11. Whatever You Want
Chapter 11
Whatever You Want
T he night after the party, I went home to have dinner with Mom and Uncle Jonah. We clogged our arteries with fried chicken and mashed potatoes; my favorite meal. Then, they made me pose in front of a homemade chocolate cake while Mom took pictures and they sang to me like I was five years old again. Overall, it turned out to be a pretty great birthday.
The next day, I hang out with the guys again before running some errands, and when I get home, Sam’s kicked back on the couch watching TV.
“Hey, man,” he says, as he starts to sit up. “Guess what.”
“What?”
“I asked Cori to move in here with me.”
I stop in my tracks. “Oh.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No, of course not. But are you wanting me out?” I only just moved in, but I understand if they want their space, taking this next step in their relationship.
“No, there’s no need for you to go anywhere. I was just letting you know.” He studies my face for a minute. “You’re cool with it, right?”
“Fine with me. Cori’s… interesting.” Confusing , more like. “But I think we’ll get along.” Sitting down in one of the armchairs, I prop my feet up on the coffee table.
He smiles and leans back against the couch. “Yeah, I wish she’d come out of her shell, but she’s easy to be with.”
My breath hitches. “What do you mean, easy?”
“I mean… low maintenance. She’s not needy or suffocating. And she’s good at letting things go.” But I hear the unspoken qualities he finds attractive: easy to manipulate. I think I see why she needed to vent out on the patio.
The ability to let things go can be a good quality until someone takes advantage of it, or until you sacrifice your mental health.
* * *
A couple of nights later, I have another strange encounter with my future roommate. Since Sam wouldn’t knock before entering his own apartment, I assume it’s her at the door. She emerges in leggings and a t-shirt, carrying two stacked boxes that tower over her.
“Here, let me take those.” I jump up from my seat on the couch.
“Oh, it’s okay, I got it.” As she says the words, she stumbles backward.
Deciding to take a different approach with her than I did with her tire and the cleaning after my party, I step back, placing my hands on my hips. “Fine, if you want to be stubborn.”
Her eyes widen slightly. But if she needs help, she shouldn’t be afraid to ask for it.
I’m just as surprised when she responds, “Fine.”
She looks around the room for a spot to put the boxes and, not finding one, heads down the hall. I follow, ready to catch her or the boxes should they fall, but she stops in her tracks halfway. I almost crash into her.
“Can you just maybe take the top one? I can’t feel my arms.”
I take them both and pass her on my way to Sam’s room. I drop them against a wall and almost trample Cori again when I turn. She walks on light feet and I didn’t hear her enter behind me.
She mutters a small apology.
“Why do you do that?” When she raises her eyebrows, I add, “Apologize so much.”
Her only answer is a quick lift of her shoulders. She looks across the hall to Sam’s closed office door. “Is he in there?”
I shake my head and her shoulders sag.
“Did you have plans?”
“No. Well, sort of, he was supposed to meet me at my apartment earlier to pick up those boxes and a few more. But he’s not answering his phone.”
I ask pointedly, “He do this a lot?” He’s worked late almost every evening I’ve been home, but working late isn’t the issue. He broke his promise to be somewhere and isn’t answering his phone.
Typically, when people lie, they avoid eye contact, fidget, turn red. Cori looks me straight in the eye, the usual blank expression on her face, and says, “No.” I’d believe her without a doubt if she hadn’t scratched at her wrists and bounced her gaze around during every other word she's said.
“He’s got a lot going on at work.” But I don’t think it’s me she’s trying to convince.
“You’re allowed to be upset.”
“I know, but there’s no need to be. It’s not a big deal.”
We fall into silence. She bites the inside of her cheek, crosses and uncrosses her arms, and I watch, wondering what she’ll do or say next. She hooks her thumb over her shoulder. “Well, I should go. Thanks for helping with the boxes.” I follow her back, turning towards the living room while she goes in the opposite direction.
“Umm… Nick?”
I stop in my tracks and face her.
“It’s okay with you if I move in here, right?”
I slip my hands into the pockets of my sweatpants. “It’s Sam’s apartment.”
“Yeah, but you live here too. And I don’t want to move in if it will make you uncomfortable.”
I appreciate her thoughtfulness. Even Sam didn’t ask, he simply told me. However, no part of me thinks she’ll bother me in any way. I’m concerned I’ll be intruding, but I leave that unsaid in case she misunderstands, taking it to mean that I don’t want her moving in.
I want to reassure her, make sure she doesn’t doubt my words, so I shrug my shoulders and say, “I really couldn’t care less.”
