Roommates

Chapter 6

Aurora stood at her check stand, a realm of beeping scanners and rustling bags, where the mechanical hum of the cash register created a monotonous soundtrack to her workday. The white, fluorescent light overhead did little to dispel the perpetual feeling of deja vu that enveloped her. Her gaze fixated on the check stand's barren expanse, waiting with a silent yearning for the arrival of the day's first customer.

She had another nine-hour shift ahead, a prospect she faced with a semblance of optimism, her well-rested state was a fragile shield against the chaotic symphony of the night before. The tumultuous echoes of her neighbors' discordant disputes had persistently interrupted her attempts at peaceful slumber. Yet, her resilient spirit clung to optimism, brushing aside the flaws of the night as inconsequential nuisances.

She tried to spark conversations with her coworkers throughout the day, still struggling to fit in with the other workers, but after numerous futile attempts, she decided to stop talking. Nobody likes a chatty Cathy, she reminded herself. She was never very good at being quiet, it was definitely her character flaw in life. She gabbed so much as a child that her own mother would tell her to shut up. She resented her talkative nature, but it was a piece of who she was. She loved engaging in small talk, water-cooler talk, locker-room talk— anything that made her feel heard in a group. She knew the power of a good conversation, but unfortunately, her stunted social skills left little room for what neurotypical people called good conversation.

"Good morning, Eve," she said as Evangeline passed by her, heading to the check stand behind her. "Are you cashiering today?"

"Every Saturday," came Evangeline's reply, lips adorned with a glistening smile that seemed to catch the light just right. Aurora couldn't help but admire the subtle details, like the plumpness of Evangeline's lips and the sharp tip of her cat eye.

Aurora danced on her toes, willing herself not to speak up. It was evident Evangeline was not a conversationalist, but Aurora couldn't help herself. "You look really nice today."

"Thanks." Evangeline waited for her to be distracted before sizing her up. Aurora wasn't a bad looking woman. She was actually quite beautiful, but the prospect of entertaining her felt pointless. Evangeline lost the love of her life and now she's supposed to just move on? How?

"How long have you worked here?" Came Aurora's next question.

Evangeline, immersed in the rhythm of her routine, responded with a measured sigh, setting her phone on the counter. "I know you probably want to get to know people around here, and maybe where you're from, it's different, but nobody wants to play twenty questions with you." She spoke softly and kindly as if she were an older child teaching a younger kid the social rules of the playground.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bug you; I was just curious."

"You don't have to be sorry. I'm just letting you know that most people around here come in for a paycheck and leave with one. That's it." Evangeline picked up her phone. "You seem like a nice girl, though."

Aurora nodded gently and looked at her shoes, "Thank you...?"

Evangeline momentarily put her phone down to help a guest but like a protective device, she brought it back up to her face any time she and Aurora were left alone. This went on for hours. In between customers, Aurora found herself entwined in a delicate balancing act. Two conflicting forces waged war within her — the innate desire to engage in conversation and the nagging awareness that she was encroaching on Evangeline's personal space. She could feel that she was annoying Evangeline for just standing there, but she couldn't help herself make things worse. She was made for socializing. Guests wouldn't entertain her conversation, so Evangeline was her only option left. They were practically glued together for nine hours.