Page 11 of Broken Romeo
“We should still meet with this potential roommate, though,” I add. “Just in case I don’t get this job.”
Her bottom lip wobbles, but she nods. “Just know that if I only have two more weeks with you, I’m going to be a barnacle on your ass for every free moment we have.”
I smile at her. “You’ve been a barnacle on my ass for five years. Why should the next two weeks be any different?”
She bites her trembling bottom lip, and I spin away, stuffing the Post-it into my back pocket. I can’t see her cry, or I’ll lose it, too.
Behind me, there’s a rustle and then the quiet sounds of Jill blowing her nose. I grab the first thing I see in front of me—a rag—then wipe down the already spotless counter as the sniffling behind me quickly subsides.
Our coworker, Curt, finishes an order and slides beside me, tossing his shaggy brown hair out of his dark eyes. He towers over me, never missing an opportunity to glance down my shirt. Sure enough, his gaze travels to my boobs as he asks, “How’s it going, Kate?”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t know. Are you asking me or my tits? Because I’m fine, but as you can probably tell, it’s a little chilly in here.”
His eyes sharpen and dart to my face, a sheepish smile lifting the corners of his mouth. Two little pink circles heat his cheeks, but otherwise, he gives no other indication that he might be embarrassed. “My building has a hot tub on the roof. If you ever want to warm up after work.”
“You mean your parents’ building has a hot tub.”
He’s tried that line on me before. It didn’t work a year ago when I started my job here, and it isn’t going to work now. Not to mention, a communal hot tub in a New York City apartment building—even on the Upper West Side—isn’t all that appealing.
Jill snorts a laugh that quickly transforms into a sob. She cries into a napkin, dabbing her tears. “See? I’m going to miss this!”
My face twists. “You’re going to miss this?”
Damn, she’s in worse shape than I thought over my leaving if Creepy Curt sexually harassing his coworkers makes her cry.
Curt glances at Jill’s tear-stained face, and his smile fades. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Nothing,” I say. “Jill’s… feeling nostalgic.”
Curt gives us each a strange look but resumes his spot at the register.
Jill wads the napkin into a ball and chucks it into the trash beside her, sniffing. “Whoever this new roommate is, she’s not you. I can’t see myself living with anyone else.”
“You can’t see it because you’ve never had to live with anyone else.”
Literally. Jill and I have been roommates since freshman year of college. “Maybe she’s awesome. Maybe she doesn’t leave her wet towel in a pile at the bottom of the hamper where it gets all stinky and dank. Or maybe she won’t steal your oatmilk and claim it was your cat.”
Jill points a finger at my nose. “I knew it!”
I roll my eyes. “Well, duh. You really think Junie can open the fridge with her little paws? My point is, I’m kind of a shitty roommate. Maybe this new person will be incredible.”
And I bet she’ll pay her rent on time.
“And maybe we won’t need her at all if you nail this nanny interview.” Snapping the lid off her London Fog latte, she licks the sweetened foam off the top.
I level Jill with a look that would rival my mother’s.
“Fine.” Jill sighs, then examines her cuticles before she asks, “What time are we meeting her?”
“Noon,” I say and tug my phone from the apron pocket to check the time.
My shoulders go rigid. I have thirteen missed calls.
Thirteen.
Most days, I get one or two calls tops… and they’re usually spam.
Not only do I have thirteen missed calls, but I have thirteen new voice messages. All from the same 516 area code.