That was my family’s motto growing up. Or at least it felt like it, considering how often my mum and sister said those words to me.
I get up because they’re right.
Tristan caught me naked and crying in the shower last night, thanks to a panic attack. I can’t change that fact. Just like I can’t change the fact that Cade wants me dead.
I’ll have to figure this all out.
But first, I need to vacuum because that’s my task for Friday mornings.
Ren laughs every time she sees my cleaning schedule on the fridge. As if she’s not got radioactive leftovers at her place due to her messiness.
I pull on sweatpants, covering my naked legs, and put a bra on. There’s a blasé feeling inside me that wants to say who cares after last night, but I’m too shy to just walk around naked.
Pulling my hair into a ponytail, I creep down the hall. The guest bedroom remains quiet, the door firmly shut. I quickly pee, praying the sound of my piss doesn’t alarm Tristan on the other side of the wall.
The last time I had roommates, the thin walls didn’t matter. It was going to be loud no matter what. I guess I always wanted a calmer, quieter place after that. It’s not untilI’m sitting on the toilet that I realize I have successfully achieved that.
“My own cozy nest,” I say to myself as I exit the bathroom, shuffling around in slippers.
I might give Ren a hard time about her place, but if I’m being honest, she’d fit right in with the Matheson women. Cleaning was an afterthought unless guests came over.
To try to mitigate this DNA trait, I’ve created a schedule. Today, I’ll dust and vacuum as well as wipe down the kitchen counters since I didn’t have a chance to last night. I might even try to do a quick scrub of the bathroom so it’s extra clean for Tristan.
I pull the cordless, stick vacuum from the kitchen wall—it’s designated spot—and roll it into the living room.
Tristan is already up. And he is shirtless.
As expected, and definitely not because I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about his body, his muscles are well defined. Tattoos spiral along his ribcage. If I didn’t suddenly need to study my slippers, I’d be tracing the artwork.
He blinks, awake but sleepy, before frowning at the vacuum.
“Sorry,” I automatically say, worried my creeping around woke him up as if the vacuum wouldn’t have done that soon enough.
“Don’t your neighbors get annoyed if you use that so early?”
“Downstairs is gone by now and Mrs. Greene doesn’t put her hearing aids in till later.” My next-door neighbor has lived here for almost twenty years.
Tristan runs a hand over his face. “I like getting up early to meditate.”
“Oh.” I’ll make a note on my chore chart to avoid this scheduling conflict.
“You’re much more a morning birdthan Ren was.”
His use of the word bird doesn’t mean girl like it would in England, but my mind glitches as I hone in on the differences in language.
“Here give me that.” He holds his hand out, an intricate pattern of roses and thorns curl around his arm.
I grab the vacuum tighter. “It’s all right.”
He says nothing else, turning and wandering back to his room. I’m vacuuming the large green rug that covers the living room when he steps back out with a shirt on this time.
Turns out we’re both better off being fully clothed.
“Do you have a blender I could use?” he asks, or something similar, since the vacuum whirls.
Focus on your tasks.
The vacuum takes a mere ten minutes. I dust and fluff up the throw pillows on the sofa.