Her eyes dart around, seemingly trying to decipher my words, but I couldn’t have been more plain.
“Okay, well… bye then.” She walks out the door and I return to my spot on the couch. I flip through movies until deciding on one about Vikings, but twenty minutes later, there’s another knock on the door followed by the turn of the door knob.
Cori reappears in the living room. “Umm….” She breathes heavily, but it seems to be more from irritation than physical exertion. “My stupid car won’t start. Is it okay if I wait here for a little while? I can stay in Sam’s room.”
“Why would I care?” I meant it as, You don’t have to ask my permission for every little thing, because she has no reason to feel like she’ll disturb me by simply existing. Problem is, I don’t think she takes it that way.
Her face scrunches slightly as she says defensively, “I was just checking.”
I pause the movie and stand. “I can look at your car if you want, figure out what’s wrong with it.”
Shaking her head, she turns for the hallway, unable to escape me fast enough. “I already know what’s wrong with it, just can’t afford to fix it.” Alrighty then.
When Sam’s bedroom door shuts, I sit back down and resume the movie, but it isn’t long before my stomach starts rumbling. There’s not much in the fridge to make a meal out of, so I get my phone out to order food.
The polite thing would be to ask Cori if she wants something too, and maybe we could eat together and get to know each other. Find some common ground so we don’t have to walk on eggshells or avoid each other once she moves in. I head for Sam’s bedroom and knock. When she opens the door, she’s wearing my sweatshirt again, and I momentarily forget why I’m standing before her.
“Did you need something?” she asks after a minute of me staring.
“I’m going to order food and watch a movie. Want to join me?”
She blinks rapidly, surprised at the invitation. “N… no, that’s okay. Thank you though.”
“You have to eat at some point.”
“I’ll just eat later when Sam gets off.” Her phone dings then. She holds it up, the glow illuminating her subtle features, but whatever it says on the screen has her shoulders slumping.
“Let me guess, he won’t be home ’til late.”
She bites her inner cheek. “He’s having dinner with a client.”
“So what’ll it be? Preferably something close that can be delivered, but I don’t mind driving to pick it up.”
She nods, relenting. “I’m not picky.”
“You’re deciding. I’m perfectly fine with whatever you want. And I’m paying,” I add, sternly pointing my finger.
Crossing her arms, she says, “Well, I don’t even know what you like.”
“I’m fine with whatever you want.”
She throws her arms down. “Well, at least pick a type of food.”
“Nope. I’m fine with whatever you want.”
“Fine. Tacos, then,” she says, testing me, and I grin, enjoying seeing her flustered.
“Okay, sounds good.”
“From the food truck down the street.” She watches me for some sort of reaction, but my only reaction is relief that she finally picked something.
“Okay, sounds good.”
She narrows her eyes and I wonder if she’s tricking me.
“Wait, what’s the deal with the food truck? Are they known for food poisoning or something?”
“No, it’s amazing. But Sam doesn’t like it and never lets us order from there.”
“ Lets? Do you need his permission?”
“Well, no.”
“I’m guessing you like to pick your battles.” She nods slowly. “But I think good tacos are one of the few things in life worth fighting for.”
She considers that thought, then levels me with another challenging look. “On that note, I’m ordering four tacos.”
Again, she waits for me to say something I won’t. Instead, I lift my shoulders. “Order ten if you want, you’ll get no judgment from me.”
We order the tacos, and despite Cori’s protests, I pay for them. I thought it might tame some of the weirdness between us, maybe get us closer to a point where she’s comfortable around me. But the friendly gesture gets lost in the translation, and she thanks me more times than I can count.
“No, you don’t have to pay me back,” I say for the millionth time. “Now, what do you want to watch?” I hold my hand out for her to lead the way to the living room, but she shakes her head.
“I’ll just stay in here. I’ve got some stuff to work on.”
“Like what?”
“Like… stuff.”
Crossing my arms, I lean against the door frame. I’m not going anywhere until she answers. “Homework? Are you in school? Or, something for your job? Or, a hobby?”
Her eyes bore into mine.
“Why is it a secret? Is it embarrassing?”
“It’s not a secret, it’s just, nothing important.”
“Then why can’t you tell me about it?”
“Why do you care?” she counters.
Without realizing, my face inches closer to hers. “Because we’re about to be roommates and you can’t even sit in the same room as me to watch a movie.”
She scoffs like the reasoning should be obvious. “I don’t want to intrude on your space.”
“If I want to be alone, I’ll go to my bedroom. But the living room, kitchen, all of that is public domain. Why do I have to explain how roommate situations work, don’t you currently have one?”
