10. A Packaged Deal
Chapter 10
A Packaged Deal
A fter a sleepless night making lists and considering every possible angle until I reach the point where nothing makes sense, I decide to try meditation. It can’t hurt, right? So, after work, I sit on the floor of my bedroom, cross my legs, close my eyes, and empty my mind as best as I can. I don’t force any thoughts, instead letting them come naturally. But the only thought that pops up is a sudden craving for raspberry scones and how good they taste dipped in coffee.
Next, I try flipping a coin. Heads, I’ll ask Sam to move in with him. Tails, I won’t ask and I’ll look for a cheaper apartment. But the coin lands on tails, and I’m both relieved and disappointed, and just what the hell am I supposed to do with that?
So I make a pros and cons list. Under pros, I write: it’s time, I can’t afford rent on my own, Sage wants me to, Sam wants me to, my parents want me to.
Under Cons, I write: don’t know if it would work out, don’t know if I want to, don’t know, don’t know, don’t freaking know!
So I go buy a raspberry scone from the coffee shop down the street and try meditation again. With the lights turned off and a toasted pecan latte-scented candle burning in the corner, I sit on the floor of my room, empty my mind again, and let my brain do its thing.
How does Sage get her hair so shiny when she uses the same hair products as me?
Why, out of everyone in my family, is mine the only name that doesn’t start with S?
Why did God make me so weird and socially anxious?
What the hell does Sam see in me?
If a raspberry scone tastes so good dipped in coffee, would raspberry-flavored coffee taste just as good?
“What are you doing?” Sage’s voice interrupts my thoughts, not that I was making any progress.
“I’m meditating.”
“Why?” I open my eyes to find her head poking through my doorway and her eyebrows pulled down.
“Because I don’t know if I should ask Sam if I can move in.”
“So, you’re overthinking it as usual?”
“Probably. But it feels like I’m underthinking it.”
She sighs impatiently. “It’s not an all-or-nothing decision, Cori. If you move in with him and it doesn’t work, just move out.” As if it were that easy. “Stop trying to have every step planned before you make a decision. You don’t need to have every answer to every question.”
I’ve always known I needed a life coach, someone to follow me around with a clipboard and whack me with it when I’m making the wrong choice or overthinking things. Never once have I considered the possibility of Sage being that coach, but I may have found her calling.
She leaves, but yells out from down the hall, “And quit being so insecure. It makes you seem pathetic.”
I’m about as insecure as a person can get. But if I’m truly honest with myself, which I’m usually not, the issue isn’t that I’m scared Sam will say no. It’s that I’m not sure I want him to say yes.
* * *
I still haven’t heard from Hailey since she left the party. Because she’s ignored my phone calls and responded to each of my texts with vague excuses that she’s busy, I try a different approach than the usual, ‘ Are you okay?’
Me: What is going on with you? Are you mad at me or something? And don’t just say you’ve been busy. Tell me the truth.
Hailey: I’m sorry, I’ve just been busy. There’s a lot going on.
Me: Then let’s hang out tonight and you can vent to me about it.
Hailey: Okay. I can come over around 5 ??
Me: I’ll be here.
W hile waiting for her, I work on my secret blog. I don’t want the scrunched-up expressions at the ‘shy one’ having a blog and social media pages when I hate socializing. It’s not like I make dancing videos or anything, just coffee recipes. As someone who can’t afford to visit a coffee shop as often as I’d like, I had to get creative with coffee at home, and it’s fun to share the recipes I’ve come up with.
So I don’t tell anyone about it, except for Hailey and whoever reads my resume. Not that it makes me more appealing to potential employers. Not even a coffee roasting company.
There are comments to respond to, social media content to create for the new recipes, and some site plugins to update. I make some money off of it, but not much. And most of the money goes back into it, paying for the website, the hosting, the plugins that make it work, and even the ingredients needed to experiment to create new recipes. I could tell Dad about how it brings me joy and could possibly lead to something bigger in the future, like privately labeled coffee once I have enough money saved up. Or, affiliate sales once I get enough email subscribers. But I know what he’ll say- ‘You still need a real job.’
When Hailey arrives, we plop down on the pink and green couch that Sage and I found at a thrift shop for twenty dollars. It’s hideously ugly and was probably covered in ten different kinds of bodily fluid when we bought it, but after a good cleaning, the wide cushions make for the perfect napping spot. We turn on reruns of The Office, and pick at the plate of random crap I set out: grapes, cucumbers, nuts, cheese, and cookies because balance is important.
After the fourth episode, the food is gone and the looming confrontation eats away at me.
“So, what happened Friday?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the TV.
She sighs, grabbing the remote to pause the show, and we position our bodies to face each other. Dark circles lurk under her haunted eyes as if life isn’t letting her come up for air—neither of us should know what that feels like at twenty-three.
