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The best part of sleeping at your boyfriend’s house is claiming all of his belongings as your own. Linda discovered this philosophy rather quickly into her relationship with Bob, and she takes advantage of it at any chance she gets.
This is one of several ways that her current relationship differs from all the ones she’s had before. Her former boyfriends were all fine, and none of them did much that was overtly wrong, but she was never all that excited about them either.
Dating had almost become a chore for her—dragging her feet through boring dates, forgetting that love was supposed to be magical. Bob makes her feel all of that stuff she’d resigned herself to never finding: peace, excitement, comfort, and electricity all in one person.
Linda thinks that’s why she loves to wear his clothes so much. It makes her feel his. Like drowning in his shirts proves how embedded they’ve become in each other’s lives. Plucking one of her favorite shirts from his top drawer, she happily pulls it on over her bare chest.
This one is plain black, and it drapes down past her thighs. Bob claims he grew out of it, and that’s why it’s been removed from his outfit rotation, but Linda knows he’s just relinquished it entirely to her. She appreciates a man who’s willing to accept defeat.
Wanting to complete her makeshift pajama set, she crouches to the ground to inspect Bob’s sock drawer. She spots a particularly fuzzy pair and snatches them, already planning to play innocent if Bob questions the theft.
After warming her feet, she exits the bedroom and heads toward the kitchen. Bob’s roommate, whose name Linda can never remember, stares with disdain.
“Hi!” Linda says cheerfully. “Hi there. Have you been here all day?”
Not usually one to tend toward modesty, Linda still pulls Bob’s shirt down as inconspicuously as possible. It covers her, but one ill-planned stretch would send the ensemble veering into the inappropriate category.
“I just got home.” The roommate says coldly.
“So, do you pay rent on this place now? Because you’re…here. A lot. Even when your boyfriend isn’t.”
Linda starts off assuming he’s being friendly, but by the time he’s finished talking even she’s fully tuned in to the looming tension. She is here a lot, but that’s because…it’s Bob’s apartment. And wherever Bob lives feels like home to her. By the way he freely rifles through the fridge at her place, she can tell this feeling is mutual.
“Pay rent?” Linda repeats lightheartedly, buying herself time to think of a charming response. “Not yet! Bobby doesn’t mind if I stay here, when he’s at work.”
Because Bob gets it. He understands, without any discussion needed, that Linda should always be there when he gets home. The same principle applies when she works a late shift, and she finds herself driving to see him at two in the morning.
“Great.” Bob’s roommate says, his tone just flat enough that a confrontation isn’t necessary.
Linda understands his annoyance, she does, but she also doesn’t see how her flitting about the empty apartment all day was harmful to anyone. For the most part, she stayed in Bob’s room, reading in his bed. Their bed is actually how they think of it now.
“Well…I’ll leave you to cooking your dinner, hon.” Linda says with a friendly wave. “I’ll uh…I’ll wait for Bob in the bedroom.”
Though she’s slightly uncomfortable now, it isn’t nearly severe enough to drive her away. She’s seen Bob’s roommate take one too many glances at her chest on mornings when she’s yet to put a bra on, and that alone should count as her portion of the rent.
When she reaches the bedroom, she slumps back grumpily onto the mattress. Nights like this one are her least favorite. Bob works late shifts at a restaurant, and she starts getting lonely around a quarter to ten. She could go back to her own apartment, with her own roommate, but that bedroom is beginning to feel almost unfamiliar. At least when she waits for Bob at his place, she’s surrounded by both of their things.
Staring at the ceiling, her focus narrows in on a stain she’s come to know well. It’s shaped almost like a star, but the leftmost point stretches unusually far out. Bob pointed it out months ago, when they were lying around in bed one morning, and that memory remains permanently captured in Linda’s brain.
The stain constellation doesn’t provide much entertainment, and it isn’t long before her eyes start to flutter shut. Outside, the sun has long since set, and a flurry of partygoers are scattering from nearby apartments. Before Linda can drift off completely, a rattling key in the front door brings her to life.
Bob! He’s home, finally, which means she won’t have to endure falling asleep without pillow talk. Linda listens as he kicks off his shoes, has a brief and unintelligible interaction with his roommate, and begins walking in her direction. Crawling to the end of the bed, she sits up on her knees to welcome him.
