Page 29 of Roommate's Guide to Love

I don’t know if it’s classic or not. But it felt like the right thing to say. My apartment in Arizona was all white because I didn’t know what would go with what, but I knew white went with everything.

I start to flip to the gray section and get there quickly, because apparently there really are fifty shades of gray.

“Oh my,” Mrs. Wolfe says. “I’m going to need a second to look.”

“Take your time,” I say as the telephone starts to ring. “I’ll leave you to browse while I go grab the phone.”

Mrs. Wolfe nods and I walk over to the oversized desk where the only telephone resides. And of course, it’s not cordless. Or a cell phone.

“Marvin’s Furniture Outlet. How can I help you?”

“Marv?”

Really? Do I sound like a sixty-eight-year-old man? “No ma’am. This is Quinn. Marv went to the bank.”

“Quinn? As in Quinn Banks?”

Oh, here we go… “The one and only! Who am I speaking with?”

“It’s Freda Applewood. Remember me?”

“Of course,” I say through gritted teeth. “How could I forget?”

Freda was the elementary school lunch lady. She didn’t like me. Or any student.

“So Marv isn’t there?”

“No, ma’am. But I’d be glad to help you. And if I can’t, I’ll make sure Marv calls you right back.”

She lets out a sigh that screams of her disappointment. “Fine. I was seeing if my desk came in. Can you check on it for me?”

I let out my own sigh, but this one of relief. “Easy enough, Freda. Just hang on for a second.”

“It’s Mrs. Applewood to you.”

I purse my lips. “Apologies. Again. Just hold on for one minute.”

I hit the button to put her on hold as I start making my way to the back room.

“How you doing Mrs. Wolfe?” I call out as I walk past her.

“Oh, I’m doing fine,” she says. “So many options.”

“I’m sure!” I give her one more look to make sure she’s actually okay, which is how I don’t make the turn quick enough and ram my shin right into the corner of a bed frame.

“Fucking dammit shit fuck!” I scream out, not able to hold my tongue because it feels like I was just speared.

“Quinn? Are you all right?”

“Fine!” I say through gritted teeth as I pay more attention as I weave my way through the beds and to the warehouse. The good thing about Marvin’s Furniture Outlet is he has plenty of options. The bad part is that to make your way through the store, you feel like you’re a real-life Pac-Man, and instead of ghosts, it’s pieces of furniture that are there to block you at every turn.

When I finally make it back to the warehouse, it doesn’t take me long to find Freda's desk. I look for a phone so I can report back to her—and answer any other question that I’m sure she has—when I realize there is no other phone.

Because of course there’s only one phone for the entire store.

And it’s a landline.

I mumble some more swear words in the name of first-world problems as I head back to the front. I swing open the door and as soon as I take a step out, pain shoots up my right leg. I can’t see through my leggings, but I’m going to guess I already have a pretty nasty bruise from my furniture collision. I do my best to gingerly walk through the sea of furniture, but it’s basically a limp as every time I put down weight, a sting of pain shoots through me.

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