Maybe Someday

  Ridge: I added switches on the outside because it’s an easy way for someone to get my attention, since I can’t hear a knock. Just flip the switch if you need to come into the bathroom so I’ll know. The whole apartment is set up this way. There’s a switch outside my bedroom door that turns my lights on and off if you need me. But I usually have my phone on me, so there’s always texting.

  He shows me where clean sheets are and then cleans out what’s left in the dresser while I put the new sheets on the bed.

  “Do I need furniture?”

  Ridge shakes his head.

  Ridge: He’s leaving it. You can use what’s here.

  I nod, taking in the bedroom that has unexpectedly just become my new home. I smile at Ridge to let him know I appreciate his help. “Thank you.”

  He smiles back.

  Ridge: I’ll be in my room working for the next few hours if you need anything. I have to go to the store this afternoon. You can go with me and get what you need for the apartment.

  He backs out of the bedroom and gives me a salute. I sit down on the edge of the bed and salute him back as he shuts the door. I fall back onto the bed and let out a huge sigh of relief.

  Now that I have a place to live, all I need is a job. And maybe a car, since Tori and I mostly shared hers. Then maybe I’ll call my parents and tell them I moved.

  Or maybe not. I’ll give this place a couple of weeks in order to see how things turn out.

  Ridge: Oh, and btw, I didn’t write that on your forehead.

  What?

  I run to the dresser and look in the mirror for the first time today. Written across my forehead in black ink, it says: Someone wrote on your forehead.

  Ridge

  Me: Morning. How’s the thesis coming along?

  Maggie: Do you want me to sugarcoat it, or are you honestly giving me an opening to vent?

  Me: Wide open. Vent away.

  Maggie: I’m miserable, Ridge. I hate it. I work on it for hours every day, and I just want to take a bat to my computer and go all Office Space on it. If this thesis were a child, I’d put it up for adoption and not even think twice about it. If this thesis were a cute, fuzzy puppy, I’d drop it off in the middle of a busy intersection and speed away.

  Me: And then you would do a U-turn and go back and pick it up and play with it all night.

  Maggie: I’m serious, Ridge. I think I’m losing my mind.

  Me: Well, you already know what I think.

  Maggie: Yes, I know what you think. Let’s not get into that right now.

  Me: You’re the one who wanted to vent. You don’t need this kind of stress.

  Maggie: Stop.

  Me: I can’t, Maggie. You know how I feel, and I’m not keeping my opinion to myself when we both know I’m right.

  Maggie: This is exactly why I never whine to you about it, because it always comes back to this same thing. I asked you to stop. Please, Ridge. Stop.

  Me: Okay.

  Me: I’m sorry.

  Me: Now is when you return a text that says, “It’s okay, Ridge. I love you.”

  Me: Hello?

  Me: Don’t do this, Maggie.

  Maggie: Give a girl a minute to pee! Dang. I’m not mad. I just don’t want to talk about it anymore. How are you?

  Me: Phew. Good. We got a new roommate.

  Maggie: I thought she wasn’t moving in until next month.

  Me: No, it’s not Bridgette’s sister. It’s Sydney. The one I was telling you about a few days ago? After I decided to break the news to her about her boyfriend, it left her with nowhere to go. Warren and I are letting her stay here until she finds her own place. You’ll like her.

  Maggie: So I guess she believed you about her boyfriend?

  Me: Yeah. She was pretty pissed at first that I didn’t tell her sooner, but she’s had a few days to let it sink in, so I think she gets it. So what time will you be here Friday?

  Maggie: Not sure. I would say it depends on whether I get enough work done on my thesis, but I’m not mentioning my thesis to you ever again. I guess I’ll get there when I get there.

  Me: Well, then, I guess I’ll see you when I see you. Love you. Let me know when you’re on your way.

  Maggie: Love you, too. And I know you’re just concerned. I don’t expect you to agree with my decisions, but I do want you to understand them.

  Me: I do understand, babe. I do. I love you.

  Maggie: Love you, too.

  I drop my head forcefully against the headboard and rub my palms up and down my face out of sheer frustration. Of course, I understand her decision, but I’ll never feel good about it. She’s so frustratingly determined I seriously don’t see how I’ll ever get through to her.

  I stand up and put my phone into my back pocket, then walk to my bedroom door. When I swing it open, I’m met with a smell that I’m positive is exactly what heaven will smell like.

  Bacon.

  Warren looks up at me from the dining-room table and grins, pointing to his plate full of food. “She’s a keeper,” he signs. “The eggs suck, though. I’m only eating them because I don’t want to complain, or she might never cook for us again. Everything else is great.” He signs everything he’s saying without verbalizing it. Warren usually verbalizes all of his signed communication, out of respect for others around us. When he doesn’t verbalize, I know he wants our conversation to remain between the two of us.