“Hi Bobby!” She says excitedly, when he enters the room.
He crouches slightly, opening one of his arms to give her a distracted hug.
“I’m pretty sure Jack hates us.” He says, before he’s even greeted her.
Jack. That must be his stupid roommate’s name. Linda makes a mental note of it, but the information disappears just as quickly as it always does.
“Does he?” She asks. “I thought he was acting weird. What did we do? We’re great!”
Bob shrugs, wrinkling his nose.
“Are we? We’re probably kind of…insufferable. If you aren’t us. Hi, by the way. You’re wearing my clothes again.”
“Insufferable?” Linda balks. “Like hell we are! We’re perfectly nice people, Bob. James probably just has bad taste!”
“Jack.”
“Same difference! He’s obviously lonely in his sad, pathetic life, so he takes it out on people who are in love! Like us!”
Bob hums noncommittally, sitting next to her on the bed as he begins peeling off his socks. Linda leans all of her weight against him, unbothered by the smell of sweat emanating from his work clothes.
“I’m pretty sure Jack does have a girlfriend, Lin.” He says. “We just don’t see her a lot, because…I don’t know. They hang out when we aren’t here, or they…aren’t as attached or something.”
Linda frowns. Bob says attached like it’s something they should apologize for, but she likes being this intertwined. She doesn’t want to be with someone she wouldn’t mind being away from.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with us.” Bob clarifies hastily. “I just think we’re…a lot. Well, one of is a lot. You.”
Linda raises her head from his shoulder, so she can fix him with a proper glare.
“It’s not my fault I’m passionate, and you live with a boring, old lump.”
Bob sighs.
“I know, Lin, but…we do stay up late talking, and that might be annoying. Plus you’re always here, which I like, but…I can see why someone else might be…overwhelmed.”
Linda knows she should probably be offended, but that just isn’t her natural response. She’s got a big personality, and her refusal to tone it down will inevitably alienate some people. That’s a reality she’s become accustomed to.
“….fine.” She relents. “I guess I could be…quieter. Especially after dark. And I could stop eating all the cereal.”
Bob chuckles softly, seemingly torn between amusement and irritation.
“Good plan.” He says. “And in October my lease will be up, and…”
He trails off hopefully, avoiding eye contact, and Linda beams. She links their hands together, still smiling brightly, and he turns his head to smile back.
“Oh, you know it!” She says eagerly, squeezing. “I’m glad to hear we’re on the same page.”
She rests her head against his shoulder again, inhaling his scent, and she still doesn’t mind that he hasn’t showered.
Watching Bob do the dishes is a more strenuous experience than Linda ever would have imagined.
He just does them so unequivocally wrong . He starts with plates, which is already weird, but then he only uses one glob of soap for every dish. One? Linda knows he thinks he’s avoiding waste, but she prefers to freely add as much soap as she wants. It’s a case-by-case thing, and Bob makes it far too methodical.
“Great dinner tonight!” She says, leaning forward in her kitchen chair.
Trying to distract herself from his awful dishwashing, she shifts the subject to something he truly excels at: cooking. Linda’s stomach is full from the pasta he made them, but she still hasn’t entirely ruled out going for a third helping later.
“Really?” Bob asks, gliding a sponge carelessly over his favorite whisk.
She can’t see from where she’s sitting, but Linda doesn’t know how his halfhearted scrubbing could possibly be getting the job done right. She cringes.
“I wanted to try something new, but I wasn’t sure if it would work out.” Bob continues.
He looks away from the whisk, washing it blindly now, but Linda bites her tongue. Bob is staring at her like a lost puppy, desperate for approval, and it would be cruel to criticize him now.
“Well, you did a beautiful job.” She assures him. “Couldn’t even tell it was your first time! Really.”
He looks to the dishes again, smiling sheepishly down at his cooking instruments.
“I maybe…did a few practice runs.” He admits. “I wanted to make sure it was perfect. For you.”
So touched by this thoughtfulness, Linda almost forgets to keep careful watch of what he’s doing. Then, he tosses the whisk on the drying rack without double checking it for debris, and she’s preoccupied all over again.
“Oh…aww.” She manages to say, not wanting to disclose what she’s really thinking. “That’s sweet, Bobby. For me?”
