Page 23 of The Tenant
“Well,” she snaps at me, “I amsoglad you got that off your chest.”
She’s not taking this as well as I would have hoped. In retrospect, it was a dick move to come to her work and complain to her here. But in my defense, she’s always working double shifts, and I had no idea when she’d be home. I didn’t want to have this conversation at midnight.
“Listen,” I say, “maybe we should label our stuff to make it easier.”
“You don’t need to stick a label on your cereal, Blake.” She sneers at me. “I won’t touch it again. I promise.”
“I just think it’s easier to keep things separate,” I say in an attempt to placate her. “I mean, you’re our tenant. It’s not like we’re friends or anything.”
Whitney jerks her head back like I hit her. She pulls the pencil out from behind her ear, and for a moment, I’m scared she might stab me with it. She takes a deep breath.
“You’re right,” she says slowly. “We are not friends. Good point.”
I had good intentions coming in here, but I’m screwing up this conversation big time. I struggle to figure out what to say to make this right, but at that moment, a family comes through the door of the diner.
“Excuse me,” Whitney says to me, her tone brisk. “I have to get to work.”
Well, that was a disaster. But on the flip side, I said what I had to say. Whitney was somehow offended, but the truth is we’renotfriends. She’s just some girl we’re renting a room to. And as soon as I get back on my feet, she’ll be gone.
In any case, I don’t think she’s going to be bringing home cake tonight to celebrate my first day of work.
13
Kristaand I are cuddled on the sofa, watching a movie.
She’s been more amorous in the week since I started working. It doesn’t matter that my job is basically being a poorly paid intern. At least I’m earning some money. And there’s some opportunity for the position to turn permanent if I impress them.
It’s perfect weather to be cuddled up on the sofa too. It’s raining hard, and now the room lights up with a bolt of lightning, followed by a crack of thunder. The loud noise prompts Krista to nuzzle closer against me. I’ve got my arm around her, and I squeeze her tighter (level nine). She lifts her face to look at me, and her lips glisten in the light from the television. Even though we’re only halfway through the movie, I lean in to kiss her.
“You smell nice, Blake,” she whispers in my ear.
I smell like my ordinary soap and shampoo, which I had to buy more of after Whitney used it all. She hasn’t used it again as far as I can tell, having purchased her own bottle of Dove bodywash. And I don’t have to smell like apricots and coconuts, two of the least masculine fruits known to man.
“You smell nice too,” I whisper back.
I kiss Krista again, this time more deeply, pushing her down against the cushions of the sofa as her fingers dig into the muscles of my back. My hand snakes under her shirt, and I’ve nearly reached her bra when we hear the locks turning in the front door, and I jump off her.
Damn it, Ihatehaving a tenant living here. I feel like a teenager trying to sneak a feel while my girlfriend’s parents aren’t around, and not in afunway.
Whitney is in the hallway behind us, stomping the water off her shoes on our welcome mat. I hear her fiddle with her umbrella and let out a sigh. I wish she’d just go up to her room already.
A minute later, Whitney comes into the living room, looking waterlogged, her hair clinging to her scalp. If she were wearing makeup, it would be running down her cheeks. She looks at the two of us sitting awkwardly on the sofa.
“Did Iinterruptsomething?” she says in a teasing voice, although there’s no humor in her eyes.
Ever since I spoke to Whitney at the diner, our relationship has soured considerably. She barely speaks to me, and when she does, her tone is decidedly unfriendly.
“We were just watching a movie,” Krista speaks up, oblivious to the tension between us. “Would you like some popcorn? We made tons.”
“Oh no,” Whitney says sardonically. “I wouldn’t want to use it all up.”
Krista misses the undertone in her voice. “Don’t worry about it! Take whatever you want.”
Whitney doesn’t even answer her. She just turns around and stalks off to the kitchen. A second later, I hear the microwave whirring. She must be heating up her dinner.
I reach out to squeeze Krista’s knee. “I’m going to get more water, okay?”
“Okay. Hurry back.”
