Page 36 of Dear Roomie
“The driver was rich and connected.” The floodgates have opened, and the story pours from my lips, but my voice is a hollow reflection compared to the feelings raging inside me. “His BAC was over 1.0, but he got a plea deal. A fucking plea deal, James.” I drop my hand, slamming the whiskey down on the coffee table harder than I meant to, startling both of us. Grover lets out a low growl at the sound. My hands twist together in my lap, and I take a deep breath to try to get my anger back in check.
“At the end of it all, he only got a slap on the wrist. The judge ruled that he had to pay my family one hundred thousand dollars and be on house arrest for six months while attending weekly AA meetings. Laura’s life was only worth one hundred thousand dollars to the court, and the man who killed her got to spend six months in his multimillion-dollar mansion doing whatever it is rich people do. That’s why I decided to go to law school. I want to become a judge so I can make sure men like him get actual justice when they ruin good people’s lives.”
My voice cracks, and the tears I’ve been trying to contain spill over. James reaches over and grabs my hand, and her warm fingers trace patterns along my knuckles. The gentle motion soothes the festering edges of the old wound. Silence hangs between us, only broken by the occasional sound of the choked sobs I try to repress as I regain my composure.
The sobs soften to sniffles, and I wipe the remaining tears from my face. Over a decade later, the grief still hits as hard as it did the night I learned she died. The only thing that’s changed is that the periods of still water between each crushing wave increase as time goes on.
I’m sure this isn’t how she saw this game of hers going. Of course I’ve gotta kill the mood before we had the chance to actually get to know each other. I should have taken the drink and been done with it, but I wanted her to know. I just hope I didn’t ruin things.
“What do you think you would be doing if you found your passion?” I ask, my voice still raw.
“You don’t have to—”
“No,” I interrupt her, “I want to keep playing, and it’s my turn to ask a question.”
She mulls it over for a moment, her teeth biting into her bottom lip while she thinks.
“I’d be an artist,” she finally says. “My first major was graphic design, but I struggled with digital art. Painting is my favorite medium, but my dad wouldn’t let me switch to fine arts. He said that as long as his benefits were paying for my school, I wasn’t going to waste them on a useless degree. So I switched to education, then biology, and then journalism. Before I knew it, I was a junior with no direction. I made one last switch and decided to apply to the Terry School of Business, and I got in. I don’t love finance, but I’m good enough with the numbers, and I will have lots of opportunities when it comes time to look for a job.”
“Are you any good?” My brow raises in a challenge.
“I think it’s my turn to ask a question.” She mirrors my words from earlier with a tentative laugh. “What’s your favorite pizza? Don’t tell me you are one of those boring people who only likes cheese or pepperoni.” She tries to keep her tone light, but there is a hesitancy to it that wasn’t there before.
The abrupt change in tone leaves me dumbfounded for several seconds, and I burst into a fit of laughter at the absurdity of it.
“Probably Hawaiian,” I tell her between chuckles. “What about you?”
She wrinkles her nose in disgust, making her face scrunch in a way that is strangely adorable.
“Pineapple on pizza? That’s disgusting. Putting a point in the red-flag column for that one. If you had made a Hawaiian pizza the last time we did this, I would have turned around and left. I’m easy: mushroom, pepperoni, and olive for me.”
She joins me in carefree laughter, and all the looming tension is banished. Her radiance burns through the gloom, and it looks like my demons have finally met their match.
“You are one to talk about bad taste. Olives, really?” I mime gagging. “I can do pepperoni and mushroom, but the olives ruin it for me.”
“What? They’re the best part. Nothing beats the savory taste of a freshly warmed olive.”
“I think we need to agree to disagree on this one. It just keeps getting worse every time you speak. How do you feel about meat lovers?”
“Nope, it’s my turn to ask a question.”
“Come on, can we not pause the game for the good of finding a common pizza order?” My tone is deadly serious, which sends James into another fit of bell-like laughter, and my heart skips a beat in my chest.
“Fine, fine, you win. Yes, I like meat lovers, and BBQ chicken is also really good.”
I take mental notes of her order before asking the most important question of all. “Where do you order your pizza from?”
“Domino’s, but Pizza Hut will also do.”
I nod in approval and let out an overdramatic sigh of relief. “All right, you pass. If you had said Papa John’s, I might have moved out.”
She lies back on the couch, clutching her stomach, completely overtaken by her laughter. I swear the lights in the room dim. Everything dulls in comparison to the way she glows.
“What was your last relationship like?” she asks, catching her breath.
“I’m gonna pass,” I say as I reach for my drink. I have no intention of bringing the mood down again.
“Boo, you are no fun.” She throws one of the decorative pillows my way. “Your turn.”