Bob starts in on the biggest pot, the one he made the pasta sauce in, and Linda really doesn’t trust him with the substantial chore of making it spotless.
“Yeah. I’m glad you liked it. Unless you’re just pretending to. To be nice. Oh, god. Don’t tell me if you are. I—I don’t think I can take it.”
Linda’s hardly listening. One pump of soap? For the entire pot, practically stained red with with homemade marinara?
“That’s it!” She says, standing from her chair.
Seeing Bob’s startled expression, she remembers that he’s in a vulnerable state and shakes her head.
“Sorry. This isn’t about the food, hon. That was great. I’m your biggest fan! It’s just…the dishes. Let me help you, please?”
Bob looks down at his pot, then back at her, then back again at the pot.
“The dishes?” He asks, puzzled. “No, Lin, I’ve got them.”
Linda shakes her head again, more emphatically, not willing to let his borderline criminal conduct continue.
“You don’t, Bob. You really, really don’t. Do you not see that bowl right there? The one on the drying rack? It’s still got a friggin’ noodle on it! Gross!”
Still dumbfounded, Bob looks at the dish she’s gesturing wildly to. As she said, a penne noodle is still stuck inside. He frowns.
“Oh. I…I was gonna get that.” He lies. “Wait. Linda, do you think I’m…bad at doing the dishes?”
She twists her face in thought, searching for kinder wording, but comes up empty.
“Yeah.” She admits. “Kinda, yeah. Move over, and I’ll show you how to do it the right way.”
When Bob waits too long to follow her request, she forces her way past him and up to the sink.
“I’ll wash, and you dry.” She instructs.
Bob still looks reluctant to admit he needs any assistance, but he caves enough to pass Linda the dish in his hands.
“Fine.” He says. “I was trying to do something chivalrous, but…fine.”
Ignoring his snark, Linda tears the pot excitedly from his hands.
“Don’t take it personally, Bob. It’s not your fault you’re bad at dishes! I’m here to help you now. Yay, teamwork!”
He backs away from the sink, giving her room, and moves closer to the drying rack. Linda adds three pumps of soap to the pot and begins to scrub. Really scrub. Not whatever lazy, limp-wristed thing Bob was doing. He eyes her with envy.
“…oh. I guess you are better at this than I am. Geez. You really get into that, don’t you?”
Linda laughs, her hands plunged deep into the watery dish.
“I do. But do you think I could’ve made that dinner? No way! That’s all you, baby.”
She hip checks him.
“You see? That’s why we go together so well.”
Despite himself, Bob’s lips turn upward in a hesitant smile.
“We’re a good team.” He acknowledges. “And the dishes will get done quicker this way.”
As Bob and Linda busy themselves with their individual responsibilities, she thinks about how happy she is to wash the dishes with him. It’s a chore alone, and it’s still a chore, but it’s also…pleasant. Having a partner takes a lot of the weight from menial jobs.
Bob hums to himself as he dries a bowl, and Linda catches herself smiling at nothing.
After the week she’s had, Linda is grateful that her roommate is working an eight hour shift. Taking time to herself is the one and only remedy for the mass of stress that’s been gradually piling up in her chest all week. After adding a generous helping of creamer to her coffee, she smiles serenely at the sweet, light brown blend.
The universe has seemingly been out to get Linda since Monday morning, when she was woken before dawn by a frantic call from her sister. Suddenly convinced that one of her cats had contracted rabies, Gayle was distraught by the prospect of putting him down. By the time it was determined that Oswalt had simply gotten into a tube of toothpaste, Linda was already wide awake, frazzled, and bitter about the loss of sleep.
It seemed as though every day this week had been defined by one crisis or another. Linda’s mom called on Tuesday just to issue a reminder about her ticking biological clock. On Wednesday, a pipe in her apartment burst. On Thursday she’d been wrangled into covering for three different coworkers, and Friday came with a mysterious vomiting spell.
Going into the weekend, Linda is dead set on relaxing. No matter what. If the world outside begins burning to the ground, she’ll refuse to offer assistance or acknowledge the apocalypse at all. Her only responsibility on Saturday morning is to curl up on the couch, a cup of coffee on the table and a book in her lap.
