Her Alzheimer’s diagnosis surprised me, but only because I haven’t been around for the last decade to catch any sign of it. We had barely spoken on the phone in the last few years, and I’ve had so many mixed feelings about that. There’s been no time to process all of the changes, and as I breathe in the familiar scent of pine air freshener in my Jeep, I’m thankful I have at least this old hunk of metal to call my own and offer me some comfort.
Settling into the driver’s seat, I take notice of how my body aches. I’m less anxious, but still wholly unprepared for meeting my new roommate tonight. As I make the short drive up to the farmhouse, I note the massive wraparound porch. It’s what dreams are made of. The house itself isn’t huge, but the porch makes it seem bigger. It’s either new or has been majorly updated. Even the planters by the garage look pristine.
Owen has assured me the front door would be unlocked, so I grab a suitcase and make my way up the steps. When I open the door, I’m immediately greeted by deep barking. Oh no. No one said anything about a dog! Whatever and wherever it is, it sounds humongous, and I’m not prepared to meet my maker, so I turn to head right back out the door I came in from, but the barking never gets closer. The beast is contained somewhere, and that has my racing heart slowing significantly.
On the table by the front door, there’s a spiral notebook open with neat printing on a clean page.
Make yourself at home. Your room is the second door on the left upstairs.Luther (my dog) will be in the room down the hall. He’s friendly, but has a mean bark. Feel free to let him out, but not outside unless it’s through the back door into his dog run. He might keep making noise if he knows you’re in the house, but I promise, he just wants to lick your face and get belly rubs.
Help yourself to anything in the kitchen.
See you soon,
-A.M.
It’s a kind note, but it would have been nicer to get a warning about the dog. Memories of being chased by one of my mom’s boyfriend’s rottweiler make me shudder. I have zero intentions of letting the pup out of whatever room he’s safely being kept in. And he’s given me one more reason to look for a new place to live ASAP!
After three trips to my car, I have all of my belongings in my new bedroom. It’s surprisingly cozy, with an antique-looking four-poster bed in the middle, mismatched nightstands that somehow work, and a chair, with a floor lamp and small footstool in the corner. The dresser is empty, so I intend to fill it immediately. I hate living out of a suitcase. Before all of that, though, I need a shower.
After moving through the house as quietly as I can, I have an extra-long, extra-hot shower in the gloriously large bathroom. It’s a work of art, this room, with its massive soaker tub in the center, flanked by the biggest shower I’ve ever been in and two wooden vanities. The shower walls are a soft blue, and the gold fixtures make everything look so rich and fancy. It’s in total opposition to what I would have imagined the inside of this house to look like, butalso, it works. It’s warm, functional, and the vintage-looking faucets fit the vibe perfectly.
The water pressure also doesn’t hurt.
My thick, curly hair hasn’t been properly washed since I got to Ojai, but the water pressure here is magnificent. I washed my hair twice. It felt incredible.
Now I’m lying in bed, wearing nothing but my towel, eating the snacks I bought for the hotel, and my eyes are growing heavy. It’s warm, the mattress is soft, and I had the most relaxing shower maybe ever. I could just…
My alarm blares,startling me awake. After fumbling for my phone in the covers, I finally find it and silence the darn thing. It’s seven o’clock in the morning, which means I slept for twelve hours.
Wow. I don’t remember the last time that happened.
I slide out of bed and wrap an oversized sweater around me then head straight for the door as my bladder screams at me. I peek into the hallway, looking and listening for the signs of life from the beast that barked at me yesterday or my new roommate. Hearing nothing but the faint humming of a fan nearby, I tiptoe to the bathroom.
After washing and drying my hands, I step back into the hallway only to trip over an animal. No, not any animal. A dog. He’s not as huge as he sounded yesterday, but he’s sturdy and doesn’t budge, despite the fact that I tried to walk right through him. As he sits at my feet, his tail wags across the floor, a soft whooshing sound meeting my ears as he begins to pant and squirm with his tongue hanging out of his open mouth.
“Uh… hi,” I mumble, and his tail wags harder, making me wonder if the way it loudly thumps against the wall is hurting him at all. His ears wiggle, and his wide brown eyes study mine as he brings his wet nose to my hand, nudging it enough to force my palm to land on top of his head. “Oh, you want some scratches?” The thumping of his tail gets louder, and I laugh as the pup—Luther, according to the note—makes a grunting sound. The moment my fingers reach his ear, he melts into me, falling over onto my feet, belly up, tongue still hanging out. I laugh harder, disbelief washing over me that this was the terrifying beast barking at me when I arrived last night.
After a minute of petting this now-limp dog, I gently pat his belly. “Okay, buddy. I gotta get ready for work.” I straighten to make my way back to my room, but the dog is fast, and when he stands, he’s immediately pawing at me, jumping up to get my attention. “No!” I huff, but he jumps again, causing me to yelp and scurry into my room, shutting the door before he can come in with me. He scratches at the door for a few seconds, then whines. “No way, dude. You’re not coming in here! Especially if you’re gonna jump me like that,” I yell through the safety of my door, which I locked. Just in case.
With a few sniffs and a loud huff, the door rattles again, this time from the weight of his body leaning against it as he either sits or lays down out there, waiting for me. Well, shoot. How am I going to leave?
I vow to figure it out after I’m dressed for work, with my snacks packed in my bag for the day. A few granola bars and the quickly browning banana I had left over will have to do for breakfast and lunch today. Maybe I’ll have time for a grocery run afterward. I can properly contribute to the food supply once I get my first paycheck. I wonder if this guy will be the kind of roommate who’s okay with splitting things like condiments, or if we’ll need to keep everything separate. I wonder how many rules he’ll haveabout things like when we can make noise—not that I plan on doing much of that—or whether we’ll need scheduled times for doing laundry. I’ve lived with all kinds of people in my twenty-seven years. Between the characters my mom used to bring home when I was a kid, the revolving door of roommates in college, and a controlling ex-boyfriend, I’ve seen it all. I doubt this one will surprise me in any way.
As I go through the motions of getting dressed, making my bed, and tidying my things, I spiral into an array of thoughts.
He didn’t have to have the bed made up for me. I’ll need to thank him for that and get new sheets.
I wonder if I’ll be able to make friends at work this time.
Do I even know how to make friends? Last time I tried it didn’t go well, but that wasn’t exactly my fault. Or was it? How much of the last three years can I blame on Chris, anyway? Some of it had to be my fault, too, right? I mean, I stayed. Even when his claiming to want me all for himself turned into straight-up isolation.
There’s no way the people at this farm have any clue about any of the shit I’ve lived through. Their lives seem so perfect, from what I’ve seen.
Well, That’s not fair. I don’t know them.
Yet.
Once my thoughts quiet down, I keep picturing my new roommate as a Sam Elliot look-alike, complete with the scruffy mustache and everything. The whole house gives off older, single man vibes—the tidiness, the quilt on the back of the couch, the notes left on clean pages of a notebook, his perfect printing, and even the dog.
