Just Roommates

Chapter 3

"So, how much is it?" Mom asks as she watches me rifle through the few clothes I had been able to stuff into my bag when leaving the dorm last week.

My hands stop moving over the hangers in my closet when I realize I had completely forgotten to find out the cost of rent. "I kind of forgot to ask, actually."

Mom laughs. "Shouldn't that be the first question you ask?" she teased lightly.

She's right, of course, and I try to remember why I hadn't even thought to ask. The sound of his voice suddenly invades my head, and I find myself feeling funny again. I have to tell myself that I'm acting ridiculously, because I've never even met the man. I easily chalk it up to a lack of sleep the night before. Shockingly, it wasn't because of my parents' "carnal interludes" for once.

While I had briefly thought that the man could be an old bald guy, the more I lay in bed thinking about it, the more my mind imagined him the opposite. I like it better that way; it's way less creepy.

Don't get me wrong; I still gave my mom the address when telling her about the place because no matter how pretty this guy might be, people are still kind of crazy nowadays. I watch the news and am the daughter of the Phoenix Chief of Police . . . I know things.

"And the woman you'll be renting from? She seemed nice?" I freeze as I reach for my brown v-neck shirt, unable to meet her gaze. It's true; I may have withheld a thing or two. "Stephanie?" She drags out my name, using the tone that mothers use when they know you're keeping something from them. It's like a superpower.

"The, uh . . . landlord seems great," I tell her quickly. I'm a little terrified to tell her that this person is a guy. While my mother is a pretty open-minded person, she's also very loose-lipped. If she were to tell my dad, well, he'd activate the tracking chip I know is in the cell phone they bought me for my last birthday and have me followed. Chief of Police, remember?

I know it's stupid and irresponsible to keep this from them, but I still don't even know if I'm taking the place. Why upset them—well, mostly Dad—if it doesn't work out?

With a laugh, I pull my shirt down over my face and turn to Mom. "Definitely not someone in the boyfriend-stealing market . . . not that it's really a concern since I don't plan on having one for quite a while."

Mom rolls her eyes, probably because she doesn't believe I can refrain from having a boyfriend. Well, I've got news for her; I went without almost all the way through high school . . . I could so do it again. I'll show her.

"Do you want me to come with you? Your father is working all day, so I would be happy to tag along," she offers.

I admit, it's probably not a bad idea, but that whole "her telling dad I went to look at a place that some guy was renting through the classifieds" thing keeps me from accepting. Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I try to quickly work out how to let her down easily; I know she likely just wants us to spend the day together.

I meet her eyes through the mirror to see her perch herself on the edge of my desk while I go about brushing my hair. After securing a ponytail at the back of my head, I set the brush on my dresser in front of the mirror and turn to her. "Thanks, but I'll be okay. You should stay home in case Dad stops by for lunch. You guys haven't had much alone time since I've been back." Not that this has stopped them . . . I'm pretty pleased with myself for not cringing or gagging when my brain is suddenly plagued with the horrific sounds. My therapist would probably classify that as a breakthrough.

Once I'm ready, we head downstairs where we eat a small breakfast of eggs and toast. After I do the dishes, I kiss Mom on the cheek and grab my keys so I can take the first step toward moving back out. I'm sure to promise that I will text her when I get to the house and again when I am heading home.