She sighs contentedly, pulling a fleece blanket over her legs, ready to be immersed in the novel she’s reading. It’s a murder mystery—the trashy kind with lots of sex, and Linda can’t wait until it’s an appropriate time of day to swap her coffee for a glass of wine. Well, maybe ten a.m. isn’t too early. It’s her special day and all, and it’s not like anyone will ever know…
Before she can fully commit to heading to the kitchen, Linda’s conflicted thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door. Her stomach drops.
No, no. She thinks, irritation dissolving quickly into panic. Why would someone be here today? Did I make plans I forgot about? Maybe if I’m real quiet, they’ll go away.
Having this alone time wrenched away would be the last straw of Linda’s hellish week, and she doesn’t trust herself not to snap at the person on the other side of the door. Holding her breath, hoping for the sound of retreating footsteps, she swears when there’s another knock at the door instead.
“Damn it.” She mutters, acidity already filling her words.
The thought of ignoring the visitor comes and goes quickly. Linda is both naturally curious and naturally kind, so sending a mysterious guest away with no answers would gnaw at her for the rest of the day. She sighs, rising from the comfortable sofa, and prays this interaction will be short and sweet.
“I’m coming!” She snaps, when her guest rams their fist against her door once again.
Swinging it open without caution, Linda knows she must look like a wreck. Her robe is tied haphazardly, creating a gaping hole straight through to her ratty pajamas. Besides that, her greasy hair has been tossed up into a disastrous ponytail. Thankfully, the person at her doorstep has seen her in worse states before.
“Oh.” She says with surprise, annoyance zapped partially from her demeanor. “Bobby? Uh…hi hon. What are you doing here?”
He’s sensitive, Linda. She’s quick to remind herself. Be gentle . Don’t let him know how close he is to getting hot coffee poured all over his stupid lazy pants.
“Hi Lin.” He says softly, swooping down to give her a chaste hello kiss.
It’s sweet, and it softens Linda up a little more, but it’s still not enough to make her stop missing the alone time she’s craved all week. Frowning, she takes in Bob’s appearance. His hair looks disheveled. Uncombed, probably. There’s stubble on his face, and he’s wearing the ugly, tattered, horrible sweatpants that Linda hates. She’s been so vocal about her dislike, that he’s stopped wearing them around her altogether. Apparently, this morning is the exception. On his back, strangely, is dark colored backpack.
“I know you’ve had a bad week.” Bob begins, seeing Linda’s confusion.
She nods, affirming the statement. Bob had been with her, when Gayle woke them with her shrieking phone call, and he’s gotten an earful of complaints all week during their nightly chats.
“Horrible week.” She corrects. “Might go down in history.”
She picks a stray particle of lint from Bob’s shirt, realizing that it, like his pants, is old and worn down. At the very least, it’s a relief to see that he has no intention of going out.
“I know.” Bob repeats sympathetically. “Mine’s been kind of bad, too. Work is…so busy right now, and everyone who comes in is terrible.”
Shifting her weight impatiently to the opposite side, Linda feels a twinge of guilt. Admittedly, she’s been monopolizing most of their recent conversations with her own problems.
“Really?” She says. “Oh, Bobby, I’m sorry.”
The innate urge to mother kicks in, overpowering all previous frustration. She rubs a soothing hand over his upper arm.
“It’s okay.” Bob assures her. “It’s not a big deal. I just wanted some alone time this morning. To kind of…unwind? And I knew you wanted that, too.”
Linda’s hand stills, confused by his contradictions. If they both knew that what they wanted was time alone, then surely showing up unexpectedly at her apartment wasn’t a sensible solution.
“But,” he continues, “I also missed you. We’ve barely seen each other all week.”
Linda smiles sadly. The same thing had occurred to her, when she was getting out of bed alone that morning.
“I know.” She says. “Bummer, huh? I missed you, too.”
“Right.” Bob says. “That’s why I thought that maybe we could…have our alone time…together?”
Linda cocks her head to one side, silently questioning his logic, and he’s quick to follow up.
“Like, you can read your book and take a hot bath.” He explains. “And I could build one of my models and watch a western movie. And…we wouldn’t have to talk to each other. Preferably.”
Linda laughs, understanding now why Bob’s carrying his heavy-looking backpack. It must be where he stores his semi-endearing, mostly lame miniature model supplies.
She pictures the day that he’s laid out for them, and the peace flooding her brain makes the decision for her. Relaxing like she planned, but doing it alongside her favorite person, is a perfect combination.
