“What do you mean?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I have a type. Put together, passionate about the future, usually a guy in STEM…”
Glasses.
Jeremiah doesn’twearglasses. It’s not a deal breaker. Mentioning it now would make it seem like I just want my roommate to know I find it attractive.
I keep it to myself.
“I meet guys like that, and they’re usually nice in the beginning, so I give it a shot,” I say before sighing. “And then, a few months in, they decide they don’t want me. For whatever reason.”
The tips of my ears are on fire. Liliana is the only person I’ve ever shared this with, without alcohol fueling it or some self-deprecating joke to follow. Maybe it’s the drizzle starting to cascade down our windows, or the familiar smell of microwaved butter, but I feel comfortable enough to share this with Locke.
A burst of smoke escapes the bag as Locke rips it open, and he glances back at me. “I don’t like that. Saying it’s because you don’t learn. You don’t have to learn anything. They should learn how to respect people.”
“I get what you’re saying. But I think some of it has to do with the fact that little Rosie still exists in my head and stupidly thinks she’ll get that kiss in the rain.”
“So?” He throws a kernel into his mouth on the walk back to the couch, before setting the bowl on the middle cushion. “You’re a hopeless romantic. Good. Keep it that way.”
I shove popcorn into my mouth and shake my head. “Don’t enable me. I’m trying to have more realistic expectations for the men in our city and what my dating standards should be.”
He grunts. Grabs the remote, scrolls through my flagged list of romcoms on this streaming service, and chooses one of my favorites.
“Don’t drop your standards. You deserve the best. You’ll get it one day.”
“How do you know?”
The introduction I’ve watched a million times starts, but it feels different. More cozy with the first rainfall of the year going on outside our apartment, and new, with Locke here to watch it with me.
His hand reaches up towards his face and moves past his glasses to push the blonde hair out of his eyes.
“I just do. You’ll get your prince charming. Promise.”
ten
LOCKE
I haveone specific regret about our movie marathon night.
I didn’t tell Rosie what happened with my dad earlier that day.
At first, I hadn’t even considered telling her. It was more than enough for me to be included in her plans. The apartment is equally shared, but I always felt like the nights she spent cooped in front of the television set belonged just to her.
Her safe space. Her area and hobby I don’t want to encroach on, regardless of it technically being split between us. But she extended the opportunity to me, and I’m grateful I took it.
I’m more comfortable in our dorm. Before that night, it was almost like I existed there because it was where my belongings were, not because it’s where I wanted to be.
Now, though, two weeks after that first movie marathon, I don’t know if I’ve ever lived somewhere more comfortable.
“Good morning,” Rosie sang in a cheery voice the following Sunday afternoon, her matching pajama set wrinkled around her body. She called it morning, but with how late we stayedup binging movies, I don’t think either of us woke up before lunchtime.
“Good morning.” I answered back, a lazy but easy smile falling onto my face. I felt less nervous with her. The night before, we talked so much and learned things about one another. New things, pointless things, meaningful things.
At the time, I was so happy none of it came back to my dad. Years and years of every conversation connected to him resulted in that night feeling like a breath of fresh air. I didn’t want to let it go.
I think that’s why I stayed up until four a.m. on the couch just talking to her. It was easy and fun.
But that Sunday afternoon, when she asked if I wanted to study, I hated that I had to say no. I hated that I didn’t explain the drama from the day prior, and that the reports he wanted couldn’t wait another minute.
