Chapter Text
The first thing I notice about California is the air. It’s different from the air in Philly. It feels thinner, less warm, which is ridiculous because it’s about 20 degrees warmer than home is.
It’s different though. I can feel it.
Palo Alto was never the plan. I had sent out about 30 applications to different psychology practices and for some reason, Palo Alto stuck in my mind. Of course, the practice had a stupid, trendy name and rent in California costs more than grad school did, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was meant to be in California. It was this pull, something I couldn’t eloquently explain if I tried.
After a month of carefully planning and convincing Laurel that I can take care of myself just fine, I signed the contract and was officially hired at Urban Insight Counseling.
It wasn’t even necessarily the move that made Laurel so hesitant. It was the housing.
“Bean, I cannot allow you to get a roommate on Craigslist. Absolutely not.” she had said after Steven let it slip that that was my plan.
“And how else do you suggest I get a roommate, Mom? I have pepper spray. I’m a big girl. Not every guy is a serial killer!”
“Ah, yes, because pepper spray is 100% effective always. I’m sorry, Belly. It makes me very nervous. You’re still my girl.”
We had gone back and forth for a while about this, and she eventually caved, making me promise to get a taser, too.
I won’t lie and say that this whole Craigslist roommate thing isn’t freaking me out, too. Taylor had planted the idea in my head, and at first, I started searching as a joke. Then, I found Conrad Fisher’s ad.
‘Searching for a roommate in Palo Alto, CA. 2 bdr, 2 ba. I have a cat, don’t worry, she’s friendly.’ Initially, I wasn’t all that interested. I had pictured myself with a female roommate; I’ve only ever lived with girls, bar my brother and dad.
Taylor had nudged me though. “B, I Google Mapsed the address. It’s literally five minutes walking distance from your office. Maybe hit him up. How psycho could he be?”
So I sent in a reply. Short and simple, nothing too too serious. ‘Hi! My name’s Isabel. I’m moving to Palo Alto in a couple weeks. Is the room still available?”
Conrad had taken all of five minutes to reply.
‘Hi, Isabel. Yes, the room is still available. I will warn you, I frequently work 16 hour shifts at the hospital. Are you okay with being alone that long?’
‘Awesome. Yea, I’m totally cool with that! What would rent look like?’
‘The apartment was my aunt’s, and rent is controlled, so it would be 750 a month for each of us.’
‘Wow, that sounds awesome!! Can I sleep on it and get back to you in the morning? Still deciding on a couple of things.’
‘Of course, no rush. Look forward to hearing from you.’
The whole thing seemed incredibly ideal. 750 for my own bedroom and bathroom? In California? Unheard of. And he has a cat. And he’s a doctor.
I’m definitely getting axe murdered.
Still, it was far too good to pass up. So, the next morning, I messaged him again.
‘Very important question. Dealbreaking. What’s the cat’s name?’
‘Her name’s Pippin. It’s a Lord of the Rings thing. She’s a British shorthair, very well behaved.’
He attached a photo of the cutest little cat I’ve ever seen and honestly, Pippin sold me on the whole ordeal.
‘I can live with that.’
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I’ve found that talking to someone over text is very different than talking to them in person. That’s why, as I sit in this coffee shop, my loaded car in the back, my hands are sweaty and my heart is beating too fast for my liking. I try to calm myself, think happy, calm thoughts.
Everything’s going to be fine.
The bell on the door jingles as a tall guy, probably 6’1 at least, pushes it open and walks in. God, he’s gorgeous. Truly. Like movie star level. Is every guy in California like that? Focus, Belly. Your roommate could walk in at any moment. Can’t be too distracted.
Movie Star Hair walks up to the counter and scans the counter for his drink. The barista asks for his name, and what he says makes me freeze. “It’s for Conrad”.
No way. Nuh uh. No fucking way Movie Star Hair is my roommate.
I’m so so fucked.
He thanks the barista warmly and searches the room like he’s looking for someone. It’s just me, him, and some guy in here, so when his eyes land on me, he seems to know it’s me.
Movie Star Hair is definitely Roommate Conrad.
Fuck.
He walks towards me, smiling and giving a small wave. “Isabel?”
“Hi, yes! It’s super nice to meet you, Conrad.” Stop smiling like that, Belly. God, you’re a freak.
“Yeah, you too. Did you find it okay?”
I can’t even look at anything but his mouth.
“Mhm.” I mumble, taking a sip of my drink. It’s still too hot, and I bite back a wince as it scorches my tongue. “I just put it in the GPS. Thanks for meeting me here, I appreciate it.”
“Yeah, of course. Do you have all of your stuff with you?”
“It’s all in my car. I parked out back. Wasn’t much room anywhere else.” Breathe.
“Oh yeah, parking here sucks. Well, listen. Are you cool to just chat and get to know each other and then head back to the building? You can tail me.”
I’d like to do a lot more than tail you, Conrad.
I swallow that thought, pocketing it for a later date, and nod, taking another painful sip.
What have I done?
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Talking with Conrad truly wasn’t awful. Not awful at all. Quite pleasant, really. He’s a third year resident at Lucile Packard Children’s Hospital (hot). He likes reading books (hot) and cooking (double hot). He also runs (is it hot in here or is it just me?). I probably seem like a blithering idiot with no substance, but he seemed genuinely interested when I talked about my psych job and my love for Audrey Hepburn movies. He mentioned that his mom loved Audrey, then got all quiet, so I changed the subject.
Now, as I’m following his car through the streets, I’m trying not to totally freak out. He’s just a guy. A really hot guy. With a cat. And a job at a fucking children’s hospital. A guy who, when we exchanged numbers, sent a smiley face emoticon so I could save his contact in my phone.
Totally. Just a guy.
Just a guy, Belly.
We weave through the streets of Palo Alto, and I begin to take in my surroundings. It truly is beautiful here. Philly Aprils are still cold and dreary, hanging on to the last dregs of winter with an iron grip. But here, it’s warm. Trees are green and full. The air is warmer and crisper. I like this air, I think. It’s a good different. Maybe it’s so nice because it has Conrad in it.
Stop it, Belly.
Conrad takes a left and begins to slow down in front of a building. (God, did I mention how good of a driver is? He uses his blinker. Hot). My heart begins an impatient, panicked thumping, fast and unyielding. My palms get slick on the steering wheel, and I have to physically move my legs to get out of the car.
Everything’s fine.
He’s just your roommate.
Right?