Page 18 of The Roommate Experiment

Dylan’s girlfriend is a beautiful blonde with warm amber eyes, wholesome, all-American, so perfect she could appear in a toothpaste commercial. Seriously, she probably wakes up in the morning and birds braid her hair.

She is also my exact opposite. The awareness cuts through me as a sharp prick burns behind my eyes. She’s everything I’m not: polished, put-together, blonde—did I say blonde? Then there’s me, in my ratty clothes, holding bags of greasy takeout, my hair a dark mess, and my heart in pieces.

Before I can even process my anguish, Olivia greets me with a dazzling pearly-white smile that could outshine the sun. “You must be Hunter. I hope you don’t mind I paid Dylan a surprise visit.” Her voice is so sweet, it gives me a toothache.

I blink, still clutching my mountain of takeout bags like a security blanket, wondering if I should’ve added a bottle of tequila to my order—carbs might not be strong enough for this. “Uh, hi.” I force a smile that probably comes off as a grimace.

When I don’t add more, Olivia explains she was too curious to see the apartment, her enthusiasm bordering on manic. “And it’s so nice to finally meet you.” Finally? How long has she been waiting? Didn’t they just start dating?

Olivia interrupts my mental drift, going in for a hug, and not even my takeout bags can save me from the much-unwanted embrace.

I’m appalled at the personal-space invasion. Over Olivia’s shoulder, I shoot a look at Dylan that screams,What the fuck?

He makes an apologetic face that says,I didn’t plan this.

Stepping back from the sticky hug, I do my best to remove myself from the situation. “I’ll leave you two some space and eat in my room.”

But Olivia, still beaming with that impossibly bright, polite smile, tells me not to be ridiculous. “We can all have dinner together.”

Desperate to avoid this nightmare, I scramble for an excuse. “There isn’t enough food for three.”

Olivia, ever prepared, chimes, “Oh, don’t worry. I brought one of my specialties, so there’s plenty.”

I stammer, “It probably won’t pair well with tacos.”

Unfazed, Olivia counters, “I made tamales. Isn’t that a serendipitous coincidence?”

Even more appalled by how accomplished she is—and yes, I’m aware we don’t live in Jane Austen’s England but accomplished is the right word for her—I ask, “You mean from scratch?”

When Olivia confirms with an enthusiastic nod, I wish I could drop into a hole and disappear. Who even makes tamales by hand? Is she planning an appearance onMasterChef?

As I set down the takeout bags on the kitchen counter, Olivia glances at the table. “Hmm, there isn’t a lot of space here. How about we get comfy on the couch?”

Dylan nods enthusiastically, his eyes lighting up. “I’ve been dying to watch the pilot of that newStar Warsspin-off.”

In a galaxy far away, my heart explodes—it breaks into pieces so small no one will ever be able to find them and put it back together. I wanted to see that show, too. Why does he have to love everything I love?

Let at least Olivia hateStar Wars.

“The one where the Jedi are still a thing?” she asks instead. “I’d love to.”

Dylan looks over at me, eyebrows raised in a silent question. “You good with that?”

Despite wanting nothing more than to retreat to the solitary confines of my room, I nod. “Yeah, sure. I was curious about that show, too.” The words taste like self-betrayal.

That’s how we end up on the couch, our feast spread out on the coffee table. Dylan grabs the remote, sets up his premium streaming subscription, and presses play. As the opening credits roll, a sense of dread settles in my stomach. How long is each episode? How will I survive till the end? Please tell me at least it’s one of those shows where they still release one episode per week and not dump the entire season at once.

I discreetly check on my phone. One episode, forty-two excruciatingly awkward minutes. Let the countdown start.

I spend the entire dinner as the world’s most uncomfortable third wheel. Dylan and Olivia are cuddled up on one side of the couch, acting all lovey-dovey and short of hand-feeding each other. They’re two peas in a pod, and I’m the lonely turnip wondering how I got thrown into this stir-fry.

Then I take my first bite of Olivia’s tamales and the spicy blend bursts across my taste buds. The savory, perfectly seasoned filling, the tender masa—it’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted. And I’m fighting the urge not to throw it up.

I want to crawl out of my skin and forget I exist. How can one person be so perfect inside and out? Does Olivia volunteer at animal shelters and knit sweaters for orphans in her free time, too?

To add insult to injury, Dylan’s girlfriend keeps dropping clever jokes about the show, making him laugh. Each chuckle carves at my insides, eviscerating me slowly and methodically, leaving nothing untouched.

At least if I were Taylor Swift, I could take this low point in my love life and write soul-wrenching lyrics about it, channeling my heartbreak into a song and then moving on.

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