“Aww!” She gushes, pulling him inside by the wrist. “Being alone together! You’re a genius, Bobby.”
She leads him to the couch, discarding a throw pillow on the nearby chair in order to make room for him.
“You need anything?” She asks. “A drink, or—?”
Linda’s face screws up, determined, and she halts her line of questions.
“Wait.” She says firmly. “Nope! Not playing hostess today. I’m just gonna pretend you aren’t even here!”
Bob nods, settling onto the couch.
“Good.” He agrees. “Same here. We could meet up for lunch, if you wanted. Order takeout or something.”
Planting a parting kiss to the crown of his head, Linda pulls away with an impressed smile.
“Ooh, good idea! You’re full of those today, aren’t ya?”
As she returns to her end of the sofa, Bob is already starting to assemble a model bus. Reopening her book, Linda stretches out until her feet are brushing against his thigh.
Curling into herself, Linda’s eyes clench shut in pain almost as soon as she wakes.
“Bobby, I'm dying.” She says matter-of-factly, hearing him rustling as he dresses for the day.
“Are you?” He pauses his routine to approach her, laying a hand across her forehead. “No fever, Lin. What’s the matter?”
She shakes her head, tossing and turning for a few moments before deciding to lay flat on her back. Splaying out like a starfish, she takes up both sides of the bed.
“What do you think? If you would just get me pregnant already, then we wouldn’t have this problem.”
She’s mostly joking, but there’s also a kernel of truth to the suggestion. She fantasizes, sometimes, about her period coming late, but…she’s capable of being patient. Bob already knows that once he proposes, they’ll be on the fast track to making perfect, precious, little babies.
“Oh.” He says. “It’s the fifteenth already?”
“Thirteenth.” Linda corrects. “But she’s coming fast, Bobby, and it’s killing my back!”
As though to validate her complaints, another shock of pain echoes through her core. She takes in a deep breath, longing for the feeling to subside. Bob winces along with her, sympathy pain evident on his face.
“I get it.” He says. “Well, I don’t, but I’m sorry. I guess I should get the ingredients for those blueberry muffins you like.”
At the reminder of her consolation prize, Linda brightens. Periods have been much more bearable, since she discovered Bob’s crisp, warm muffin recipe. She’s started craving them without fail, and he doesn’t even require monthly nagging to bake them anymore.
“You’re my hero.” She says. “I’ll need to stop at home before I sleep over tonight, huh?”
Having two separate living spaces seems more and more inconvenient as the days go by, because Linda spends most nights at Bob’s apartment anyway. His face wrinkles in confusion.
“At your place? Why? You have plenty of clothes here. And a toothbrush. Also shampoo and like…twelve bottles of lotion.”
Linda actually only has three bottles of lotion designated for Bob’s apartment, but he has been remarkably patient about the way they’re starting to crowd his dresser. She shakes her head.
“For tampons, hon. You don’t want me bleeding all over your sheets again.”
Over a year ago, when they’d only been dating a few weeks, she’d miscalculated her period start date and woken to a dark stain on Bob’s bed beneath her. Linda had apologized profusely, Bob had promised he didn’t care, and she’d gotten in the shower while he’d changed the sheets. Still, she found the mortification of it all to be just slightly traumatic. Another jab of pain rolls through her stomach and lower back.
“And I need to get Midol, if I have any left.” She adds quickly. “Oh, God, do I?”
Before she can descend into a minor crisis, Bob’s face lights up. She hopes this means he’s thrilled with the concept of going to the pharmacy to buy her a new bottle of pain relievers.
“Oh, that’s right!” He says. “I haven’t shown you yet. Come here.”
Linda groans, not having planned to force herself out of bed for anything not related to blueberry muffins.
“No, really, you’ll like this.” Bob says. “Follow me.”
He reaches the bedroom door long before her, lingering in limbo as she hoists herself onto her feet. She imagines this is a fraction of what she’ll feel, when Bob does get her pregnant—bloated, grouchy, and in pain.
“This better be good.” She mumbles, as he takes her by the hand.
When he leads them down the hall to the bathroom, Linda’s mood only worsens. She’d been hoping, at the very least, that her surprise would be edible. Bob’s begun restocking his pantry with her favorite chips each time he goes grocery shopping, and the charm of this gesture hasn’t fully worn off yet.
