Page 5 of The Roommate Experiment

Hunter raises an eyebrow. “Those what?”

“You know, a neat freak. Like Tristan.” I shrug to keep the mood light.

“I’m not a neat freak, Dylan.” Her eyes flash with annoyance. “You offered to do the dishes. I didn’t ask.”

“Yes, but does it have to be right now?”

She grabs a dish sponge. “I can do the washing.”

Perfect. I’ve made things worse. “Please don’t. I’ll take care of themnow.” I backpedal, attempting to smooth over the faux pas.

“Thank you.” She nods, dropping the scrubber. And from her tone, she might as well have told me to go fuck myself. “Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Her stiff posture as she turns and walks away drips with irritation. And the decisive click of her bedroom door closing sounds meaner than if she’d slammed it.

“Oh, hell.”

I roll up my metaphorical sleeves and get to work, scrubbing the plates and pots with a bit more force than necessary before transferring them into the dishwasher. As I dry my hands on a kitchen towel, a sudden thought hits me—this is the first night in fifteen years that Tristan and I aren’t roommates. No more late-night video game sessions, no watching college basketball reminiscing about our days at Duke, or marathons of ridiculous reality shows we’d never admit to liking in public.

Craving a bit of fresh air, I step out onto the balcony.Not exactly fresh.Without the air conditioning, the heat is stifling. But I stay. The city stretches out before me, a glittering sea of lights and distant sounds. Car horns and the murmur of nightlife drift up from the streets below, a reminder that New York truly never sleeps. I lean against the railing, letting the warm night breeze ruffle my hair and the energy of Manhattan wash over me. The vast stretch of lights makes my problems seem small in comparison. Still, I can’t shake the nagging worry that I’ve started on the wrong foot with Hunter.

I’ll have to make it up to her, show her I’m not some inconsiderate slob, explain that I was just tired tonight.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, interrupting the self-flagellation. I fish it out and smile as Tristan’s name appears on the screen.

“Miss me already?” I tease, keeping my tone light.

There’s a beat of silence before Tristan replies, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “Yeah, Thirty-Three. I do.” We still call each other with our old team numbers from when we were playing basketball at Duke. A reminder of how far our friendship stretches back.

The admission feels strangely comforting. A shared acknowledgment of how much our lives have changed in such a short time. That it’s okay to be happy for him and Nina, but also to miss my best friend.

I click my tongue, wanting to lighten the mood. “Well, I warned you that your girlfriend is a super-annoying roommate,” I joke, hoping to coax a laugh out of him.

But Tristan scoffs. “Nah, Nina’s great. No complaints there.” His voice takes on that slightly goofy, love-struck tone he always gets when talking about my sister.

“I take it you’re not calling to report she kicked you out?”

“Nope, she’s showering,” Tristan replies, and I can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

I groan, holding up a hand even though he can’t see me. “Please don’t tell me it’s a post-sex shower.”

Tristan chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that’s so familiar it makes my chest ache. “Then I won’t tell you.”

Rolling my eyes, I change the subject. “Remember our first place together? That tiny dorm room where the beds were too short?”

“How could I forget?” There’s a note of amusement in his voice, and I can picture him lounging on the couch in his apartment, one arm draped over the back as he stretches out comfortably. “Those beds are still the reason I’ll never sleep in the fetal position again.”

I laugh, the tension from earlier easing a bit as I reminisce with my best friend. “Those were the days, Eleven. Remember that time we tried to sneak that keg into our room?”

“And we dropped it down the stairs?” Tristan chuckles. “I was sure the RA would catch us.”

“Good times, man. Now, you’re shacking up with my sister, and I’m…” I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence.

“How’re things with Hunter?” Tristan must sense my hesitation.

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’ve already fucked up. Left some dirty dishes in the sink like a slob, and I’ve committed some other obscure offense I haven’t figured out yet.”

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