Chapter 7
MY AUNT WASN’T MY MOM but also was my “mom.” So confusing, but that’s what I felt. I had been nine years old when I started living with her, and after fifteen years, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that
she’d taken me in out of a sense of responsibility to her sibling and hadn’t had the heart to see me enter the adoption system. She could have given me to my first cousins, but none of them would help me, a daughter of the black sheep in the extended family.
I didn’t have a feeling of love like between a daughter and her mom, but mostly a respectful feeling and a sense of gratitude for her raising me. As a result, I’d developed a habit of trying to make my aunt happy and needing her approval. I wanted her to see me as a smart, capable, and trustworthy person. I didn’t necessarily agree with all her opinions because I wasn’t a docile child, but in many areas, including this roommate issue, I felt obligated to follow her rule. I couldn’t break the rule, but I refused to ask for her help either because she would rescue me while giving me that look of disappointment she reserved for incompetence.
Sitting on my couch after work that evening, I rehearsed the conversation I intended to have with my aunt about my taking a male roommate. Regardless of how many times I rehearsed the words, I was sure I’d be letting her down.
Taking a picture of my mom from the small side table, I said to her, “It would be different if you were alive, Mom.” I sighed as I stared at the image. It was the last picture taken of her before she passed away. My mom and my aunt were posing in front of their childhood home. My mom’s hazel eyes were squinting in the bright light, and the wind was tossing her light brown hair about. In her light purple dress, her cool-tone skin looked radiant. Standing side by side with my aunt, who had dark brown eyes and hair, no one could tell that they were siblings. My mom was more like Grandma Audrey, who was German-Australian, and my aunt was more like Grandpa Kenji, who was Japanese.
I didn’t know what my dad looked like. My mom had been upset each time I asked, so I’d stopped asking. My skin was fair with light freckles on my nose like my mom’s, but my angular eyes and hair color were like my aunt’s.
“You’d probably be on Auntie’s side anyway, after the pain you experienced,” I mumbled, putting the picture back on the table.
Clenching my jaw, I took a deep breath and reached for my phone. Suddenly, my heart jolted as my phone began ringing. The screen showed it was Rick calling. Sighing as I dropped my hand from my chest, I brought the phone closer to my ear.
“Hey, Rick! How are—”
“Rory, I’m glad you picked up the phone. Are you home?” “Yes,” I said.
“Are you home or not?” Rick asked again.
“Yes,” I yelled into the phone, having forgotten about his hearing. For a seventy-two-year-old man, he looked healthy and still ran five miles every morning, but he could not hear without his hearing aids.
“Okay, don’t scream. I can hear you,” said Rick. “I have good news. Remember about Jane Ryder? She seems serious about her offer because she called again this morning. Can I stop by your place to give you the details?”
“Sure. Please come.”
“Can I come or not?” said Rick. “Yes!” I said loudly
“Okay, okay, I hear you. Don’t scream like that. Young people love screaming lately. Okay. I’ll see you soon.” He hung up.
Thirty minutes later, Rick was sitting at the kitchen table with me, thankfully wearing his hearing aids.
“So, this Jane Ryder is serious about being my roommate?” I looked up at Rick, tapping my finger on the paper.
Rick nodded solemnly.
“And she offers an upfront payment of $7,500?”
Rick nodded again. “What do you think? Will you accept her offer?” he asked.
I read Rick’s scribbles of the lady’s information on the blue paper. Jane Ryder. Richmond, London.
“I can tell you are uncertain about accepting something this short term,” he said, gazing at me. “Maybe you need to be flexible. If you persist about only accepting a roommate who can stay for two years, how long will you last on the Top Ramen diet?”
My mouth fell open. How did he know?
Rick chuckled at my expression. “I’m a father of three daughters,” he said, tapping his chest. “One of them has a personality like yours, so I know what you’ve been through, preferring to suffer alone.”
My cheeks warmed.
“On the weekend, you barely go out with your friends.
Am I correct?”
I grimaced at his sharp observation.
Rick chuckled, placing his hand on top of mine and squeezing it gently. “Take that offer,” he said firmly.
“Yeah, maybe I should,” I said, clearing my throat.
“You should!” he clasped his wrinkled hands. “Now, text her and make an appointment to talk to her through…what is that…tsk.” Rick flicked his finger while thinking, then his face beamed. “Ah, video call, so you can see her face, get to know her, and let her know you. If you feel good, just go for it. My gut says she is a good lady.”
“By the way, you still have her phone number, right?” asked Rick.
Damn, I already threw it in the trash can.
Somehow, Rick read my mind. “You didn’t lose it, did you?” he said, squinting at me.
Avoiding his gaze, I stood up from my seat and walked over to check the trash can. “Uh, I didn’t think she would call,” I mumbled, peering into the trash can.
“Young people never have enough patience to wait, to have faith.” He shook his head.
I grinned in embarrassment as I searched the trash. Snatching up the small piece of blue paper, I waved it in the air and said, “Got it!” I grabbed a notepad and pen and wrote the number down, then tossed the old one because it was smeared with cooking oil and ketchup.
“Great. Before you contact her, maybe you need to check the social media to make sure she isn’t a criminal. Nowadays, it’s easy to search for information about people. Gosh, my grandkids are only teens, and they already have Facebook accounts.” He cackled.
