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Chloé moving into Zoé’s space isn’t something that’s easy for either of them. Zoé’s apartment is relatively small, and Chloé is nothing if not a hoarder. Especially when it comes to clothes. Especially since Chloé is still very particular about the way her clothes are packed and hung up.
But they eventually get everything packed between the too-small closet (too small for Chloé’s tastes, which tend towards walk-in) and the dresser they had to build from instructions (that Zoé had to build, because Chloé didn’t want to break a nail) and a small portion of Zoé’s closet (a necessary sacrifice for the clothes Chloé wears the least often).
“There, was that so difficult?” Chloé asks.
“I honestly thought it’d be worse,” Zoé answers. It’s not like she’s lying about that, at least.
It does, in fact, get worse. Chloé, apparently, thought the best way to respond to freedom was by becoming a serial dater. Where did she even meet all those people? Zoé could hardly approach a girl without getting flustered.
“Some girls are really into the tomboy thing,” Chloé answers one night. “You’d probably do fairly well at a club. Not that I want to be seen at the same club as you.”
“I wouldn’t go with you either,” Zoé responds. She doesn’t want to attempt to do anything knowing her sister was around and probably keeping an eye to make sure they didn’t set their sights on the same person. “You’d probably be a shitty wingwoman.”
“Like you know anything about wingwomaning,” Chloé challenges.
“As a matter of fact,” Zoé responds, feeling smug about it, “I have helped formulate plans for—”
“Shut up, I don’t want to know,” Chloé responds.
Zoé rolls her eyes, but doesn’t keep going.
Chloé looks like she’s about to fight the coffee machine.
“You have to be gentle with it,” Zoé says as she steps into the room. She stifles a yawn — she could definitely use some coffee right now. Chloé was never the one that got up first when they were teenagers, but now it was a coinflip that favored Zoé. “Do not break my coffee machine, or else you’re replacing it.”
“I could,” Chloé says, pounding a fist on the machine. Zoé’s been tempted to do the same before, if she’s being honest with herself. “I could buy you a new coffee machine. Just to get rid of this abomination.”
“It’s not an abomination,” Zoé answers. “Step aside, and let me show you how it’s done.”
Chloé crosses her arms. “Hmph.” But she steps aside, which is good enough for Zoé, who is able to unclog the coffee machine and successfully get it working.
“There. Was that so hard?” Zoé asks.
“I’m still buying you a new one for…” Chloé glances at the calendar. “Your birthday.”
Closer than Christmas, Zoé supposes. She’s honestly surprised Chloé even knows her birthday.
“If you remember by then,” Zoé says. “No place to hide it if you buy it now.”
Chloé just growls in response.
Chloé’s morning routine always takes forever. She showers, and then proceeds to spend the next hour doing her hair and makeup.
Zoé’s more than content to roll out of bed, brush her hair, and call it a day, but she does still need to use the bathroom and brush her teeth in the mornings. She’s shifted to showering during the evenings so it doesn’t take her as long to get ready in the morning (and she thinks she likes it better now that she’s showering in the evenings) but Chloé’s makeup still takes up most of Zoé’s mirror cabinet space and she still spends an hour and a half in there every morning.
An hour and a half that Zoé doesn’t have, because not everyone is unemployed. Someone has to make money to pay rent — Chloé’s money might be her own now, but it won’t last forever, and Zoé doesn’t want to use Chloé’s money as a shield.
So it’s up to Zoé to get in and out of the bathroom before Chloé gets up, which is a tossup because Chloé does wake up earlier than Zoé sometimes.
Honestly. What does Chloé do with her time anyways?
“What are you going to do with yourself, anyways?” Zoé asks. “It’s not like the fortune will last forever.”
Andre’s fortune — all of which has gone to Chloé — is large but not infinite; he was a multimillionaire, but in Paris that won’t stay for that long. It’s a wonder Zoé was able to hang onto this apartment for as long as she had before Chloé moved in with her.