“She’s my sister, it’s different. And she’s rarely home. And I know how they work, I just don’t know how you work.”
“So, come get to know me.”
“Fine.”
“Fine,” I repeat, and she rolls her eyes as she passes me on her way to the couch. Once we’re seated, I reach over the space between us to hand her the remote.
“You’re picking what we watch.”
She leans away like I’m holding out a dead rat. “No, you made me choose what food we ordered.”
“Quit being stubborn and just pick.”
Her eyes widen. “ You quit being stubborn and just pick.”
I can’t help the amusement that spreads over my face. I lay the remote down on the couch, determined not to lose, then I cross my arms. She does the same.
“I guess we’ll just sit here in silence, then.”
“Fine by me, I love the silence,” she says, smartly.
I take this moment to study her. Her socked feet are curled underneath her, appearing at ease, until I look at her shoulders, tense and raised to her ears. The tips of her fingers poke out from her arms, fingernails neat and natural. Strands of brown hair, fallen loose from her bun, frame her round face.
“What’s your favorite animal?” I ask. If we’re going to get to know each other, might as well start with the basics. As you age, people stop asking questions like this. I wish they wouldn’t.
“Elephants.”
I wave my hand for her to go on. She lets her arms fall in an irritated gesture, but the muscles around her lips twitch as the scowl on her face fights for its life. We’re getting somewhere. “They’re brilliant, fascinating creatures. Is that enough? Or do you need an essay?”
“I like ducks.”
She snorts before her hands self-consciously fly up to cover her face. She clears her throat and schools her features, and I can’t help but smile. “Why ducks?”
I point to her. “Same reason you just did that. They’re funny. Their little waddles and funny-sounding quacks. And the way their feet sound slapping on the ground.”
She nods in agreement but falls silent. I reach over and playfully shove her shoulder.
“That’s not how this works. We take turns asking questions. It’s your turn.”
She rolls her eyes and after a minute or two of thinking, she finally asks, “If you had to stay in a haunted castle alone for 30 days with no TV or internet to win a million dollars, would you?”
“Oh, okay, we’re getting deep already.” I rub my hands together, thinking of my answer. “I’d like to think I could. If I’m allowed to go outside to, like, a garden or courtyard or something, then yeah. But if I have to stay inside the walls at all times, no.”
I wait for her answer, but I already know she could probably spend a year there and not even notice the lack of company or internet. I smile knowingly.
“You’d spend your time reading and be perfectly happy, wouldn’t you?”
“Yep.”
I shake my head before taking my turn. “Name three things on your bucket list.”
“Honestly, I’d kinda like to spend 30 days alone reading in a haunted castle.”
I chuckle lightly.
“I’d also love to open a coffee shop, and I think it’d be really cool to go on this train ride that takes fifteen days to go from the west to the east coast. But those are unrealistic, obviously.”
“It’s not obvious—why are those unrealistic?”
“Well, when would I have a whole fifteen days to travel? And coffee shops are expensive and not exactly smart.” She repeats the question back to me to avoid elaborating.
“Go to a Super Bowl game. Figure out what I want to do with my life. And get my pilot’s license. My uncle has a couple of planes, and it’d be cool to have my license and go flying with him. I’ve gone a few times but just as a passenger. It’s why I have this tattoo.” I pull up the sleeve of my t-shirt and point to the plane above the mountains on my shoulder.
Her eyes slowly skim over the ink down my arm, taking in each line. She opens her mouth to say something, but a knock at the door interrupts and we both rise to answer it.
“I’ll get it, you sit,” I order teasingly. She nods but walks to the kitchen instead of obeying to get plates and drinks.
When I set the brown bag of tacos on the coffee table, Cori picks up the remote, keeping her eyes on me while she flips the TV on.
“I’m turning on The Office,” she says, testing me like she did before we ordered the food.
“Fine by me. I’ve never seen it.”
After a dumbfounded expression befalls her, she enters into a tirade about how you can’t judge the show on the first few episodes. Her theory is that the characters act awkward and weird because they’re still getting used to having cameras in their face from the fake documentary they’re making, and I have no idea what she’s even talking about.
“All that work I went through to get you to talk more, and now I wish you’d shut up.”
She throws a piece of chicken at me from her taco. I pop it into my mouth and laugh at the snarl her upper lip curls into.
Cori ends up eating only two of the four tacos. I triple-check with her that she only leaves them uneaten because she truly is full. She claims that two tacos usually fill her up, but it’s nice to have extra for “insurance purposes.”
