria
I hate my job. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to have it. The pay’s decent, and I have a good boss who cares about her employees. I even get to choose my own hours. But working retail for the last three years has sucked parts of my soul away that I’ll never be able to get back.
Too many days I’ve wished I could turn in my two weeks’ notice, walk out with my head held high, and start my own clothing brand on what little I’ve saved up. But experience has taught me I can’t afford to be that foolish.
When you’re faced with guessing where your next meal will come from, you eat the food you’re given and don’t ask questions. Same with my job. It’s either work and save up for my dream or quit, only to scrape by and have to delay them further.
So I work the long hours, sacrifice the excitement of creating full time for the mind-numbing sorting and hanging of factory-made clothes.
The one light at the end of the tunnel is that in just a few weeks, I’ll have my own place.
A beautiful, new apartment where I can have an entire room dedicated to my designs.
It won’t be a storefront, but it’s a start.
My feet ache as bad as always after a long shift, and the flight of steps up to Dane’s apartment isn’t helping.
Heaving my bag up higher, I fish the key Dane gave me out of my pocket, then slip it into the lock.
I push open the front door and get slapped with the smell of bleach.
Upon further inspection, I notice the mess I left after whipping up my lunch in a hurry has been cleaned up. And the dirty dishes are nonexistent.
Well. Guess that means Dane’s home.
The clearing of a masculine throat has me spinning around to face my stalker. I mean, roommate . Same thing.
His expression doesn’t give much away, but it’s obvious by the crinkling of his brow that he’s peeved. And considering he cleaned up the mess I left, chances are he’s peeved about that .
But how was I supposed to know he’d be returning from work today? He’s been gone almost three whole days. If I’d known his schedule, I would’ve at least kept my underwear from being showcased like an exhibit in a museum.
“You know,” I say, adding a hefty dose of flippancy to my voice, “a simple announcement like ‘honey I’m home’ might be a little less dramatic, don’t you think?”
He licks his lips and gives a quick shake of his head. “A simple ‘sorry for making such a huge mess, it’ll never happen again’ might come off a little more grateful. Don’t you think?”
Unable to stop myself, I cross my arms and straighten. “It’s not my fault you came home to a mess. Had I known exactly how long you’d be gone, I would’ve tried to tidy up more.”
“Tidy up more?” He points toward the sink. “There were days ’ worth of dishes in there. What’s so hard about cleaning a dish right after you use it? Besides, I said I’d be home in a few days. A few obviously means three.”
My eyes widen at his outrage. “No, three means three. A few could mean anywhere from two to six. But I really don’t see what the big deal is. I would’ve washed all the dishes tonight anyway.”
“But they’ve just sat there, festering in their filth for—” He cuts himself off and runs a hand down his face. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. All I want is a promise that you won’t leave my place looking like a temperamental child ransacked it ever again.”
There he goes again with the whole my apartment thing. Anger boils over. I’m likely turning a mottled shade of red with how furious his better-than-everyone attitude is making me.
“I’m sorry,” I croon in a falsetto voice, not at all apologetically. “Whatever happened to it being our apartment?”
The muscles in Dane’s jaw work back and forth.
He looks as though he’s thinking over his next words carefully.
“I shouldn’t have said my . It is ours, for the time being anyway.
You have a right to use whatever you need.
But…” His chest expands with a deep breath before he releases it.
“I would appreciate it if you’d clean up your dishes when you’re done eating.
And I’d also appreciate it if you didn’t leave perfectly good jelly sitting out on the counter all day without a lid. ”
“I bought the jelly.” I glare at him. How dare he think he has a right to say what I do or don’t do with my stuff that I buy. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that I was in a hurry and didn’t have time to screw on the lid.
“But it’s wasteful.” He holds my gaze, refusing to back down.
I raise an eyebrow and start toward him.
I don’t stop until I’m close enough for his freshly showered scent to permeate the air around me.
“Despite what you think, you have no right to tell me what to do with my things. I am not some wasteful, ungrateful spoiled brat. I take care of my stuff and do my best to treat others with respect.” His strikingly light eyes flicker with something like regret, but I don’t let it slow me down.
