Page 14 of Don't Fall

“You should keep ice on it for a little while longer. And put it up. And, you know, maybe get X-rays,” he calls after me, but I’m far enough down the hall to pretend I can’t hear him. Just a few more feet and I’m in the bathroom, completely out of reach.

As it turns out, showering results in more than eliminating the stink. After mulling everything over until the steaming hot water turned icy cold, I’ve concluded that moving forward as if the previous twenty-four hours never happened, is my best possible plan of action. I’m not entirely sure how I’ll convey my plan to him without acknowledging the lineup of disasters leading up to it, but maybe feigning complete obliviousness will work. He doesn’t know me that well. I could a be total airhead.

I’m even fairly certain pleading ignorance is my best bet on the whole roommate - professor debacle. Seems like that’s more his problem than mine anyway. Unless he decides it is a problem, in which case it becomes my problem because I’m thinking his lease will hold up over my desire to deny he has one. So, he likely won’t move. And I, well, I have nowhere else to go.

Drea’s place is supposed to be a two bedroom just like mine, but the spare room has long been converted to her music room slash recording studio, hence my sleeping over in his dining room. And with Scott spending more time there than at his multi-bachelor bachelor pad, it’s already on the cramped side most of the time. Of course, there’s Jules and her generous yet totally selfish offer to switch condos, and while I do like her super pimped out pad more than my own most days, I tend to think I’ll like it drastically less when her fifty something sugar daddy shows up expecting, well, ya know...rent.

Finally clean and in my most comfy sweatpants, I walk back into the living room feeling like a sparkling new person. Or at the very least, a person instead of a grotesque beast. My toe is another story. It still looks like it belongs to a grotesque beast. But, I’m oblivious, so I don’t care.

“You got a present while you were in the shower.” Michael is standing behind the breakfast bar, making a sandwich. No, two sandwiches.

“I did?” I’m not sure I’m up for presents. Given the way my life is going, it’s probably something like cat puke in a place Drea really doesn’t want cat puke, and I’m really not in the mood to have my new sparkle besmirched with cat puke two seconds in.

He slides one of the sandwiches in my direction and gives a nod toward the living room. “I assume that belongs to you.”

My eyes follow his nod and land on Dick. I notice they do that a lot around here lately. “Drea bring him by?” I ask, doing a weird skip walk thing, as if that could possibly hide my limping, to get to Dick and give him a proper hello.

“Nope. Just slipped in through the open balcony door and refused to leave this time.” Michael grins, coming around the counter to take a seat at the breakfast bar beside the second sandwich. The one he made for me. I haven’t really had a chance to take that reality in just yet.

“Yeah. That pretty much sums up how he became my cat in the first place.” I sigh and back it up as smoothly as I can until I reach the bar stool beside Hot New Sandwich Making Roommate.

Nope.

Too long.

Won’t stick.

There’s an awkward moment where he’s staring at me while chewing. Finally, he swallows. “What? You don’t like turkey?”

“Turkey’s good.” I nod.

“You’re not hungry?”

“Starving.” That shit pizza at Drea’s hardly curbed my appetite. Mostly, it just made me miss real food.

He places his half-eaten turkey on wheat back onto his plate, brushes the crumbs from his hands and leans sideways into his elbow to get a better angle at me. “Is this one of those moments where I shouldn’t assume that you know I made a sandwich for you?”

“I mean, I sort of figured,” I admit, climbing onto my own stool, “but given my poor conclusion drawing process the past twenty-four hours, I think it’s best if we both just agree to spell everything out for one another until we really have a grasp on this new arrangement. And each other.”

He smirks. He’s amused by me. At me. I don’t know. Whatever

“I present to you, turkey, swiss cheese, avocado, tomato and a little mustard, layered neatly between two slices of fresh whole wheat bread. It’s yours. Because I was hungry. And eating in front of someone is rude.” He picks up his sandwich again. “And also, because eating alone sucks. Which we’ll both be doing if you don’t hurry up and take your first bite before I take my last.”

He doesn’t need to tell me twice. One ginormous bite later and my belly and taste buds are equally impressed with my new roommate. Michael. Mike? Professor McMichael?

I can feel my lip curl up involuntarily. And it’s not even for a good reason, other than I’m entertained by my own silly contemplation of his name and why it’s so clearly not...his name. “What is it that people really call you?”

He doesn’t laugh. Or smirk. But his eyes light up with something new. Intrigue? Surprise? I don’t know, but it’s a new version of the usual steady gaze he keeps on me that makes me feel like I’m a caged animal in his personal lab somewhere. “What do you mean?”

I take another bite, to stall. Now that I’ve opened this can of worms I kind of wish I hadn’t. “I just figured you had a nickname.”

He chews way longer than he needs to before he swallows. “Like Mike?”

I shake my head. “I think we both know you don’t go by Mike.”

He holds the last of his crust within an inch of his mouth, and for a moment I think he’s going to eat it, chew for five minutes and really make me sweat it out. Then he grins and the crust drops back down an inch. “I don’t look like a Mike?”

My nose and mouth scrunch up before I can stop them. It really bothers me that much. Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m not even sure I’m buying that his last name is McMichael.

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