* * *
S am finally walks through the front door around ten and falls into an armchair. In his gray suit and purple tie, he looks every bit the privileged man who everyone moves out of the way for.
“Sorry, Babe. I had to work on a proposal. I’m glad you came anyway.” Proposal? I thought it was dinner with a client, but maybe he had to do one before the other.
I open my mouth to ask, but Cori speaks softly, “It’s not a big deal. My car wouldn’t start when I went to leave. That’s the only reason I’m still here.”
“Why didn’t you just ask Nick to jump you?”
“Because it’s not my battery.” Gone is the woman I was just watching TV with, the one giggling at nothing in particular because, according to her, the show “just gives off happy vibes.”
“Oh, okay. Well, sleep here tonight. I was thinking, though. It’d be better to move everything on the same day, don’t you think?” Sam suggests, untying his tie and unbuttoning his sleeves.
“No, but I’ll move what I can by myself and save all the big stuff. Just don’t forget, I have to turn in the keys on Saturday morning.”
“Which Saturday? I can help, I have a truck,” I offer.
But Sam says, “Just save it all. There’s not much anyway. You’re getting rid of most of it, aren’t you?”
She nods, giving up on the conversation, but I can see the shadow of a retort.
“What is it?” I ask, urging her to use her voice.
She looks at me, eyes wide and innocent. “What?”
“You wanted to say something.”
Sam sits forward, listening, but Cori’s gaze bounces between mine and his before she shakes her head. “No, nothing. Except that I’m tired and need to go to sleep.”
Sam disappears, mumbling something about a shower, and Cori starts picking up plates and trash from the coffee table.
“Hey.”
She pauses and meets my gaze.“What?”
“What was it that you wanted to say?”
“Nothing.” She resumes cleaning, but I snatch up all the trash before she can and block her exit.
She runs her hands through the hair at her temple, breathing out a sigh as hot as my shame. I open my mouth to apologize for stressing her out, but she starts talking first.
“I just think it’d be easier to move everything slowly. Not everything will fit in Sam’s car, and now mine is out of commission. And it’d be less work on the day of, just in case something goes wrong, like Sam’s car breaks down, or,”—she shakes her head—“I don’t know.”
“You should let your feelings be known.”
“It’s really not a big deal. Most people move everything in one day. It’s nothing to get worked up over.”
Does she not realize you can communicate feelings without causing an argument? Or is she accustomed to people throwing fits anytime they’re disagreed with?
“Fine. But at least tell me what it was you wanted to say on the balcony that night. When I told you to stop being shy.” I don’t ask out of derision, but curiosity. Maybe I’m ignorant, or maybe it’s hard to understand simply because I’ve never been in her shoes. Besides, an opportunity has arisen to teach her a lesson.
“Why are you asking about this now?”
I don’t respond because the answer won’t encourage her to open up. She swallows down too many things she wants to get off her chest, and that should change before the weight crushes her. “I don’t remember.”
My silence and the tilt of my head tell her I know she’s lying.
“Fine.” She stands up straight, stretches her neck to each side as if preparing for a boxing match, and inhales a shaky breath. “People tell me all the time not to be shy, like it’s something I can just switch off. But no one seems to see shyness for what it is—a personality trait. Everyone views it as a fear to get over or a problem to be worked out. A combination that just needs the right codes for me to click and swing wide open. I’m just shy. I’ll always be shy. And when people tell me to stop being shy, they’re telling me to stop being myself. They’re telling me I’m broken, that something is wrong with me. Sure, I may talk more after I get to know someone, but it takes me a little longer to open up to people. And if you criticize me for being shy, what else are you going to criticize me for? If you’re studying me and judging me before I come out of my metaphorical shell, am I always going to be under your microscope?”
Her breath saws in and out as she watches me wearily like I might argue or say something demeaning.
“Do you feel better now?”
“What?”
“Do you feel better? Does getting out the things you want to say instead of swallowing them down help you feel better?”
“No.” Not the answer I expected. “I could stream a message to every cell phone in the world and people still wouldn’t get it.” She takes the plates to the kitchen and turns on the faucet. “Not everyone has the brain capacity to understand other people are different from them.”
What has this woman been through that she’s adopted such a cynical view of people?
“Well, just so you know, you’re safe to be whoever you want to be around me. I may ask dumb questions to understand you better, but just tell me to shut up if I overstep or offend you. Okay?”
She doesn’t acknowledge my offer of friendship, but when I tell her I got the dishes, she nods without a fight. I consider that a win.