Free My Summer Roommate by Bridie Hall

gestures sort of girl. Renting a limo to take her to dinner in a posh restaurant would be lost on her. Cooking her lunch or helping her put a picture frame on the wall is what gets her. I like that. She’s not like one of those girls that are competing with each other whose boyfriend or parents got them the most expensive gifts. Her needs aren’t extravagant. She’s got her priorities straight. Without wanting to, this only makes me more smitten with her. Depending on how things develop in the next few weeks, her moving in with me might just be the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Or it might well be the worst.

     
    Chapter Nine
     
    CHLOE
     
    My mom visiting while I was out worries me. She knows me like the back of her hand. I know she suspects what troubles me about Chris. And I know her well enough to know she’s capable of telling him all about it. Privacy boundaries are not a concept she’s familiar with.
    I don’t want Chris to know any more than he needs to. Fighting him off is difficult enough as it is.
    After a crapload more inquisitive questions and blatant hints, Mom leaves and I can breathe more easily.
    The first few moments alone again in the apartment, Chris and I are quiet. Because I don’t know what Mom told him, I’m not sure what is safe to say and what is not. But he surprises me when, after avoiding my eyes for long minutes, he says, completely unrelated, “I’m sorry about the other night.”
    “What?”
    “When I drove you back from the party drunk. It was a dick move. I should know better. I’ve been meaning to apologize but I missed you every time or I was out.”
    “Ah …” I don’t know what to say. I sure wasn’t happy about it, but it is a thing of the past. “It wasn’t cool. But we were fine.”
    “Yeah,” he says on a long, slow exhale. “But shit could’ve happened. I wasn’t thinking.” Obviously embarrassed, he adds, “I feel so stupid, with you seeing that video and all.”
    “Don’t do it again. I’d hate for something bad happening …” ‘To you’ is on the tip of my tongue but I manage to bite it off just in time. Still, the sentiment persists, settling with a cold weight in my stomach when I think of him crashing the car, getting injured or injuring someone else and then feeling guilty over it. Or worse.
    It unnerves me, this deep worry. I can barely look at him when I excuse myself, saying I’ve got another piece of clothing to design, and retreat into my room. Unfortunately, the heavy feeling follows me, and instead of being creative and productive, I just mope around, feeling constricted and miserable.
    By the evening when Isabelle comes to watch a DVD with me, I’m almost relaxed again.
    We’re watching Casablanca , a film we’ve been wanting to watch together for a long time.
    At the last minute, Chris’s buddy Ral cancels their plans, and Chris decides to watch it with us. I’m none too pleased with this, but I can’t say no. It’s not just that it would be rude. I simply can’t.
    Because you want him to be there. You miss him when he’s not.
    Izzy, who’s more tech savvy than I am, is prepping the DVD, while I get some napkins from the kitchen to eat the pizza that just arrived.
    Chris is lounging on the couch so I have to swat his legs to move and make space for Iz and me.
    “I can’t believe you were ever a competitive athlete. You’re so lazy.”
    He chuckles, but doesn’t comment.
    “No, really. You don’t seem the competitive sort.”
    “I reserve competitiveness for the slopes. Or used to, anyway. And even there the important thing is to enjoy yourself. You can’t win otherwise.”
    “Hm.” I think I understand what he means. I saw it in my mother too. Not the competitiveness, but the passion. Her best illustrations were the ones she painted with love. Sometimes she worked on commissions that she didn’t particularly like but she had to take them on to earn some money. She always struggled with those, and was