Page 33 of Dear Roomie
I hang up the phone with a hollow feeling in my chest. We are fine, right? My head tells me yes, that it was just a fight, and he’s apologized for it—it’s not even the worst fight we’ve had—but my words lacked their normal conviction. Telling him everything is fine feels like a lie, and my heart agrees.
I love him, but am I happy?
I shake the thought away as quickly as it came. Of course I’m happy. He’s the love of my life. It’s practically a fairy tale, so how could I not be happy? I keep repeating that mantra in my head as I get ready for bed, not stopping until I actually start to believe it.
I’m just drunk, and the alcohol is confusing me.
But all it takes is a sticky note on the bathroom mirror to knock over that house of cards.
I clutch the note to my chest, and my reflection stares at me with a stupid smile on her face. With butterflies fluttering with renewed vigor, I grab my notepad and scrawl a response.
Next Friday can’t come soon enough.
Chapter 13
Morgan
I’ve never really understood team sports or why getting drunk is a requirement to enjoy them. My friends aren’t an exception. The sound of glasses clinking rings through the apartment as Nathan, Chelsea, and Karis take their third shot of tequila in the kitchen.
I wasn’t expecting to have a full house this morning, but James conspired with our friends to organizethis. They call it pregaming; I’m not sure what I call it yet.
Evelyn and Chelsea showed up first, with champagne and a spread of pastries. I can at least respect their attempt to disguise day drinking as brunch. It was Nathan and Karis who brought the liquor.
I, for one, have no desire to get drunk at 10 a.m., and I think James feels the same. She has spent the morning joking and laughing with her “girls,” but she’s had the same can of hard seltzer in her hand since they got here.
Evelyn sips on a mimosa from her spot on the couch next to me. She’s too close for comfort; her leg is pressed up against mine, and she keeps trying to catch my gaze from under thick false lashes. I’ve made small talk with her but don’t let the conversation go any deeper than that. I don’t want to lead her on. She seems like a nice girl, and she’s cute, too, but I’m not looking to start a relationship or a fling. Even if I were, only one woman in this apartment draws my attention to her like a moth to a flame, and she is wholly and unequivocally unavailable.
I swirl the now-warm beer around in the bottle without taking a sip. It’s all I can do to keep my eyes from drifting over to my roommate. She’s all dressed up in a red dress and heels, and her hair has been meticulously curled into long blond waves. Apparently, there is an unofficial dress code for games. She filled me in on it all this morning: you either dress up like you are going out or wear jerseys, no in between. James and her friends fall in the first category.
I don’t get it. Wearing heels to go stand on concrete steps for the next three to five hours seems like the opposite of a good time, but even Nathan is dressed up more than normal, wearing khaki shorts and a polo.
A siren’s song of laughter spills out from the kitchen, and I’m unable to resist its pull. My eyes snap over to my roommate, and she catches my gaze with a soft smile.
“All right, finish your drinks. It’s time to go,” she says loud enough to get everyone’s attention. She doesn’t follow her own instructions. Instead, she moves over to the sink to pour her drink out, and I follow suit, moving up behind her to dump mine as well.
“Not your thing?” I ask. She jumps at the sound of my voice and stumbles back against my chest. My empty hand grips her bare shoulder on instinct to help steady her.
“I love football,” she says, leaning into my touch instead of pulling away. Warmth grows in my chest at the unexpected move. “I also like to go out with the girls. I just don’t feel the need to mix the two.”
“I can understand that. I don’t know much about football, but I’m not a fan of drinking this early.”
“I’ll make you a football lover, trust me. It’s impossible to go to a UGA game and not come out a fan for life.”
“That’s a pretty serious claim, but I trust you.”
She beams at me and rounds up the rest of the less sober crowd. They follow her out the door and down the street like little drunk ducklings. Campus is the most crowded I’ve seen it; the streets are packed with fans adorned in red and black, and every lot is full of people camped out around the trunks of their cars with TVs, grills, and lawn chairs. James marches down the street, smiling as bright as I’ve seen her as she takes in the charged atmosphere around the stadium. She’s in heaven. Every so often, she glances back at me and smiles a bit brighter when she meets my stare. I can’t help but smile back, her enthusiasm infectious.
Nathan and James push ahead of the group to find us a spot in the student section. It’s crowded enough that we have to split into two rows. I squeeze in between Karis and James, while the other three stand on the row behind us.
“Evelyn, switch with me,” James commands and all but shoves her into the space at my side before moving to stand behind me.
“Hi.” Evelyn blushes and glances at her feet.
My face starts to fall, but I mask my disappointment. She isn’t the woman I was hoping to spend the day with.
“Hey.” My fingers run through my hair. “Are you excited for the game?” I ask. It’s better than standing around in awkward silence.
“Eh.” She shrugs. “Football is Jamie’s thing. I only come along to hang out with her and Chelsea.”
