Chapter 3
3
HUNTER
I’m sprawled on my bed, the buttery glow of the nightstand lamp softening the edges of my room. Shadows stretch lazily across the pale-blue walls, turning the dark wood of my bookcase into an inky silhouette. The earthy scent of paper and wax drifts from the candle I’ve lit, heavy and clingy, more oppressive than soothing. My gaze catches on the bookshelves, their carefully organized rows of novels, textbooks, and engineering manuals stacked with obsessive precision, each one perfectly aligned by subject and size.
Across the room, my laptop glows faintly on the tidy desk, surrounded by carefully labeled files and a mug of perfectly aligned pens. The screen is stuck on a spreadsheet of color-coded data—an unfinished report for the engineering consulting firm I work for. The closet door is slightly ajar, revealing clothes hung in perfect rainbow coordination, all facing the same direction on identical hangers.
Okay, maybe I’m a bit of a neat freak. But if anyone asked, I’d deny it.
I shift uncomfortably, fingers brushing the cool sheets covered in tiny constellations and math formulas. I trace the white shapes over the pastel-lilac cotton, wishing an equation could solve the mess in my head. But the cute, starry patterns bring no solace as regret claws at my insides.
Groaning, I bury my face into the pillow, cringing at the memory of how I acted like a total bitch to Dylan. I took out my frustration about his new girlfriend on him, griping about dirty dishes. Yeah, it annoys me when someone leaves them in the sink to get that gross, slimy residue that’s impossible to scrub off afterward and that attracts every fruit fly in New York. But let’s be real. I snapped at him because I was mad my roommates-to-lovers dream had gotten crushed.
My stomach churns anxiously. Did I completely ruin our semi-friendship? Is Dylan already regretting taking up his sister’s lease?
Footsteps echo in the hall and my heart stops. Two shadows take shape under my door. Dylan’s feet? Why is he standing outside my room? Is he as upset about our fight as I am?
I hold my breath, pulse pounding, waiting for him to knock, to speak, to reassure me he’s dumped his girlfriend and all my fantasies can still come true—probably not this last one.
But then the silhouettes move on and I hear Dylan go into his bedroom.
Sagging back onto the mattress, I stare at the ceiling, bewildered and wondering.
A sharp ding pierces the stillness. Rolling over, I grab my phone from the nightstand. It’s a text from Nina.
Nina
Hey, how are you doing?
I hesitate, then type back.
Hunter
I’m fine, why?
Even as I hit send, I have a sinking premonition of what her next question is going to be.
Nina’s response comes quickly, confirming my suspicions.
Nina
Tristan told me that Dylan said he upset you earlier
I let out an even louder groan than before. My body curls inward as if to physically reject the mortification. Great, so Dylan is already complaining about me. My bitchiness has made its way through the friendship grapevine.
Honestly, I deserve it. Of course Dylan’s telling people what a disaster I am. I don’t even blame him for saying something. If I were Dylan, I’d be texting all my friends too, warning them about my neurotic roommate with a chip on her shoulder. Why wouldn’t he? I’ve gone from friendly to unhinged in less than an hour.
Instead of coming across as the cool, easy-going roommate he might’ve secretly imagined spending late nights laughing with, I’ve cemented myself as the uptight control freak who gets irrationally upset over a couple of dirty dishes. I’ve officially tanked any chance of being seen as fun, chill, or—heaven forbid—someone worth dating. The kind of person he’d look forward to coming home to.
He probably thought I was at least normal when we moved in together. Now he knows the truth: I’m a dickhead who vented her frustration on him for no good reason. He has no idea why I really flipped out on him. Dylan must be so confused. Way to go, Hunter. Even if I were remotely on his radar before tonight—which I wasn’t—this just solidified my place as not-girlfriend material. No, scratch that—not even want-to-casually-hang-out-with material.
That’s probably why he was lurking outside my door. To tell me this has all been a mistake, that he’s moving out, and going to live happily ever after with Olivia .
My fingers fly across the screen, tapping rapidly as I go all out to play it cool.
Hunter
I was tired and snapped at him about the dishes
You know how I can be about that stuff
I’m sorry if I upset him. It’s no big deal. I’ll smooth things over tomorrow
Nina’s reply pops up.
