Page 29 of Positively Pricked
"How wouldIknow?" she said. "It's not like we go shopping together."
I considered the empty pantry and equally empty fridge. "It's not likeyougo shopping at all."
"I do, too," She pointed down at her legs. "I just bought these jeans." She gave me a thin smile. "Goes to show whatyouknow."
Well, that was rich.I gave the jeans a good, long look. I wasn't a huge shopper, mostly because I was always broke. But Ididknow that whatever she spent on those jeans could've contributed at leastsomethingtoward this month's rent.
Through gritted teeth, I said, "Andwhendid you buy them?"
"Yesterday." She gave my sweatpants a scornful glance. "I mean, I’m not gonna go around likethat."
Paisley was like a machine with two settings – bitch or crybaby, with very little in between. It was pretty obvious where the dial was set today.
I told her, "These are mysleepingclothes."
She gave a derisive snort. "Yeah, and no wonder you're alone."
Stupid or not, her words stung. It shouldn't have mattered. After all, thiswasPaisley, the perpetual grad student who was sleeping with her professor. Correction, hermarriedprofessor.
Still, I didn’t know what to say. I was still searching for the perfect comeback when I heard a familiar voice behind me call out, "And no wonderyou'reabout to get slapped."
I whirled around to see my sister glaring at my roommate. I gave Charlotte a pleading look. "I'mnotgoing to slap her."
"Oh yeah?" Charlotte said. "Well maybeIam." She looked back to Paisley and said, "Now, pay up." She hesitated for a long moment before mumbling, "Or else."
I tried to look on the bright side. At least she hadn't called Paisley a bitch. Well, not yet, anyway. I looked back to Paisley. Trying to tone everything down, I said, "Look, just give me what you can, okay?"
Paisley looked from me to my sister. I looked from Paisley to Charlotte. Charlotte looked from me to Paisley. The tension in the room crackled like a firework about to explode.
It was Charlotte who finally broke the silence. She looked to my roommate and demanded, "And where's the message, Paisley?"
Paisley said, "What message?"
"When I called yesterday, youpromisedto give Jane the message. You evenclaimedyou were writing it down."
Paisley was glaring again. "Ididwrite it down."
"Oh yeah?" Charlotte crossed her arms. "Then where is it?"
As an answer, Paisley turned and stalked toward the kitchen. I followed after her, with Charlotte on my heels. At the kitchen counter, Paisley lifted the phone's charging station and sure enough, underneath it were a couple of scribbled notes.
Paisley grabbed them and thrust them out in my direction. "There." She turned to Charlotte and said, "You can apologize any time now."
Charlotte gave a bark of laughter. "In your dreams."
I spoke up. "But Paisley, I don't get it. Why'd you put themthere?"
Paisley replied, "That's where we always put them."
"No, we don't." In truth, we didn't put them anywhere. No one ever called for Paisley – well, at least not on the landline. And, as far as I knew, these were first actual messages that Paisley had bothered to write down.
Paisley said, "I'm not talking about you and me. I'm talking about my parent's house, when I was growing up."
"And you didn't think to tell me?"
"I shouldn't have to tell you," Paisley said. "It's common sense. And you know what else?"
"What?"
