Since announcing his move, Mitch has made himself sparse, and so when I tried to find him after my dad stood me up, he wasn’t there either. I thought about leaving early, but I knew that would just further prove my father’s thoughts about me, so I stayed. I should’ve been diving into my next project, but I couldn’t focus. Instead, I sat at my desk and drew up imaginary plans for The Local, daydreaming about all the what ifs.
I pull into my apartment complex and try to loosen up the tension between my shoulder blades. I told Wren I’d make us dinner for our first official roomie night, and I really wanted tonight to be special, but I’m exhausted.
Climbing out of my car, I grab the bag of groceries and my necktie off the back seat. Maybe I’ll feel better after a shower and some food.
As I approach our door, I notice a long cylindrical box leaned up against the siding. It looks like Wren’s mattress made it.
I push the front door and set the bag on the coffee table. “Wren, you here?” There’s no answer, but I can hear water running from her bathroom.
Returning outside, I study the box a little closer. It’s long and thin. It’s addressed to her, so I pick it up, and I’m surprised by how light it is. I back through the door and place it up against the wall inside.
I move to the pantry and begin putting the groceries away. My mind is still reeling about work, and I’m distracted. Grabbing the jar of pesto from the bag, I attempt to place it on the shelf at the same time my phone chimes. Without thinking, I grab for my phone, causing the jar to fall and shatter all over the floor. Welp, there goes dinner.
The text isn’t even from my dad or brother, just some spam.
Fuck me, dude.
I carefully clean up the mess of sauce and sweep up the glass. When I’m sure it’s completely taken care of, I head to the shower to wash off my day. The last thing I want is to be in shit mood when I’m hanging out with Wren, and I currently feel like shit.
The warm water pelts against my muscles and runs through my hair, my mind drifting back to work. They must think I’m the biggest fucking joke, and as much as I shouldwant to quit, it’s just pushing me harder to prove them all wrong.
I turn the faucet off and climb out to dry myself. Pulling on gym shorts, I make my way back into the living room, shirt in hand.
“My new mattress came,” Wren says, standing next to the box with scissors. She’s wearing blue plaid pajama pants, a tiny tank top, and her wet hair is pulled to the side in a long braid. Her eyes run down my body and stop at the V-shaped cut that disappears below my waistband. Her eyes linger there for a second too long, so I clear my throat, causing her to jump. Her gaze finds mine, and her whole face turns pink.
“You okay?” I ask, smirking.
“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine? Just trying to figure out the best way to get it out.”
“Get it out?”
“The mattress. How to get the mattress out of the box,” she says, embarrassed.
“I know. What else would you have been referring to?” Her eyes shift to my crotch, and I let out a laugh. Her face turns a shade brighter. “You sure you ordered a mattress? I mean I know I’m strong, but it seemed awfully light when I carried it in.”
“It’s one of those foam ones that they shrink wrap really small, and then when you open it, it expands into a whole-ass mattress. Here, help me get it into my room and onto my bed frame.”
“If you say so,” I say, pulling my shirt over my head. I walk over and grab the box before she has a chance, carrying it into her room one handed.
There is no way this is a mattress.
We work together pulling it from the cardboard, and she carefully cuts the plastic shrink wrap. It flops open.
“What the fuck?” she shrieks. “Thisis supposed to be a mattress?”
“Kinda looks like one of those mattress toppers.” I shrug.
She cuts her eyes at me. “I know what it looks like, but I didn’t order a mattress topper. I ordered a mattress.” She storms out of her room, so I follow. Grabbing her laptop, she plops down on the sofa and wildly begins to type on the keyboard.
“See,” she says, flipping the screen towards me when I sit down next to her. “Deluxe ultra soft 100% authentic foam with cooling feature queen size mattress…” She reads the insane description on the product, pointing at each word. Her other hand bumps the mouse pad, and the cursor reveals the rest of the description.
“Topper,” I finish reading for her.
“No, it didn’t say that when I ordered it,” she says, frantically.
“I bet you just missed it because it cuts off after the word mattress.”
“God, I’m such an idiot. I saw mattress and one hundred dollars, and I was sold.”