  Like the silent one we’re having right now while Sydney’s in the kitchen.

  “And she even asked how we liked our coffee,” he signs.

  I glance into the kitchen. Sydney smiles, so I smile back. I’m shocked to see her in a good mood today. After we got back from our trip to the store a few days ago, she’s been spending most of the time in her room. At one point yesterday, Warren went in to ask her if she wanted any dinner, and he said she was on her bed crying, so he backed out and left her alone. I’ve wanted to check on her, but there isn’t really anything I can do to make her feel better. All she can do is give it time, so I’m glad she’s at least out of bed today.

  “And don’t look right now, Ridge. But did you see what she’s wearing? Did you see that dress?” He bites the knuckles on his fist and winces, as if simply looking at her is causing him actual physical pain.

  I shake my head and take a seat across from him. “I’ll look later.”

  He grins. “I’m so glad her boyfriend cheated on her. Otherwise, I’d be eating leftover toothpaste-filled Oreos for breakfast.”

  I laugh. “At least you wouldn’t have to brush your teeth.”

  “This was the best decision we’ve ever made,” he says. “Maybe later we can talk her into vacuuming in that dress while we sit on the couch and watch.”

  Warren laughs at his own comment, but I don’t crack a smile. I don’t think he realizes he signed and spoke that last sentence. Before I can tell him, a biscuit comes hurtling past my head and smacks him in the face. He jumps back in shock and looks at Sydney. She’s walking to the table with a Don’t mess with me look on her face. She hands me a plate of food, then sets her own plate down in front of her and takes a seat.

  “I said that out loud, didn’t I?” Warren asks. I nod. He looks at Sydney, and she’s still glaring at him. “At least I was complimenting you,” he says with a shrug.

  She laughs and nods once, as if he just made a good point. She picks up her phone and begins to text. She glances at me briefly, giving her head a slight shake when my phone vibrates in my pocket. She texted me something but apparently doesn’t want me to make it obvious. I casually slide my hand into my pocket and pull my phone out, then read her text under the table.

  Sydney: Don’t eat the eggs.

  I look at her and arch an eyebrow, wondering what the hell is wrong with the eggs. She casually sends another text while she holds a conversation with Warren.

  Sydney: I poured dish soap and baby powder in them. It’ll teach him not to write on my forehead again.

  Me: WTH? When are you g
oing to tell him?

  Sydney: I’m not.

  Warren: What are you and Sydney texting about?

  I look up to see Warren holding his phone, staring at me. He picks up his fork and takes another bite of the eggs, and the sight makes me laugh. He lunges across the table and grabs my phone out of my hands, then begins scrolling through the texts. I try to grab it back from him, but he pulls his arm out of my reach. He pauses for a few seconds as he reads, then immediately spits his mouthful back onto his plate. He tosses me back my phone and reaches for his glass. He calmly takes a drink, sets it back down on the table, then pushes his chair back and stands up.

  He points to Sydney. “You just messed up, little girl,” he says. “This means war.”

  Sydney is smirking at him with a challenging gleam in her eye. Once Warren walks back to his bedroom and shuts his door, she loses the confident smirk and turns to me, wide-eyed.

  Sydney: Help me! I need ideas. I suck at pranks!

  Me: Yeah, you do. Dish soap and baby powder? You need serious help. Good thing you have the master on your side.

  She grins, then begins eating her breakfast.

  I don’t even get my first bite down before Bridgette walks out of her room, sans smile. She walks straight to the kitchen and proceeds to make herself a plate of food. Warren returns from his room and sits back down at the table.

  “I walked away for dramatic effect,” he says. “I wasn’t finished eating yet.”

  Bridgette sits, takes a bite of bacon, then looks over at Sydney. “DID . . . YOU . . . MAKE . . . THIS?” she says, pointing at the food dramatically. I cock my head, because she’s talking to Sydney the same way she talks to me. As if she’s deaf.

  I look over at Sydney, who nods a response to Bridgette. I look back at Bridgette, and she says, “THANK . . . YOU!” She takes a bite of the eggs.

  And she spits them right back out onto her plate.

  She coughs and rushes to take a drink, then pushes away from the table. She looks back at Sydney. “I . . . CAN’T . . . EAT . . . THIS . . . SHIT!” She walks back to the kitchen, drops her food in the trash, and heads back to her bedroom.

  The three of us break out into laughter after her door closes. When the laughter subsides, I turn to Warren.

  “Why does Bridgette think Sydney is deaf?”

  Warren laughs. “We don’t know,” he says. “But we don’t feel like correcting her just yet.”

  I laugh on the outside, but inside I’m a little confused. I don’t know when Warren began referring to himself and Sydney as we, but I’m not sure I like it.

  • • •

  My bedroom light flicks on and off, so I close my laptop and walk to the door. I open it, and Sydney is standing in the hallway, holding her laptop. She hands me a piece of paper.