Chloé seems to actually consider the question, instead of using her default response of pushing Zoé away or rebuffing her somehow. “You’re right. It won’t.”
“Do you have a plan?” Zoé asks.
“Of course I do!” Chloé snaps.
“I think you’re lying to me,” Zoé responds. “I think you don’t know what you’re doing at all. You’re just putting on confidence. You’ve never had passion for anything in your life besides yourself—”
“That’s not true,” Chloé says, deathly quiet. “It’s not—it can’t be. I won’t let it be true.”
“You sold the hotel,” Zoé says. “I thought you’d try to run it yourself.”
“I know where I’m not wanted,” Chloé responds, sounding awfully bitter.
“And yet you came here when you needed help.”
“Because I knew you’re too nice to turn away someone in need. It doesn’t matter that I’m your sister. You would have done the same thing for anyone else.”
“I wouldn’t have let just anyone move in,” Zoé says. “I probably would have snapped at anyone else for all the shit you’ve put me through. Your morning routine is difficult to plan around, you’re constantly bringing people home for one-night-stands without telling me, you’ve taken up most of my bathroom storage with your makeup products…but you’re my sister, and I’d like to be your family.”
Chloé seems…surprised, almost, by that. She doesn’t say anything.
“So. I don’t really care what exactly you decide to do next, but don’t try to tell me that I don’t care about you,” Zoé says. “I care more than you know.”
“Well. Now I do know,” Chloé says, and walks off.
Chloé enrolled herself in some online classes, apparently. She’s cagey about what sorts of classes — it’s not like Zoé would make fun of her for her interests (it was more likely to be the other way around, really, but they hadn’t had any fights over the TV yet, so that was something at least) but Chloé’s always cagey about the stuff that really matters. Getting her to talk about something serious involves baiting her until she gets angry enough to tell the truth.
It’s frustrating and emotionally draining, but that sort of problem isn’t getting fixed without a therapist, so…
“How’s it going?” Zoé asks from where Chloé is sitting on the couch with her laptop. She’s enjoying a nice round of Candy Crush on her phone.
Chloé takes out one of her earbuds. “What?”
“I was asking how you were doing,” Zoé answers.
“Perfectly fine, thank you very much,” Chloé answers before putting her earbud back in. End of conversation. Simple enough.
Zoé’s been forgiving so far, because it’s only been a few months since Chloé first moved in, but Chloé hasn’t done anything besides her own laundry. Zoé’s been responsible for cooking and doing the dishes and keeping the rest of the apartment clean. She stays out of Chloé’s room. That’s her responsibility.
Zoé knows that growing up in the hotel probably means that Chloé’s never had to clean anything in her life. There were always housekeepers to pick up after her, and Andre Bourgeois spoiled Chloé a lot.
“Come on,” Zoé says, “I’m telling you how to wash the dishes. I’m not expecting you to cook or anything, but I’d like to take a break sometime.”
Chloé just frowns and looks down at her nails.
“Be careful and you won’t have any problems,” Zoé says. “You could wear gloves, I guess, but it won’t guarantee anything.”
“...fine,” Chloé says. They get up and head for the sink. Zoé stands at her side, soaping down dishes for Chloé to rinse off. Between the two of them, it’s a lot more efficient.
“Next time, you’re handling it on your own,” Zoé says. “Did you pay attention?”
“I did,” Chloé answers. “I wish I didn’t have to.”
Zoé’s always heard that living with another person is difficult. Even if that person is a friend, someone you know well. She’s never heard anything about moving in with someone that hates you a little bit, but she assumes no one else besides her would try it.
And hey, Chloé’s not the worst roommate, Zoé thinks. Even with all the idiosyncrasies Zoé’s had to deal with, she and Chloé are still standing, and nobody’s been murdered or is going to be murdered.
“Happy birthday,” Chloé says, handing her a wrapped box.
“Did you wrap this yourself?” Zoé asks.
“No, I asked the employee to do it for me,” Chloé answers absentmindedly.
Zoé tears open the wrapping paper and laughs.
It’s a coffee machine.