“The bathroom, Bob? Gross. I don’t think I wanna see your bathroom surprise. I wanna lie down again!”
He ignores her, rolling his eyes, as he pulls them both inside. When he pulls open the closet, full of toiletries, Linda understands why he’d wanted to show her this.
“Bobby!” She laughs. “Wow. You kinda went overboard, dontcha think?”
Sitting in front of her are two shelves worth of period products: pads, tampons, a bottle of Midol (Thank God), and a neatly folded heating pad.
“I did.” Bob readily admits. “I know that you like tampons sometimes, but they also sometimes freak you out, so…I got the other stuff, too. And the heating pad and the medicine are because your cramps are always so bad.”
Linda beams. Bob isn’t trying to make her feel special, but that’s the effect it has when he pays attention to the specific ebbs and flows of her cycle.
“They are always bad!” She agrees. “Aww. Look at you, Bobby! You’re like a little period professor!”
His proud smile falters.
“Maybe don’t call me—nevermind. I’m glad you like it. And…now you don’t have to leave. Right?”
Linda nods excitedly. Bob is completely enabling her desire to stay in bed all day, and she isn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Nope. I’ll stay here and bother you all day!”
Another flash of pain erupts, and her face falls.
“From bed, though.” She clarifies, clutching her side. “Definitely from bed.”
For several reasons, Linda actually enjoys working as a waitress. Her first priority, being around people, is a requirement satisfied on every shift. Even when the company isn’t great, she makes the most of chatting and making connections. It’s her shining personality that causes certain regulars to request her service specifically (and others to insist on having literally any other waitress).
The money isn’t half bad, either. She lives mostly on tips, and those aren’t hard to come by when you’re unafraid of flattering any customer who walks in the door.
The worst part of Linda’s job is, by far, the hours. She oftentimes works from sunup to sundown, and it isn’t rare for her boss to pressure employees into staying just a couple extra hours at closing time. Linda’s working on saying no to people, even when they’re asking politely.
Secretly, she looks forward to the day that Bob has his own restaurant. She’ll be happy to continue waitressing, and her fingers are crossed that he might be a little more lenient with his staff. That dream is still quite a few years away, but she already plans to occasionally sneak away on extra long breaks. Bob won’t mind.
As she leaves work at the end of a particularly long shift, she decides whether to head in the direction of Bob’s place or her own. When she scrutinizes the benefits of both options, it’s not much of a competition. Though her complex is closer, Bob’s has every other positive: Bob himself, the more comfortable bed, and tortilla chips, if he went shopping.
Heading towards his neighborhood, Linda takes it as a sign that she made the right choice when a Madonna song blares from the radio. Even wrung out by exhaustion, she finds the energy to sing along at the top of her lungs.
By the time she’s scurrying up to Bob’s doorstep, she feels almost as refreshed as she would with a full night’s sleep. The musical interlude was rejuvenating, and she’s now prepared for wherever the night takes them—whether that’s a sex marathon or an all-night bender. It’s much easier to feel prepared for those things, when there’s next to no chance of them actually happening.
Linda knows that in reality, Bob is already asleep in bed. He’ll look up blearily when she climbs in beside him and, still barely conscious, he’ll tell her goodnight before falling immediately back into a deep slumber.
Unless she plays her cards right. Then, she thinks she can convince him to stay up with her a while longer. In fact, she’s positive she can. She’s pretty wide awake, and she wants to drag him into the living room to watch a movie with her. She’ll have her late night snack, and possibly, maybe, hopefully guilt him into rubbing her feet. It’s been such a long day, after all, and she really deserves it.
Yeah. She definitely made the right choice, when she decided to come over to Bob’s.
Using the key he had made for her, she begins the delicate task of opening the door while making as little noise as possible. She’s surprised, when the door swings open, to see a living room still flooded with light.
That’s odd. Though Bob sometimes stays up tossing and turning, it’s rare that he’d still be watching TV at this hour. Linda’s eyes flit first to the show onscreen, a trashy game show that Bob can’t stand. She raises her eyebrows, turning to face the couch, and sees…oh, that’s right. Bob isn’t the only person living here. His roommate is staring back at her, annoyed, one arm wrapped around an equally miffed blonde woman.
