“What? Are you accusing me of tricking you now? Taking advantage of you because I wanted the place to look nice when you arrived?” He snorted as he cut off another bite. “It’s called wanting to make a good first impression. That’s what I was trying to do, but next time the inclination to do that hits me, I’ll make sure to save myself the time and energy. Since you’re probably going to find some way to turn it around on me.”
Rolling my neck, I inhaled to give myself a moment to think before I snapped back. “Okay, I’m sorry I accused you of trying to trick me.” Another pause to give myself a chance to word it right. “But do you think you could at least try to clean up some of your stuff? Some of the time?”
He stopped chewing mid-bite, giving me a look. “Sure. I’ll go ahead and hire a housekeeper to come in every day to make my roommate happy since she’s one of those people who have a fetish for everything being clean.”
My eyes narrowed. “I don’t have a fetish for cleanliness.”
“You obviously do because this”—he circled his arm around the room—“is not that bad.”
My gaze circled the same room. “This”—my nose wrinkled when I noticed the same milk jug on the counter—“is a few spores of mold and grime away from becoming condemned.”
Soren’s silverware clattered onto his plate. Then he shoved back from the table and stood. “I lost my appetite,” he announced before stepping onto the chair to pull his undergarments from the fan blades.
A sigh rose from inside me. So much for trying to have an adult discussion about this. “Soren . . .”
He didn’t answer. He just kept moving around the apartment, picking up one item of his at a time.
“Soren, come on, stop.”
His neck was rigid, his jaw set, and he only seemed to get more upset with each thing he picked up. Once he had a heap in his arms, he stormed over to his bed area and dropped it all in there. Then he came back for more.
“Soren, I mean it, stop.”
“Sorry, can’t stop. Need to get my stuff cleaned up. My roommate is throwing a fit.”
“I’m not throwing a fit. You’re the one acting like a child right now.”
He yanked the duffel off the floor. “Oh, nice. Now you’re accusing me of being a slob and a child?”
“I’m not accusing you of being anything. All I did was address the state of the apartment and request you make a bit of an effort to clean up after yourself.” I twisted in my seat as he moved around the room.
He was acting so immature. How could he go from cooking chicken marsala one minute to behaving like a five-year-old the next? God, and that line of hair he kept tucked out around the sides of his head so it curled beneath the brim of his cap. Couldn’t he tuck those chunks in with the rest of his hair? It looked ridiculous.
And could he pull up those sweats already? Any lower, and I was going to get to know him on a whole new level.
And why was I nit-picking the way the end of his hair curled under his hat? Or his low-hanging sweats? Crap. Maybe I was being petty. Or maybe it was something else—something I didn’t want to assign a name to.
“And look at me now? Making an effort to clean up my shit.” He showed me the contents in his arms this round before making another dump behind his room partition. “Happy now?”
“Please just come and finish eating.” I stared at his half-eaten meal.
“I don’t think so. You’d probably criticize me for the way I eat or something stupid like that.”
A long groan rolled out of me. This had gone so entirely wrong. “I’m not going to criticize the way you eat.”
“Maybe. But for your information, having manners around a table growing up with three older brothers made you a target.” He marched back out, scanning the apartment for anything else of his. “By the time my mom got around to me, she was so worn out, the only manner she was still preaching was respecting women.”
My head was starting to pound and my stomach was still growling. I wasn’t sure if I was wrong for bringing this up the way I had, or if he was just taking it wrong, or if it was some mixture of both. I just knew having a roommate was hard. Especially when Soren and I had been mere strangers a few days ago.
“Please come eat. I’m sorry.”
“No, no. I’m going to finish cleaning up after myself so I can sit down and eat a meal in peace without being nagged at.” He moved into the bathroom next. “We’re not even married and I already feel like I can’t do anything right.”
“Okay, now you are being immature.” I cut into my chicken and took a bite. If this was how he was going to deal with every issue we needed to resolve, I wasn’t going to waste too much time feeling guilty.
“Excuse me for thinking that someone like you wouldn’t have all of these crazy expectations when it comes to a roommate.”
I froze in the middle of cutting my next bite. “Someone like me?” Then I twisted in my chair, my eyes narrowing in the direction of the bathroom. “Someone like me? A girl who grew up poor in a poor town? That automatically means I have low-to-no expectations in life? That I don’t have any standards?”
His head appeared in the doorway. “Putting words into my mouth now too?” His eyebrows carved into his forehead. “Someone like you as in someone who gets it. Someone who’s down to earth and knows what’s important in life. That someone like you.” He held my stare a moment longer before disappearing in the bathroom again.
I turned back around in my seat and rubbed my temples. What was wrong with me? Assuming the worst? Jumping to conclusions?
Since he was still making a racket in the bathroom, I worked on my dinner to give myself a chance for some self-reflection. Dinner was good. Really good. He knew what he was doing, and the longer I sat there eating, the worse I felt for bringing up the whole messy state of the apartment in the first place.
“The bathroom’s cleaned. My junk is picked up.” He emerged out of the bathroom smelling like Windex. He wouldn’t look at me as he took his seat behind his dinner again. “The kitchen’s all yours.”
My fork froze midair. “The kitchen’s all mine?” I repeated, just to make sure I’d heard him right.
“Shared space. I tackled the bathroom. It’s only fair you get the kitchen.”
I blinked at him. He was serious. “I haven’t stepped foot in the kitchen since I moved in.”
One of his shoulders lifted like that was beside the point.
“I haven’t used one dish.”
“You’re using dishes right now.” He motioned at the plate and fork in front of me.
Wherever the boil button was installed inside me, he’d just hit it. “I’m not cleaning up after you. Nice try.” I glanced toward the kitchen, cringing when I thought of how much time and sweat it would take to get all of those crusty plates and pans cleaned.
“I just cleaned up after you.” His arm thrust toward the bathroom. “You had a bunch of long hairs stuck on the shower walls, already clogging up the drain.” Before I could say anything, he kept going. “And come on, I cooked dinner for you and gave you carte blanche to raid my snack stores.”