Page 21 of Bad at Love

“Is there a rule somewhere that says breakfast is at a certain time, lunch is at a certain time, etcetera?”

“Well, I suppose not. It’s just commonly eaten in the morning. You know, when you break your fast.”

“You’ll realize I don’t do a lot of common things, Gabe.”

“Gabriel.”

“Right, sorry.” He gives a nervous laugh, then busies himself with breakfast.

Okay, so he’s not terrible when he’s willing to listen to me and learn. But will this last forever, or is he just appeasing me? He still could go through my underwear drawer when I’m not here, and he did say he sometimes leaves the toilet seat up.

Chapter Ten

Storm

After Gabe left for work this morning, I showered, changed, and went to visit Mom. It’s nice to be within walking distance of where she is. Being across the country was hard, and though it did wonders for my career and my sanity, I’m not sure I made the right decision when moving. Nothing I can do about it now, but at least I am here. There are still a lot of wrinkles to iron out when it comes to my roommate, but I have a feeling things will work out. He’s not so bad when I play nice. I’m just not sure I can play nice all the time. I’m not a happy-go-lucky guy all the time. I get grumpy and lazy, and will likely do a hundred things to send him off the deep end. But I can already see Gabriel is highly misunderstood, and once I get to know him a little better, we’ll live together splendidly.

I’ve done my laundry a million times, despite what I made him think, but I do it how I want. I knew that wouldn’t be good enough for him, so I let him show me. For the first time since I met him, I saw joy on his face. He liked showing me how to do something. Maybe the guy should have been a teacher. I don’t think I’ll be able to handle him talking to me that way all the time—he talked to me like a toddler—but maybe I can do it enough to keep him off my back. Or maybe I’ll learn to deal with it.

The next couple of months will have a lot of ups and downs while we see if living together for the foreseeable future will be an option. I can already tell it will take a lot of change on my part. I’m not so sure Gabe is willing to change his ways though. Is that something I can handle for… well, until I decide I want to move out? I guess we will find out. So far, so good. But I can see how him being anal about everything would put people off. Me included. I’m not a freaking saint, I just happen to have more patience than most people.

On my walk back to the house, I go up and down a few blocks, wanting to check out the neighborhood. It’s real nice. Nothing like where I grew up, or lived in Boston. Not that my childhood home was in the slums, but our neighborhood wasn’t the best. Not the kind of place you walk around at night alone. You had to keep your doors locked all the time. Windows and cars, too. Didn’t stop people from smashing your windows if they wanted in bad enough, though.

Now, I pass houses with pristine front yards, barking dogs with shiny fur, and houses with flower boxes in the windows. There are new and fancy cars in driveways and treehouses in the backyards.

When I make it back to Gabe’s, I stop when I see how much it sticks out from all the others. It needs work. Yard work could be hit or miss with Gabriel. It’s either something he does on a schedule or something he knows nothing about. By the looks ofthe yard, I’d guess it’s the latter, but this could be due to his stress level lately. Maybe he doesn’t have the energy to do it. I understand that completely.

Instead of going inside, I go up the driveway, past the garage, and into the backyard where there is a small shed. It’s not locked, so I open the doors. Bingo. The lawnmower isn’t brand new, but it isn’t the oldest model. It’s a push, not a sit-down, and that’s fine with me. It’s been a while since I went to the gym, so I’ll use this as my work out. The yard isn’t huge, anyway.

I pull it out of the shed and look it over, checking for gas and that everything looks in working order. Can’t be sure the last time it was used. I start her up, and it takes a few tugs of the line, but it eventually gets going. I mow the backyard, then move to the front to get that done next. I’m careful around the bushes that are in need of trimming; not sure how much Gabe cares about those. I’m no Edward Scissorhands, but I know my way around some hedge-clippers.

When I’m done with the grass, I put the mower back and grab the weed-whacker to get started with that. Takes a while, but I’m sweating and my muscles are burning, so I don’t mind. It’s a mix of whacking the weeds and pulling them out because some are too thick, but it all gets done. I find some lawn bags in the shed and pick up the bigger weeds to toss in.

The hedge-clippers kind of suck, so I’ll have to get a new set, but they work well enough for now. All the trimmings get put into the lawn bags, and by the time I’m done, there are four full bags along the sidewalk for pickup. I fix up the potted plants, and though they all look dead, I give them water to see if they’ll come back to life or not. I don’t know much about gardening, just know how to clean up a yard, but I’ll try my best to revive them. I’ve got nothing else to do during the day. I can only make so much content before my dick starts to hurt. Gardeningdoesn’t sound like the worst thing to be doing with my time, as long as I keep reminding myself it doesn’t make me a grandma.

I’m sweating, dirty, and covered in grass clippings, so I head inside to wash up. Once I’m in the bathroom upstairs, I shed my clothes, leaving them all in a pile near my sneakers and get in. The water isn’t quite hot yet, but it’s fine because my skin is flushed, so the cool water is refreshing. The drain clogs with grass, and I toss the chunk into the trash so I can get clean without the tub filling up. The water is losing its heat by the time I get out, but thankfully, Gabe showers in the morning. At least, he did today. Though, it’s possible he showers multiple times a day. Who knows? Maybe he only showered this morning because he came in his pants, I don’t fucking know.

I have been wondering about that though. Did he do it on purpose or was it in his sleep? Was it because he caught me coming yesterday? That’s kind of hot, if so. I don’t think he’s into guys. He mentioned having a fiancée, who is definitely a female. Maybe he’s curious? Or maybe it has nothing to do with me at all. Wishful thinking. It’s been a while since I got laid. Fucking my roommate isn’t a good idea. Not sure the guy is even into sex. Sex is messy. Seems like something he’d avoid. Especially after he freaked out over what he saw. It wasn’t just about catching me, it was actually about what I was doing. He kept muttering about how messy it was, and how he doesn’t do it because it’s messy… does he seriously not jerk off? There’s no fucking way… right?

Why am I thinking about this? Why do I care what he does?

I shut the water off and get out, wrapping a towel around my waist. I open the door; the steam billowing out, and I’m startled by someone shouting.

“—happened in here? Why are there stains all over the floor? Why are there chunks of grass on the steps?”

Well, Gabe’s home.

“I cut the grass,” I shout down the stairs so he can hear me. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

I walk into my room, trying not to let his unappreciation bother me, but seriously? I’m going to clean it up, obviously. Just give me a damn minute to get settled.

“And you had to make such a mess while you did it? This isn’t what I need to come home to. Work was awful, and now I come home to my house destroyed?”

I stop in my doorway, turning to him, since he’s now at the top of the stairs.

“Destroyed? Don’t you think that’s a little dramatic?”

His eyes widen. “I amnotdramatic.”

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