“Oh!” Linda says, flustered. “Sorry! Just…here to see Bobby! I’ll go do that now. You two enjoy your show.”
The roommate and his date say nothing, their attention returning to the television set before her sentence is even finished. Disappointed, Linda sulks to the bedroom like a child sent to time out.
It’s selfish and irrational, but she’s annoyed that other people are occupying her their Bob’s and his roommate’s apartment. Without meaning to, she’s developed a sense of possessiveness over a place with no legal ties to her.
Practically jumping into bed, she hisses Bob’s name repeatedly as she shakes his shoulder. He should be used to Linda startling him awake by now, but he still groans as his eyes begin to open.
“Oh, God. Lin. Hi. I’m sleeping.”
When he tries shutting his eyes again, she gives his arm another firm shake. Not so fast.
“Bobby!” She whispers.
Another groan, this one lower and more openly exasperated.
“Sleeping, Linda.” He says. “The thing I need to do to survive. You can tell me about what your awful manager did in the morning, okay?”
For the life of her, Linda doesn’t know why he expects her to give up so easily. To grab his full attention, she decides to pull out the big guns. When Bob lies on his back, she pounces.
“Bobby, listen to me.” She says urgently, throwing a leg over his waist and overtaking him in a straddle position.
His eyes shoot open.
“Guess who’s in the living room watching a show right now?” She asks. “Jack is! Jack and some girl.”
Bob holds onto her thighs, and Linda can tell he’s determining whether or not he should flip her over. When he remembers how tired he is, he just glares instead.
“Linda, please tell me you didn’t wake me up just to tell me that a man is using the TV in his own living room. Please tell me that’s not what’s happening.”
He’s making a valid point, but Linda is never embarrassed by her illogical thinking. She shrugs dismissively.
“So what if I am? I wanted to watch something, Bob! I was gonna make you rub my feet and everything.”
It’s quiet, as they both appreciate the unsolvable nature of Linda’s problem. No wrongdoing has been committed, there’s no one to blame, and the issue at hand is barely worth another second of discussion.
“Am I supposed to kick him out or something?” Bob wonders. “Because that’s not happening. Jack and I bought that TV together, Lin. Well…60/40. And I wasn’t the 60.”
Linda pouts, trapped between the reality of the situation and her desire to complain.
“Why do we have to have roommates, Bob?” She whines. “If we had our own place, I’d be making us popcorn right now.”
Bob rubs his temple, finally accepting that he’s going to be awake until Linda gets this off of her chest.
“I get that it’s annoying, Lin, but breaking a lease is…bad? It’ll only last a few more months, and then we’ll be living together. You can handle a few months, right?”
Linda continues to pout. Capability and desire are two different things, and she’s getting sick of practically living with Bob while not retaining all of the benefits. Defeated, she collapses onto her back.
“It’s just so stupid!” She says. “We’re in living together territory without the living together. How unfair is that?”
Their relationship is more serious than their living situation reflects, and it’s driving Linda crazy. Logistically, yes, it’s inconvenient, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t also comparing them to her friends. Ginger and her boyfriend have been living together for weeks, and they’re not nearly as stable as she and Bob.
“It is unfair.” Bob agrees. “But look on the bright side, right? We still get sleep in the same bed most nights, and…isn’t your roommate gonna be in Vermont next week?”
Linda nods. Shelly’s been talking about the trip for weeks.
“So, we can sort of… play house.” Bob reasons. “We’ll pretend it’s our apartment. Uh, more than we already do.”
Taking his hand, Linda feels some of her frustration begin to evaporate. She can picture them now, cooking dinner and slow dancing in the kitchen. Bob will dance, if she gets him drunk enough.
“Really?” She asks. “Well…that sounds fun. Yeah. I guess that’s something.”
The more she relaxes, the more her long day begins catching up with her. She lets out a yawn, suddenly too tired for changing into pajamas.
“I like that sound.” Bob says. “That’s promising. Does this mean you’re going to let us sleep now?”
Linda’s brain could probably produce another handful of petty complaints, but her body has other plans. She begins unbuttoning her work shirt, tossing it to the floor, and soon discards her pants, belt, and bra in a similar fashion.
