The Blue House of 1478 (12) (Patreon)

"So it went well?  Do you think you'll have new, age-appropriate roommates soon?"

"No,"  I say this firmly, shaking my head for good measure, even through the late realization that my sister can't see me.  "Absolutely not.  I took a step back from the situation, realized it may be a dream and have decided to live on the beach."

"What! Why?"  Katie groans loudly, and I pull my cell phone from my ear with a wince, "he sounds fantastic.  Also, Sleepy Birch's beach is just super tiny rocks.  You'll get a backache."

"Katie, he hugged me goodbye — he hugged me, and I stood there with my hand out. Like an idiot."  I relive the moment as I say it, cringing with the thought that I have never wanted to kick myself more.  "Why did I leave my hand out?"

"Theo, that's so cute."  My sister coos like a heartless monster,  "it's like a rom-com.  Do you want to know how many rom-com moments happen to me?  Nada."

"No.  It was not cute.  Oh, and he didn't even mean anything by it either.  Good ol', nice to meet you hug, and my head is playing out some operatic love affair.  Why am I like this?"

"Like what?"

"You know me."  I scowl at the overwatered plants that look near drowned in our cobblestone-lined garden area — one that boasts the Sleepy Birch Apartments signage.  "If someone holds the door open for me, I'm already in a wedding dress and at the altar!"

"So?  What's wrong with it!  Why does it have to be a nice to meet you, hug?" Katie snips, her excitement deflating.  "Why can't it be a soap opera love affair?"

Because Matthias is well-mannered, well-dressed,  handsome, and — no.  I'd ignore every red flag for his crooked smile, and that's precisely the situation I don't want to spend my twenties in.

"Because it was the same sort of hug Liza gave her frenemies at her graduation ceremony.  I don't think they're having any sort of love affair together, either."

It doesn't matter.

"Ah, a one-armed hug."

"Yes, the classic one-armed hug."

When Matthias told me he'd like to meet me again next Saturday at the coffee shop...

I froze like a deer in headlights—a stupid deer with an even stupider infatuation for headlights and all the disaster that follows.  I think of Adrian, and I think of being enamored with him in exactly the same way. I think of his easy charm, his clean-cut appearance, and disarming smile.

I think of Levi's repulsive attitude and handsome leer.  Infatuations never turn out well for me.

"Oh, well.  You're touch starved, and you have a crush," my sister is giggling through my poor track phone, and I fling my hand skyward, wondering why heaven thought it was so funny to have me meet beautiful men in my mismatched shoes.

Why does heaven want me to meet men at all?!

I prop myself against the bike rack and sigh.  I still haven't entered the apartment because I hate when Liza eavesdrops on my phone calls, and she's particularly nosy when it comes to Katie and I's long-standing familial friendship — something Liza is incapable of.

"This is so exciting."  Katie hums, her excitement persevering through my negativity.  "At least describe him to me!"

"No describing.  I'm tossing his appearance from my memory.  And — this isn't a crush.  He just looks like a..."  I try to find a word that doesn't make it seem like I'm a panting twelve-year-old watching their first Britney Years music video, "I don't know.  It was just unfair.  You would have been angry too, looking at him."

"Is that so?"

"Yes.  He's the gene-pool favorite.  It was blasphemy to look at him.  Like — I'm a mortal, and he is probably a God or something, and I'm probably in the process of being smitten dead."

Katie hums in interest at my word vomit,

"You already are smitten.  I'm living through you right now. I haven't had new romance sparks since I was fifteen.  I should Mebook stalk him. What's his name?  I want to see this god-like man."

"There's no romance.  Are you even listening?  Do not Mebook creep on him; you're underestimating the severity of this situation, Katie," I laugh, kick at a rock that's strayed from the gravel lining,

"This is just so —"

"I can't rent from him."  The conclusion is sudden, quieter, and Katie groans instantly.

"And why is that?"  My sister doesn't sound impressed, but she does sound like she's got a mouthful of food,  "Sorry, I have Chinese take-out leftovers that I'm trying to eat before Kyle gets back from work — and I'm still going to look him up."

She adds the last bit on quietly, but I hear her.

"You should have heard me.  I'm not on his level. I feel like his roommate is going to be adult-like and put together, maybe they even wear matching cardigans, and here I am; newspaper boy, er, man... with rainboots."  I groan, "He even had a binder with laminated pictures."

"Newspaperman sounds creepy.  You're too hard on yourself.  You have a job that pays, and you have the money to rent,"  I nod to her scolding tone, even though she can't see me,  "I say that you're very adult-like, and you got those very practical rain-boots because you live in Satan's armpit where he is perpetually perspiring —  for a good deal."

I sigh, stand in silence for a second, and listen to Katie chew.

"I love you.  You're a good sister."  I say, finally, and snort at her surprised giggle.  "A liar, but a good one."

"Well, what are you doing today?"  Katie giggles. "Anything else that I can live through?"

"Working." I shrug.  "Then ghost hunting with Hunter like the adult that you swear that I am."

"Theo, stop it.  Everyone has hobbies."

"Ghost hunting hobbies?"

I raise my eyebrows. Silence follows before she grunts.

"Only the best.  Go think about your new house!"  Katie swallows loudly,  "Remember to be polite to god-man.  And text me his name."

"I will not."

"Be safe hunting for the paranormal."

"Maybe!"

I hang up when she gasps, but I'm smiling.  I try not to be too sentimental about my attachment to her or too disappointed by our conversation ending.

Instead, I dig in my back pocket for Matthias' water blotched price quote, tapping it into my phone for safekeeping, and then grab my groceries.

"Here goes nothing."

My legs are sore. I can feel the sting of too much bicycle riding as I carry the jug of milk up the apartment complex's stairs.

Work is going to suck.