It’s on the tip of my tongue to shoot him a snarky reply—
Except yeah, Idoneed help. If I get snarky with him, I might not receive that help. Plus, the tone he’d asked it inwasn’tsnarky. He’d sounded genuinely warm.
Not to mention I have a lot of experience holding back my initial, tip-of-my-tongue responses.
Thanks, Mom.
“Thanks,” I mutter. “I’d appreciate it.”
He shuts off his Kindle and tucks it into the top drawer of the two-drawer nightstand next to his bed. Then he stands and rounds the desk/bookshelf combo we each have and which sit back-to-back between the beds to form a natural divider.
He’s wearing jeans and a dark grey Tampa Bay Lightning T-shirt that cling to his leanly muscled torso. He isn’t some top-heavy gym rat. Combined with the lines in his face, he looks like a guy who’s earned his muscles the hard way, not in a CrossFit class.
Another way in which I feel I don’t exactly measure up, even though I’m not in bad shape.
Carter stands there for a moment, hands on his hips, his dark brown eyes taking in everything before he walks over and opens my top dresser drawer.
I’ve brought two suitcases of clothes—also now stowed under my bed—but brought several garbage bags full, too. And my closet is stuffed.
I’d learned that past spring to literally move everything out of my mother’s home if I wanted to keep my shit. I’ve left more things in a small storage unit I’m renting at a complex close to the campus.
When I lived in the dorm during my freshman year, Mom cleaned out my room for me over Easter break. I was lucky she left some things boxed up in her garage.
But I’ll never forgive her for discarding my belongings, items she’d tossed because they had no value toher. Many of my books, comic books, mementos, other things.
Or, more correctly, things she’d discarded knowing theyhadvalue tome. Irreplaceable loss which was laser-focused, deliberately designed to hurt me. I wish I was exaggerating, but it’s not the first time she’s done something like that for that very reason.
I’ve determined itwillbe the last time. Hence…thismess.
“Let’s start here,” Carter says. His tone sounds patient, warm, and I quickly shed any indignation or resentment I started with, because he actuallyteachesme how to refold everything.
Without an ounce of condescension.
By the time we finish that part nearly an hour later, with me doing most of the folding after he shows me the best way to tackle each type of garment, I’ve emptied my remaining totes of clothes, and my closet no longer looks like it’s going to explode. The spare towels and linens have also been moved to a tote, leaving my laundry basket empty and ready for use.
“Are you some sort of ninja minimalist organizer?” I ask, only half kidding.
He doesn’t smile, but one corner of his mouth turns up in a slight quirk I’d later come to learn indicated how amused Carter feels. “No.”
“How’d you learn how to do this?”
“US Army beats it into grunts during basic. Let’s remake your rack.”
I’m still processing the first sentence and didn’t realize what he meant by the second, until he starts stripping the sheets from my bed.
Five minutes later, under Carter’s careful tutelage, my “rack” looks as put-together as Carter’s does. I almost don’t want to sit on it, it’s so neat.
“Thank you, Carter.” I hold out my hand.
He shakes with me. “You’re welcome.”
I still think he’s cocky, but have discarded the asshole label. Also, Iwouldmake a genuine effort to get along with him since he’d gone through the trouble to help me.
“I’m sorry I’m so disorganized. IswearI’m not usually like this.”
“It’s okay. Just ask for my help, if you need it. I won’t be your maid, but I’m not going to live like or with a slob. I’m happy to teach you, butyouhave to do the work.”
It’s after six when I finish doing all of that. While my pride still stings a little that this guy I didn’t even know taught me how to fold clothes properly, that feeling is more than overwhelmed by satisfaction that my side of the room actually looks put-together now.