Nina
Yeah, typical. When my brother says he’ll do something, he means… eventually
But are you sure there’s nothing else? Tristan thought there was more, based on what Dylan told him
Holy fucking hell, what did Dylan say to Tristan? Did he guess the reason I was upset? No, that’s impossible; I practically asked to become BFF with his girlfriend and have regular sleepovers. He can’t know it’s about Olivia.
I prop myself on one elbow as I re-read the message, chewing my lip. Should I confess to Nina about my massive crush on her brother? My gaze flickers to the framed photo on my nightstand—me, Nina, and Rowena in matching pink Elle Woods costumes, drenched but grinning ear to ear on the Halloween night we first became friends.
Could I really admit my fixation on her brother after all this time? My thumb hovers over the keyboard, my heart squeezing. What would I even call it? An infatuation? Obsession? It feels so intense, so all-consuming, but can you truly be in love with someone who barely knows you’re alive? And what’s the point now that he’s officially off the market? After staying silent for eleven freaking years, do I tell Nina the second her brother is no longer available?
I almost confide in her. But I chicken out at the last second, typing a deflective response.
Hunter
No, no, it was definitely the dishes thing, promise
I close my eyes, letting out a shaky exhale—crisis averted, suspicions brushed off. But an uneasy dissatisfaction lingers. I bite my lip, torn between the fear of exposing my true feelings and the urge to pry, to find out more about the woman who’s stealing my dreams.
Before I can stop myself, my thumbs are flying across the keyboard again.
Hunter
Hey, random question…
Did you know Dylan had a girlfriend?
The moment I hit send, my stomach drops. What am I doing? I want to reach through the screen and snatch the words back, but it’s too late. Nina has already read the text. Crap. I bite my lip harder as I roll over the bed, waiting for her response, wondering if I’ve said too much. If my best friend can read past my bullshit.
The three dots signaling Nina is typing pop up immediately, but her actual reply takes forever to come through. I shift restlessly, running an agitated hand through my hair and tugging it over my shoulder as I stare unblinking at the screen. Shit, did my question about Dylan’s girlfriend give away what’s really on my mind?
The suspense is killing me. I hop off the bed, pacing around the room to work off the nervous energy. I blow out the candle on my desk, crack open the window to let the smoke drift outside, and snap my laptop shut. Once the air clears and the summer heat starts to creep in, I shut the window again and settle on the bed, hugging my knees to my chest just as a new message from Nina pops on the screen.
Nina
Yeah, he mentioned going on a first date last week. Didn’t know it had progressed to something official. Why?
A prickle stings my eyes and I rapidly blink it back. Call it a hunch, but I get the distinct sense that this carefully neutral response isn’t what Nina initially wrote. As if she’s figured out my pathetic crush on Dylan, but we’re both studiously skirting around the topic.
I sigh heavily, the phone resting limply on my thigh until it vibrates with another incoming text from Nina.
Nina
How do you know about the girlfriend thing?
Chewing on my thumbnail, I debate how much to reveal.
Hunter
Dylan asked if he could bring her over sometimes
I type back, attempting a casual tone.
Nina’s reply has an oddly cryptic vibe.
Nina
If you’re not comfortable with a stranger in your space, you can say no…
I scoff. Right, because I really need to come across as even more of a psycho bitch to Dylan.
Hunter
No, I’m fine with it. Not a big deal. Just wanted to know if you’d met her and if she’s cool
I also want to know if she’s beautiful, have all her social handles so I can low-key cyber-stalk her, and would asking for her social security number be overkill?
Nina
Sorry, haven’t met her yet
I roll my eyes at the non-committal reply and I toss the phone aside on my pillow. I’m done with this conversation.
After a few minutes, a different notification dings from our group chat—code name Gossip Girls. It’s Rowena, reassuring us everything is fine in her tower—a swanky Manhattan penthouse—and that Adrian is cool. I don’t even know how to reply to that. The message at least reassures me I’m not the only one messed up in our group of friends. I send a hug emoji back. After that, we wrap things up with brief goodnights.
Slumping down, I flick off the bedside lamp, flooding the room with inky blackness. I can only make out the shadowy outlines of my bookshelves in the faint glow filtering through the blinds from the street.
I squeeze my lids shut, but my mind won’t quit whirring. Frustration simmers in my veins as I toss and turn futilely, haunted by the disastrous start of my cohabitation with Dylan. Ugh. I need to find an anti-cringe setting for my brain stat . Is there an app for that?