“I’m sorry the place wasn’t clean when you got home.
Still, that doesn’t give you a right to belittle me. ”
His jaw remains tight as his eyes flit between mine. “I wasn’t trying to belittle you. It was just a little…shocking…to walk into my—” He clamps his mouth closed, then starts again. “To walk into our apartment and see your underwear decorating the dining room.”
I have to work to hold back my snicker at that. Especially when I realize he threw my afghan over top of the drying rack to hide them. “Fine. I won’t dry them out here anymore. I just thought with the natural sunlight coming through that window, they’d dry faster.”
He closes his eyes as a weary sort of sigh escapes him. “Fine. You can leave them out.”
My eyebrows climb to my hairline. “Really? It doesn’t make you… uncomfortable ?” I’m pushing him, and the way his fists clench and unclench at his sides tells me he knows it.
“I’ll give you my schedule and you can rotate them accordingly. Now. About the pillows…”
I stand on my tiptoes and look over his shoulder at the barren couch. “What did you do with my pillows?”
“They don’t go with the rest of the décor.”
I shouldn’t roll my eyes like a petulant teenager, but I can’t help it. “You have zero décor in here, Dane. They liven up the place, give it a cozier feel.”
“It’s fine the way it is.”
I scoff. “Sure, if you’re a robot.”
His head tilts just enough to appear menacing. “Well. This robot is tired from flying all night, then hitting the gym. I’m going to sleep. When I wake up, I’ll text you my schedule. You’re on your own for dinner.” With that, he stalks off toward his room and shuts the door.
Still fuming, I yell, “I didn’t ask you to cook for me!
” So what if the lunch he made before he left was impressively delicious fare for a bachelor.
I don’t need to coordinate my meals with him.
We’re roommates, not… whatever he thinks we are.
I don’t need his cooking or cleaning skills… I don’t need him .
I head inside my bedroom and slam the door behind me.
Ignoring the giant pile of throw pillows on my bed, I kick off my shoes and change into some comfy clothes before heading to the bin of fabric in my closet.
I take a moment to select some complimentary patterns, then sit in front of my sewing machine, needing to burn off some tension.
I’ve been wanting to make myself a skirt anyway. Something flowy for spring, not too short but not too long. Maybe a high-waisted midi style…
I get to work but quickly realize that sewing gives my brain too much time to mull over Dane’s overreaction to my mess.
I should’ve known he was too tightly wound to live with, should’ve known his neat-freak side would be a con instead of a pro.
I guess when a woman is desperate, she doesn’t really consider all the negative possibilities of living with someone as rigid as him.
It’s just for a few more weeks, D. You can do anything for a little while.
I’m reminded of the time I lived with a family who fostered four other kids besides myself.
They had three of their own, too, who bullied the rest of us into submission.
At eight years old, I caved to their mistreatment.
I was never allowed to eat first, to touch their things, or even look at them for longer than a few seconds.
At night, they’d make me pick up all their toys and if I didn’t, they’d tattle and say I made the mess.
I hated living in that house and swore I’d never allow myself to be bullied again.
So if Dane thinks for one second that I’m going to allow him to push me and my stuff back into a box, he’s about to have a rude awakening. I’m living here too, which gives me the right to add personal items to the main living space.
Right?
I huff out a breath. Guess I should’ve made him draw up a contract or something that specified which things I’d be able to leave out and where. Seriously, though, it’s just a few pillows! What’s so wrong with wanting to be cozy out in the living room?
My phone rings, startling me from my thoughts.
“Thank God,” I say, letting my foot off the sewing machine pedal and answering the call. “Hey, James.”
“Hey, D. How’s it going?”
I resist the urge to growl and settle on, “Your brother-in-law is the worst .”
“What? You mean Dane?”
A breathy laugh leaves me in a rush. “Who else? He’s so rude, Jamie. The guy flipped out about me leaving some pillows on his couch. PILLOWS!”
There’s a muffled sound on the other end before her voice comes through loud and clear. “Sorry. Had to step away from Parker for a sec. Sometimes he reads lips a little too well. Okay. Tell me what happened.”