My phone dings from where it sits on the table, my text notification tone, but I ignore it. This is Hailey time. She looks at the screen, then raises her brows at me.
“Are you going to check that?”
I shake my head.
“Just check it really quick. You know if you don’t, he’s going to call.” I assume it’s Sam’s name she saw on the screen.
Sure enough, my phone starts ringing. Rolling my eyes, I tap the answer button.
“Hello?”
“Hey, can I come over?” I pull the phone back to verify the name on the caller ID. Sam hates coming over here and insists on me going to his place every time. I almost feel bad declining the offer.
“Hailey is here. We’re talking since we didn’t get to at the party.”
“Oh. Okay, then.” We say our goodbyes and I turn back to Hailey. But the damn phone dings again.
Sam: Can I come and have girl's night with you?
What is his deal? Any other day and I’m practically begging for his attention, but the nights that I try to hang out with someone other than him, he begs to come over?
Me: No, Hailey is having a rough time. She needs this. I’m turning my phone off now.
I lay it on the table and turn towards her, taking her hands in mine and giving her my full attention.
“Okay, I’m all yours. What’s going on?”
“Nothing, really. I’m just in one of those funks where I can’t see the point of anything. Like, we go to work at jobs we hate to pay for food and shelter that only keep us fed and rested so that we can go to work. Or, we do maintenance on our cars only so we can go to work to pay for the maintenance on our cars. And for what? So we can keep going to work at jobs that we hate.”
I understand what she means. But this sounds more like a rant that I would have, not Hailey. “I thought you loved your job?”
“I do, it’s not really about my job. It’s just about life sucking right now.” I get the feeling that she’s withholding something, the real reason for her sadness, but I don’t want to push her.
“Why don’t we have weekly book clubs instead of monthly? I know it’s hard to find a night where we’re both free, but I’ll move my schedule around.” Whatever I have to do, I’ll make time for her.
She smiles and squeezes my hand. “That would be great. But it will probably be difficult if you move in with Sam.”
My shoulders fall. “Why?”
“Because he won’t want me around,” she says, impatiently, like I should already know this. And I do, but my coping methods involve sticking my head in the sand and pretending like nothing is wrong. “Are you really considering moving in with him?”
“Ugh.” My head falls back on the couch in frustration. “I don’t know. My parents and Sage think I’m ridiculous for being scared to ask him, you think I’m ridiculous for even considering it. I don’t know what to do.”
“Well, what do you want to do?”
“It’s not that easy.” I pull the blanket off the back of the couch and cover my head with it, trying to escape from the issue at hand.
“Isn’t it, though? It’s not up to me, and it’s not up to anyone in your family. It’s up to you.”
“What if I do want to, but he says no?” I ask, for what feels like the thousandth time.
“Then good riddance. And move on to the roommate.”
Poking my head out, I glare at her. “That isn’t helpful. Do I need to keep a jar that you have to put money into every time you insult my boyfriend?” I think about that idea for a moment. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. I may do that anyway and fund my book addiction.”
“Okay, and then I can borrow the books you buy with it.” There’s an excited gleam in her eyes that causes me to rethink.
“Never mind. It would only encourage your insults.”
“Why would he say no to you?” she asks. “You’re beautiful and smart, and he’s lucky to have you. I’m not sure what you see in him, but he’d be a moron to let you go.”
I study her face for the lie because I don’t see what she sees. The irony isn’t lost on me that the very things she says about him are what I say about myself, and vice versa- in my eyes, he holds all the beauty and brains and I hold all the luck.
“But don’t you think you were happier before him? More confident in yourself?”
“Uhh, no.” In fact, moments before Sam and I reconnected, I was picturing how empty and pointless my funeral would be.
“You used to write poetry, you didn’t always hide things, like your blog, from everyone. You used to smile.”
“I sucked at poetry anyway. I would still be hiding my blog from my parents, and I do smile.” I show her my teeth. “See? I’m smiling right now.”
Rolling her eyes, she crosses her arms. “Just make sure that if you decide to move in with him, you make the decision based on what you want. Deep down in your gut. Not what your family wants, not what I want, not what Sam cons you into.” Like the teacher she is, she points her finger at me. “And don’t overthink it. Who cares if it’s reasonable or what you think is the right thing to do? It needs to be what you want and nothing else.” It’s almost like she knows me and my tendency to overthink. “I will support you no matter what.”
Her face softens and I know what she’s thinking before she says it. “You know, I’ve been thinking.” Anytime life gets heavy or complicated, we escape into a dream—a coffee shop that we’ll never open, but we plan every detail anyway. “Every coffee shop I know is industrial-themed with exposed brick, black pipes, and metal. I’m thinking we should go Victorian with bold wallpaper and gold and antiques. It’s not too different, but it’s memorable. More tea-house, but no pastels.”
