Page 16 of All Our Almosts

Meanwhile, Andy and I find our roommate rhythm pretty quickly. Andy wakes up at 7:30 AM every day, Monday through Sunday, goes for a jog, then takes a shower before starting work. I am somewhat less regimented, waking up when God wills it and usually showering at night. Andy buys groceries on Thursdays and Sundays, and cooks for both of us every evening. I assign myself most of the remaining chores to balance things out—trash, bathroom, vacuuming, etc. (I don’t want to be a crappy roommate and an imposition. It’s like, pick a lane.) Oh, and we stop staying up until 3:00 AM every night, which was admittedly not sustainable.

So now it’s day six of roommate-hood, and I’m very stressed, but not because of my living situation. It’s because of this stupid presentation to the board tomorrow that I had to rush to get prepared on time, and am not confident it’s any good at all. I can already see my night sprawling out before me: seated on the floor of my bedroom scrolling back and forth through my slides like the information in them is going to become more impressive upon the twelfth glance.

As a lifelong overthinker, I’ve developed some coping mechanisms for days like this. My favorite one is distraction. So as I disembark from the train and start walking home, I call my mom looking for Minneapolis’s hottest gossip (among women of a certain age who happen to live in my mom’s neighborhood). It’s snowing pretty hard now, with a few inches on the ground already. The phone rings four times before she answers.

“Hi, sweetie!”

“Hi, mom. How are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good. I’m just whipping up some Snickers salad for book club, here let me put you on speaker.” I hear the click of the phone as it’s placed on the countertop, and her voice sounds a bit farther away when she asks, “Can you hear me still?”

“Yep, clear as a bell.”

And then she’s off.

My mom has the energy of a firework show. She’s very entertaining and always has stories to share, and when she decides she wants to talk about something, there’s almost no hope of wriggling your way out of the conversation. Today’s topics include: the wonders of acupuncture, her boyfriend Billy and his new birding hobby, and a bit of drama she saw on Facebook.

“But anyway honey how are you? How’s work?”

“Work’s great,” I report. “Same old, same old.”

Between you and me, I haven’t really kept her in the loop about the exhibit launch. It’s not like a secret or something—I’ll tell her about it afterwards. It’s just that she’s happy when I’m happy, so it’s easier to report back once the stressful part is behind me.

“And what about Elliot?” she asks. “How’s he?”

“Oh, um, we actually broke up over the weekend.”

“You did? Oh my god honey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s all fine,” I insist. “I feel really good about it. And I’m gonna be living with Andy until I can find a place on my own, and his place is really nice. He has a spare bedroom and everything.”

“Andy? Really?”

I can see where this conversation is going from 1,400 miles away as I answer, “Yep.”

“You didn’t want to live with Lia?”

“Well, she’s in a studio, so there isn’t really space for me.”

“Hmm.”

“What’s that ‘hmm’?” I try to keep my tone light.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I just don’t really see you living together. Andy’s a nice enough boy, but he’s sort of standoffish, don’t you think?”

I shake my head but keep walking. “He only seems that way until you get to know him.”

“Well you’ll make your own choices, I’m sure. But I have to tell you, living with an emotionally repressed man isn’t for the faint of heart. I would know, I lived with your father for almost 20 years.” She laughs at herself, all Midwestern charm, but it doesn’t land with me right now.

“He’s not emotionally repressed, mom. Really, he’s just shy. I promise.”

I can feel her shrug through the phone. “It’s up to you, Sophia.” (She’s the only one who ever uses my full name earnestly.) “ But I’ll be hoping you find a nice place of your own soon.”

“Thanks.”

After a beat, she asks, “You would tell me if you weren’t happy, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” I say immediately. “But I am happy. I’m doing great, really. The breakup was my choice and I’m honestly feeling good about it all.”