“He just got home from work and flipped out on me. I left a little mess on the counter and some dishes in the sink this morning, and apparently, the psychotic robot inside of him glitched out at the sight of it. He told me I was wasteful and basically insinuated that I’m disgusting.”
“Yikes.”
“My sentiments exactly.”
She sighs. “Listen, from what Parker says, Dane is kind of…different. When it comes to keeping things neat and organized, he takes it to an extreme. But it’s not something he can help.” The way she pauses gives me the impression that there’s more she’s not telling me.
“What do you mean he can’t help it?”
“I don’t know exactly. To my knowledge, he’s never been diagnosed or anything, but…I guess he’s a little bit…OCD about some things.”
I want to roll my eyes. I really do. Because it feels more like an excuse for his jerkiness.
But I’m not heartless. I know OCD is a real thing.
And if Dane really does struggle with obsessive compulsive thoughts and actions, I should try to be more understanding.
As hard as it may be when I’m this mad at him.
“So you’re saying I’ve strapped myself to a guy who’s bound to be bothered by my living here, no matter what I do?” For reasons I cannot compute, I feel like crying.
“D, I doubt he’d offer up his place if the thought of you living there bothered him.”
My mind immediately goes back to the night of the wedding.
When he initially offered to let me stay in his apartment, I doubt he considered all the ways it could go wrong.
I could hear the earnestness in his voice, the gentleness with which he extended the olive branch.
But he couldn’t have known how much of a mess I am.
Even Jamie took issue with my housekeeping skills or… lack thereof.
But now the deed is done. Dane and I are sharing an apartment until mine is ready, so we’ve got to learn to live together.
“Fine,” I say, exasperated. “Guess I’ll just have to play nice for a while.”
“Aw, come on. All you have to do is turn on some of that Daria Dantez charm we all know and love.” I can hear the smile in Jamie’s voice, which makes me smile in return.
“You are a blast to live with, and as soon as Dane comes to terms with your messy habits, I have no doubt he’ll love having you for a roommate. ”
I shake my head, though she can’t see me do it. “I’m not convinced of that, but it’s fine. I don’t need him to love me.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize my misstep. “I meant to say I don’t need him to love living with me.”
Jamie’s silent long enough to make me suspicious that she’s reading into my slip. “Right. Of course.”
I quickly change the subject and get her talking about her trip. “Just a couple more days,” she says a bit wistfully.
“Sounds like you wish it was longer.”
She lets out a dreamy-sounding sigh. “Can you blame me? I’ve got Parker all to myself here. No boss, no annoying coworkers. Just me and him.”
I swallow down the lump that forms at hearing her so in love. “Not homesick, then?”
She lets out a little laugh. “Of course I miss you, but…Parker is my home, D. I’m content whenever I’m with him.”
Another swell of emotion lodges in my throat. Why does it physically hurt to speak? “I’m happy for you guys, James.” And I am. But I’m also sick with my own selfish longings. Will I ever allow myself to open up to someone the way she has with Parker?
And even more far-fetched is the idea that someone could want to open up to me like that. That almost seems laughable. When you’re shoved from home to home in your formative years, then abandoned by boyfriends as a young adult, the feeling of disconnect sticks.
I am the only home I’ll ever know. Me. Myself. Finding home wrapped in another person isn’t in the cards for someone like me. It’s been me, myself, and I ever since my mom gave me up to the system.
“Well, I’ve gotta go,” I say, even though I don’t. “I’m working on a fun skirt for spring, and I’d like to get it done by this weekend.”
“Oh, fun! Send me progress pictures, okay?”
I smile. “Sure, James. Love you.”
“Love you, too. Tell Dane that Parker said to go easy on you.”
I scoff a laugh and mumble, “Over my dead body.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing, love you, bye!” I hang up the phone and toss it onto my bed.
Lining up the fabric with the needle once again, I return to my task.
And this time, I refuse to entertain thoughts of Dane and his issues.
It’s clear we’re polar opposites and deciding to live together was a mistake.
The only thing to do now is to grin and bear it until I move out.