“I think so.” She says, a second yawn escaping her. “But tell Jack we need the living room tomorrow night, okay? I wanna watch one of those romantic movies you love.”
“I don’t—fine.” Bob trades defending himself for a good night’s rest. “I’ll tell him. Can I close my eyes now, or are you gonna jump me again?”
Linda paws at his forehead, carding fingers through his hair in an attempt at apology.
“I’m not.” She says sheepishly. “Sorry about that. Go back to sleep, sweetie.”
He dips his head forward, brushing their noses together in his lazy approximation of a kiss.
“Thanks, Lin.” He says. “Goodnight. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“Goodnight, Bobby.”
Linda keeps her word, not speaking again when he turns over to get comfortable. She listens close as Bob’s breathing slows, and he drifts off into a peaceful sleep.
On her own side of the bed, she still struggles to reach that point. Bob’s apartment is comfortable, and she’s slept here hundreds of times, but that doesn’t make it theirs. Almost an hour passes, before she’s able to fully relax.
“I think this might be the worst place anyone’s ever lived in.” Bob says within minutes of lugging their new couch upstairs.
Winded from her efforts, Linda lets a beat of silence pass before she answers. Stray hairs, free from her ponytail, are plastered to her face with sweat. She spits one out.
“Hey!” She says disapprovingly, when she finally processes Bob’s words. “Enough with the negativity, mister! This is supposed to be a special day.”
And it will be a special day, whether Bob likes it or not. She’s been warding off his bad attitude since early morning, and having to remain optimistic for the both of them is getting exhausting. Bob breathes heavily, like he’s actually going to die, and Linda pokes his arm.
“You need some more water, sweetie?” She asks, switching to rubbing his back. “We still have a few boxes to go, you know.”
She rolls her eyes covertly, when he bends over and places both hands on his knees. The couch really wasn’t that heavy.
“I’m okay.” He lies, panting.
He gulps another breath of air, standing straight up once he’s regained some composure.
“And…I know it’s a special day.” He promises. “I’m happy. I’m just…also dying. And about to move into this place, which is…great.”
Linda looks around at their new apartment. Though it’s only been her official home for about five minutes, she already feels defensive of it. The kitchen counter is wonky, dipping in like an earthquake hit it, but she’s pretty sure she likes it that way.
She started liking it a month ago, when they signed a lease on the cheapest available space in their area. The last few weeks have been a whirlwind of bickering, used furniture shopping, and nervous anticipation.
In her heart, Linda knows she would’ve fallen in love with any apartment—even one much smaller and dirtier than this. She’d already fallen in love with the idea of moving in with her boyfriend, and nothing could stop her from romanticizing that.
“It’s cute!” She argues. “It’s sweet, Bob.”
Her eyes must see things differently than his do, because even the stained walls and tiny square footage are causing her heart to beat faster with joy.
“I don’t know, Lin.” Bob says. “Don’t you think it’s all kind of…gross? Depressing?”
She takes in the vague scent of mildew all around them.
“Well…yeah.” She says sensibly. “Of course it’s gross, Bob! But I don’t think it’s depressing.”
When he raises a skeptical eyebrow, she shrugs.
“It’s different, and I think that’s special.” She says pointedly. “And it’s also ours together, and that’s the only thing I really care about.”
Wiping sweat from his brow, Bob smiles at her with a touch of guilt.
“Right.” He says. “I know. That’s—me too. That is what I care about, Lin. I’ll try to…ignore the bad stuff. Even though some of it’s really bad.”
Linda kisses his sweaty cheek, ignoring that he tastes like salt.
“That’s the spirit. Just you wait, Bobby. When all this moving stuff is over, we’ll get to fall asleep in our bed. Plus, we’ve got all these new rooms to christen…”
She bats her eyelashes exaggeratedly, making Bob laugh.
“Yup. We do. All three of them.”
He initiates the kiss this time, and a cloud of fanfare erupts in Linda’s head. Our first kiss in our first apartment! She concludes the celebration by kissing him again, and Bob looks forlornly at the front door.
“I guess we should get the rest of our stuff now.” He says. “But after we’re done, I want to start breaking in the new kitchen.”
Linda laughs as he holds the door open for her, knowing the stove, oven, and fridge will each have their own voices by the time the night is over. As they begin descending the stairs, her heart flutters. She feels herself grow more excited for the future with every step.