I Hate My Roommate - side story

CHAPTER 6

Sage's POV

I was going to say I couldn't and that I didn't want to bother, but was interrupted by Elle's 'Yes, chef!' and I couldn't just refuse to eat noodles. Rose winked at me and walked upstairs.

"Don't just stand there, dumbass. You know where the apron is."

I opened one of the drawers on the island and wore it. Not because Michelle demanded to, but because I loved to cook and especially noodles. It was a funny moment, as we cooked together, messed with each other, splashed water on each other, stepped on each other's feet on purpose, fighting about whether an ingredient should enter the recipe or not. I laughed so much that by dinner time my belly was hurting. That's what I most loved about Michelle, her capacity of making me smile with her sarcastic and stupid self. However, the defects were too much and sometimes invisible.

During dinner, we shared our university institutions and degree options, which didn't change much in five months, with Rose and heard one of her stories about participating in a short film with her friends.

"See you tomorrow at the student council reunion then," I said with my eyes on Michelle, carefully when leaving the door ajar. "It was a nice afternoon. Had a lot of fun."

"Same." Her hands ran to her short pockets.

"Bye." I waved at her, leaving the porch.

"Drive carefully, Sage. Text me when you get home."

I replied with a smile that wasn't able to disappear even when I had gotten home. I parked the car in the garage and by the other two there, my dads were home already. I entered by the drop zone, humming a song I wasn't sure where or when I heard.

"Buenas noches, papa, daddy!" I said as soon as I saw dad Mateo wearing an apron in front of the cooker and dad Ian seated on the island, yet wearing a casual suit and flipping through his petroleum engineering papers.

"Sage, my love, how was school?"

Papa Mateo was a financial analyst, in other words, he guided businesses and individuals in decisions about expending money to attain a profit. He was a spontaneous and funny forty-seven years old man, who liked to read and watch movies until 4 AM, cooking was also his passion and, because of him, also mine. We fought a lot of times, maybe because of his juvenility and tendency of acting like he was twenty years old. Sometimes it would look like I was more responsible than him. He had curly black hair I believed was secretly being dyed, ocean blue eyes, heavy eyebrows, and shortbread with thin neatly trimmed sides.

Daddy Ian was three years older, and he played the role of the bad cop. He was a busy person. He had his head in the right place and I believed that that's what avoided papa from doing idiotic things when they were younger. In contrast with Mateo, Ian was responsible and serious, a bit overprotective, with a worked-out body, and some silver in his hair. He was my partner on the days I couldn't do my math homework.

They were both born in Spain, but Ian lived in the USA and only went back to Madrid when he was twenty years old. Even though I wasn't born there, I grew up speaking both languages.

After I ate my dad's delicious, hearty and savory rice with chicken, I took a shower and locked myself in the room, studying each subject I had the next day and updating student council matters.

Wake up, Sage! Wake up! I thought to myself as I heard my alarm ringing. With my eyes semi-closed, I sit on my bed, checking the messages I didn't have time to answer last night.

«Hello!!! Are you alive??» I smiled as I read Michelle's message, worried cause I didn't tell her I got home safely. About thirty minutes later, I was dressed in mom jeans with black converse, and a large plain shirt. It took me an additional thirty minutes to domesticate my hair that ended up freely in an afro and to choose jewelry. The second floor was only occupied by me, so from the moment I was fully awake until the one I'm going downstairs, I have a playlist playing on the speaker.