Page 12 of True Blue

Amiria texted me a month ago that she got one, so I knew not to bring another, but I never got the chance to thank her for that info. I bite my lip, looking over at the other bedroom door. She wasn’t here when we arrived, Christopher following me as I heaved the rolling cart with all my stuff piled on into the suite. “I loaded some of the boxes onto it. I've done my part,” he said when I asked if he could help me get it all into my room.

I texted Mom after that, letting her know we made it to campus, the blue bubble joining the one above it telling her our flight landed a couple hours ago. She still hasn’t responded, but I figure she can’t use her phone while she’s at the fundraising event she has today.

Placing the box onto my bed, I open the flaps, revealing my shower stuff packed into the little caddy I got at Target last week. My summer was jam packed, with most days spent in the morning sun hammering nails and lifting frame pieces into place and then afternoons walking dogs at the shelter or feeding and cuddling the litter of kittens someone brought in after finding them on the side of the road. Weekends had also been scheduled by Mom with photo opportunities and public events so she could cash in on the last of the mother-daughter opportunities she could before I moved out of state. I spent the spare hours of free time I had shopping and packing for school on my own, forgetting to answer Amiria’s texts and not even being able to email Layla more than twice before it was suddenly moving day.

Arms wrap around my torso, making me jump and Christopher chuckle. His lips touch the side of my neck and I feel the usual nothing I get from his affection. “Take a break, babe. You have all week to get settled in.”

“I’ll have classes,” I say, pulling out of his hold and taking the caddy over to my desk. Straightening the bottles and then turning back, I walk past him to pull the folded cobalt towels from the box on my bed.

“Well, you don’t have to go to school, babe.” He catches me around the middle again, looking down at me once we’re chest to chest. “You know I’d take care of you.”

I hold back the urge to roll my eyes. “We’ve talked about this, Christopher,” I say, trying not to sound like I'm chastising a kid. I pull away, heading back toward my closet to put the towels away. “I don’t want to be a trophy wife. I want to go to school.”

“I still don’t get why you have to go so far away though. GSU is only an hour away from home and would probably cost your mom half as much in tuition.” He walks to the door, checking the TV to make sure his game is still on commercial.

I sigh. We’ve had this argument at least three times since I told him I got into the Coast. And every time it feels like he’s barely listening.Mostof the time it feels like he’s barely listening.

“Mom went to Imperium. It’s where she met my dad.” And Aunt Tati, but I leave that part out.

I’ve never told Christopher anything about my life before Georgia and he’s never asked. But I know he talks with Mom sometimes and I don’t need him mentioning any of that to her and setting her off. She already drinks her weight in rosé every year on Dad’s birthday. Christopher would ask too many questions if she broke down in front of him because he didn’t know not to say something.

“And Mom is fine paying the out of state tuition. She’s already setting up an event to meet up with Alums in a couple weeks when she comes to visit, so me attending will pay off for her.” An off-campus event and only as a sanctioned campaign event. I doubt I’ll see my mother set foot inside Ring Road. She might have been excited for me to attend her alma mater, but only because it was not in Maine, and she could probably push aside the memories of Dad and Aunt Tati. It wasn’t the Coast she ran away from.

Christopher mumbles ammhmmin response, drifting back to the living room and laying down again to watch more baseball. I finish with the box on my bed, breaking down the empty cardboard and sliding it into the pile in the back of my closet. Christopher shouts as something happens in his game and I head back for another box, my annoyance peaking yet again. I just want to go find Layla, but I can’t until he leaves, or he might rat me out to Mom and I do not want to deal with the headache of having that conversation over the phone.

“Why did you take that room?” Christopher asks, watching me as his head hangs over the side of the couch. Commercialsplay on the TV again which must be why I’ve caught his attention.

“Other one was taken,” I say, lifting another box. I opened the door to Amiria’s room when we first got here, finding her stuff mostly set up and some boxes stored inside. Not really caring which room I got, I just shut the door again and started unpacking my stuff into the other one.

“Wait, your roommate picked her room before you even got here?” He speaks in an affronted tone, but I know it’s not on my honor’s behalf. He grew up in wealth, never wanting for anything and getting his pick of whatever choices arose in his life. He’d never had a door closed to him before and probably couldn’t fathom the idea of someone choosing something for him. And seeing me as an extension of him, he feels I should always get the same treatment. I’d thought it was endearing when we first started dating, but now the arrogance and possessiveness of it rubs me the wrong way.

“It’s fine Christopher. I don’t care which room I'm in.” I count the boxes left, finding six still piled on the cart and debate just bringing them all into my room or continuing to unpack each one. Christopher will have to leave to catch his flight back soon and the moment he is gone, I plan on leaving to find Lay.

“She should have waited for you to pick rooms together. It’s just rude,” Christopher prattles on.

A knock on the open door calls both of our attention to the chestnut-haired girl standing just inside the suite. She’s taller than me. I can already tell from across the room. It’s not surprising since most people are taller than me, but it’s always the first thing I notice. She’s wearing heeled boots too which adds to her height.

“Hi,” she says, taking another step into the suite. Her voice is soft, and she glances from me to Christopher. “I’m Mira.” A fewmore steps toward me. “You must be Janette.” Her posture is tense, and she wrings her hands as she stands in front of me.

I start to nod, but Christopher cuts me off, jolting upright. “I thought your roommate's name was Amy or something?”

His voice scrapes my nerves at this point. “Amiria,” I correct him, walking back into my room to put the box down. I hoped she wouldn’t show up until Christopher left. Now he’s going to want to talk and interact with her, stake his claim in everything the way he always does with new people. And he’ll probably come on too strong. The less they interact the better, so I’ll need to make this interaction short if I want to go find Layla any time before dinner.

“Do you shower in the morning?” I ask, walking back into the living room. Christopher still sits up, the TV now off, and watches Mira who peeks over at him before answering.

“Um, usually,” she says. Already uncomfortable. I need to finish up and get him out of here.

I grab another box, saying, “Perfect. I usually shower at night, and I really didn’t want to have to change up my routine.” I bring the next one to my closet, setting it on the floor.

“You could always just come back home with me, J. Keep your routine exactly how it’s always been.” My spine snaps straight and I grind my teeth, dropping the box onto my bed in a rush. I hear something bang inside the box and curse under my breath. I need him gone.

Poking my head out the door, I plaster a faux smile on my face. “Nice try, Chris.” My voice comes out harsher than I want. “Mom already paid the tuition so there’s no backing out now.” I head back over to the box, ripping the flaps open and pulling stuff out. A mug broke near the bottom, the chunks scattered around the other random things packed in the box. I start pulling the pieces out and tossing them in the trash.

“Do you want some help?” Mira’s voice drifts into the room and I drop the pieces in my hand back into the box to run back out to the living room. She reaches for my bedside lamp sitting on top of one of my boxes, but I slide in between her and the pile. If she gets involved, Christopher’s interest will peak. He always flirted with any of the girls who tried to befriend me in high school, and I didn’t want him making Mira uncomfortable or overstaying his welcome.

“No, it’s okay,” I say hurriedly. “It looked like you had plenty to unpack yourself.”

Mira takes a step back and I realize how rude I sound. She starts wringing her hands again. “Okay. Um, about that Keurig. I texted you to make sure?—”

---