I smile in gratitude and play along. “And we can have a poetry night. And book club night. Maybe a jar on the counter for people to put money into to buy someone else a cup of coffee or snack if they can’t afford it.”
“Yes! And a ‘choose your own mug/glass shelf,’” she squeals.
“And a little free library in the corner where people can leave and take a book. And I want unique blends of coffee, not just flavored syrup.”
Her grin fades as she grasps my hand. “You should actually do it. Save up and open a coffee shop. Or find some sort of job in coffee somewhere. Live the dream instead of just talking about it.”
Twirling a loose thread from my pants around my finger, I admit the disaster of an interview I had. And her reaction of matched bafflement and outage is why she’s my best friend. She suggests emailing them back, asking some follow-up questions to get feedback on what exactly went wrong, and while I’d rather eat my own shirt, it might prove helpful. I pull my phone out to start a draft with her help when a knock sounds at the door.
“I swear to God, that better not be Sam,” she says with a groan. I reassure her that it won’t be, although I’m not confident in that statement.
I go to the door and open it. It’s Sam.
“What are you doing here? I told you not to come,” I whisper.
“I’m just a delivery boy right now.” He hands me a drink carrier with four iced coffees and two bouquets of flowers. “I wanted to cheer up Hailey since you said she’s having a hard time. I didn’t know what she drank though, so I got options, and then I got your favorite, an iced caramel latte. Also, there’s a bouquet for each of you. Yours is the one with the key tied to it.”
I look down and see a small gold key tied to a ribbon around the stems of red roses. “A key for what?” I’m too stunned to say anything else. He’s never bought flowers for me before. I’m looking for the prank, waiting for the punchline, but my heart warms at the same time.
“Move in with me.”
I gape at him until he explains.
“Tyler let it slip that Sage was moving out. And it’s time anyway, don’t you think? That we move in together?”
Someone walks up behind me, Hailey, I assume, although I can’t be sure. The drinks and flowers are taken out of my hands as I stand there blinking at the hopeful grin on Sam’s face.
“Are you sure?” I finally ask. “I’ll be there all the time, we won’t have our personal space, my stuff will be everywhere. And you know how badly I shed. And how often I lose hair ties.” I can’t stop rambling. “And my books. Have you seen how many books I have? We’ll have to share a bathroom, we’ll have to-” I was about to say ‘poop in front of each other,’ but he cuts me off, thank God.
“Cori, move in with me. Bring your books. Bring your loose hair. Bring your hair ties and scatter them all around the apartment.” He stops and narrows his eyes. “Do you have to bring all of your books though?”
I nod. “We’re a packaged deal.”
“What about your shelves?”
“Well, where would I put the books?”
He shrugs. “The shelf by the TV?”
“I have way too many books for them all to fit on one shelf.” Our back and forth is quick, like we’re bartering on the price of fish at a roadside market.
“Fine. You can move your ugly bookshelves into the bedroom.” I can’t fault him for calling them ugly because I found the puke-yellow one at a thrift store for ten dollars, and the hot pink one covered in Barbie stickers on the side of the road.
“What about rent? How much will I pay?”
“Uhh, nothing?” He looks at me like I’m crazy for asking.
“I can’t just not pay anything.” In other words, I don’t want you to own me.
“Okay, what if you don’t pay rent, but you do the housework?”
I’d rather be eaten alive by a dragon and live inside his belly forever. “Can I just pay rent and we split housework?”
“Or, you could save your money and go back to school?”
And we’re back to square one. He sees my expression fall and he grabs my waist, pulling me into him.
“Fine. You can just live with me rent-free, we’ll split the housework, and you can save your money for whatever you want- school, books, a whole separate apartment just to house your books, I don’t care.” He nuzzles his face into my hair and inhales deeply and, somewhat, creepily.
“So?” he asks, urging me to answer.
“What about Nick?”
“It’s not his apartment. He doesn’t get a say.”
I don’t agree with that, so I make a plan to ask him when I see him next. And hopefully, that’s soon so that I can start forming a different plan if he’s not comfortable with it.
For now, I tell Sam, “Then, yes. I’ll move in with you.”
* * *
A fter Sam leaves, I return to Hailey sipping one of the drinks and watching TV again.
“I’ll admit, that was nice of him,” she says as I sit down next to her.
“Did you overhear me tell him that I’ll move in?” I ask, timidly.
She sighs. “No, but I figured you would.” Turning to face me, she studies my face. “It’s because you want to, though. Right? Not because he just bought you flowers and coffee? If so, you and Sage may have more in common than you think.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Sage asks as she walks into the living room.
“That you’re easy.”
“It’s called knowing what I want. Both of you should try it.” Sage takes one of the coffees from the drink carrier.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Hailey picks up her phone. “But I do know what I want. And it’s pizza.”