  I already finished my homework for the rest of the week. I even cleaned the entire apartment, excluding Bridgette’s room, of course. Warren won’t let me watch TV because it’s not my night, whatever that means. So I was hoping I could hang out with you for a little while? I have to keep my mind busy, or I’ll start thinking about Hunter again, and then I’ll start feeling sorry for myself, and then I’ll want Pine-Sol, and I really don’t want to have any Pine-Sol, because I don’t want to become a raging alcoholic like you.

  I smile, step aside, and motion her into my bedroom. She looks around. The only place to sit is my bed, so I point to it, then take a seat and pull my laptop onto my lap. She sits on the other side of the bed and does the same.

  “Thanks,” she says with a smile. She opens her laptop and drops her eyes to the screen.

  I tried not to take Warren’s advice this morning about admiring the dress she had on today, but it was hard not to look, especially when he so blatantly pointed it out. I’m not sure what kind of weird thing he and Bridgette have going on, but it rubs me the wrong way that he and Sydney seem to have hit it off so well.

  And it really rubs me the wrong way that it rubs me the wrong way. I don’t look at her like that, so I don’t understand why I’m sitting here thinking about it. And if she were standing next to Maggie, there wouldn’t be a doubt in my mind that Maggie is more physically my type. Maggie is petite, with dark eyes and straight black hair. Sydney is the complete opposite. She’s taller than Maggie—pretty average height—but her body is a lot more defined and curvy than Maggie’s. Sydney definitely fills out the dress well, which is why Warren liked it. At least she changed into shorts before showing up at my bedroom door. That helps a little. The tops she wears are usually way too big for her, and they hang off her shoulders, which makes me think she took a lot of Hunter’s T-shirts with her when she packed her bags.

  Maggie’s hair is always straight, whereas Sydney’s is hard to figure out. It seems to change with the weather, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. The first time I saw her sitting on her balcony, I thought she had brown hair, but it turns out her hair was just wet. After playing guitar for about an hour that night, I looked at her as she was walking back inside her apartment, and her hair had dried completely and was in piles of blond waves that fell past her shoulders. Today it’s curly and pulled up into a messy knot on top of her head.

  Sydney: Stop staring at me.

  Shit.

  I laugh and attempt to brush away whatever the hell that internal detour was I just took.

  Me: You look sad.

  The first night she showed up here, she seemed happier than she does right now. Maybe it just took time for reality to sink in.

  Sydney: Is there a way we can chat on the computer? It’s a lot easier for me than texting.

  Me: Sure. What’s your last name? I’ll friend you on Facebook.

  Sydney: Blake.

  I open my laptop and search her name. When I find her profile, I send her a friend request. She accepts it almost instantly, then shoots me a message.

  Sydney: Hello, Ridge Lawson.

  Me: Hello, Sydney Blake. Better?

  She nods.

  Sydney: You’re a computer programmer?

  Me: Already stalking my profile? And yes. I work from home. Graduated two years ago with a degree in computer engineering.

  Sydney: How old are you?

  Me: 24.

  Sydney: Please tell me 24 is a lot better than 22.

  Me: 22 will be good for you. Maybe not this week or next week, but it’ll get better.

  She sighs and puts one of her hands up to the back of her neck and rubs it, then begins typing again.

  Sydney: I miss him. Is that crazy? I miss Tori, too. I still hate them and want to see them suffer, but I miss what I had with him. It’s really starting to hurt. When it first happened, I thought maybe I was better off without him, but now I just feel lost.

  I don’t want to be harsh in my response, but at the same time, I’m not a girl, so I’m not about to tell her that what she’s feeling is normal. Because to me, it’s not normal.

  Me: You only miss the idea of him. You weren’t happy with him even before you found out he was cheating. You were only with him because it was comfortable. You just miss the relationship, but you don’t miss Hunter.

  She looks up at me and cocks her head, narrowing her eyes in my direction for a few seconds before dropping them back to the computer.

  Sydney: How can you say I wasn’t happy with him? I was. Until I found out what he was doing, I honestly thought he was the one.

  Me: No. You didn’t. You wanted him to be, but that’s not how you really felt.

  Sydney: You’re kind of being a jerk right now, you know that?

  I set my laptop beside me and walk to my desk. I pick up my notebook and a pen and go back to the bed and take a seat next to her. I flip open my notebook to the first set of lyrics she sent me.

  Read these, I write at the top of the page. I set the notebook in her lap.

  She looks down at the lyrics, then takes the pen. I don’t need to read them, she writes. I wrote them.

  I scoot closer to her and put the notebook
in my lap, then circle a few lines of her chorus. I point to them again. Read these as if you weren’t the one who wrote them.

  She reluctantly looks down at the notebook and reads the chorus.