“Do you have one?” I asked.
Rick’s cackling got louder. “Nah, I’m old school. Don’t even have an online banking account. I like going to the bank, talk to the teller, meet new people.”
I smiled at his comment. “Speaking of the bank, do I need to see her proof of employment to make sure she can pay me?” I asked.
“That’s a legit thing to do,” he said. “She lives in
Richmond, meaning she has money. But it doesn’t hurt to be sure.”
Around a quarter to eight, Rick left my house after helping me jot down the important things I needed to find out about Jane. I was glad to have his help. He was the closest thing to a father figure I’d ever had.
TWO DAYS LATER, I HAD a video call with Jane after dinner. She was in her early thirties, the same age as Lizzy. Her layered brown hair was perfect for her pale skin and sterling gray eyes. She was in her office during our call, so I checked off my list about confirming her employment.
“Rick told me you were looking for someone more long term. Will you be all right if I only stay for six to eight months?” asked Jane in a thick British accent.
“Yes, it will be fine,” I answered. Getting six months of rent upfront was unheard of, and at least I could plan to start looking for a new roommate with a lot more lead time this way. As Rick said, I would be stupid if I refused. As for Jason…Well, I had to put that idea aside because Jane’s offer was the best one.
Jane’s face beamed as she said she would send a check to pay for the deposit and six months’ worth of rent and then fly to California on the last day of March. Her flight would land at the Los Angeles Airport at 11 AM, and she would be at my apartment sometime around 1 or 2 PM.
My heart leaped as I glanced at the calendar on my kitchen counter. In two more weeks, I would have a new roommate. And I should clean my apartment! I’d been a bit lazy about that since Lizzy left.
And then I didn’t have time to clean. After my conversation with Jane, work kept me unusually busy. Mr. Hamilton demanded that the finance and accounting departments for Myriad Food and Myriad Beverage make sure our financial reports looked better. Any clients still owed us money, he wanted us to collect the money ASAP. The more cash we recorded, the better.
The Myriad accounting teams worked harder than ever before. We were putting in ten hours every day and a couple of hours working from home on the weekends. I helped with collections on the clients who had a lot of outstanding invoices and demanded detailed information before paying. It was tiresome to dig deeper into the payment history to get a good understanding of why those invoices had never been collected.
On Saturday, a week before Jane’s arrival, I woke up at six in the morning to clean my apartment. My body screamed for sleep, but it wouldn’t make for an excellent first impression if I didn’t provide a clean place for my future tenant. Dragging my feet to the bathroom, I leaned over the sink and splashed some water on my face and head to wake me up. The water was cold! Shrieking, I grabbed the towel to prevent the water from trickling down my back. The cold water had already made it down to my waist, but that was enough to kick the sleepiness out of my system. Forty-five minutes later, after two cups of coffee and two soft-boiled eggs, I was ready.
“Which room am I going to clean first?” I mumbled.
Looking around, I wasn’t proud of myself. Well, I wasn’t a lazy person. But since Lizzy had left, I had been lazier about cleaning, especially around the kitchen and living room. There was a pile of empty instant noodle bowls next to the sink. Books and magazines lay scattered over the carpet in the living room. The only room I didn’t have to clean was the second bedroom, where Lizzy used to stay because she had left it and the bathroom spotless. My ex- roommate was a clean freak.
“Well, you are the dirtiest one,” I said, pointing to the kitchen. “Let’s clean you up.”
I put my earbuds in and put on some electronic dance music for inspiration. Equipped with a bottle of Windex Multi-Surface, trash bags, and a lot of rags, I sprayed Windex generously on the kitchen countertop and wiped it down with the rag. The upbeat tones of “Hey Brother” by Avicii powered me through the painful cleaning time.
The fridge wasn’t missed; I cleaned the shelves and threw some expired products away. Slowly, a pile of rags and trash bags were piling up on the kitchen floor. I only took a short break before cleaning the living room and then my room too, because it wouldn’t hurt to show Jane the entire apartment.
After almost five hours of nonstop cleaning, I was exhausted. Looking around, a sense of pride crept over me. The kitchen and living room were spotless, with books and magazines arranged neatly on the coffee and end tables.
“Finally!” I lay down on the carpet in a starfish position.
I had almost dozed off when my phone rang. I ignored it. In the last couple of days, a private number had been calling. I had picked up twice, and no one answered but some weird, breaking voices on the other end. I figured it was just a prank or a robocall from a telemarketing company.
Chapter 8
WHEN SATURDAY ARRIVED, I WAS feeling giddy. Today was finally the day! I hugged myself at the thought of my frugal lifestyle finally ending. Yay! No more instant noodles.
And it would be fun to have a friend in the apartment again, though I could only hope that Jane wouldn’t change like Yoo-Shi’s bitchy roommate had.
The doorbell rang around 2 PM, and I scanned the living room one last time, then headed for the door. Clearing my throat, I pulled the corners of my lips up as my hands turned the doorknob.
As the door swung open, I said, “Hey, welc—”
I felt the corners of my lips drop. The person who rung my doorbell wasn’t Jane, but a tall man with a full beard and a pair of aviator sunglasses. He was wearing a gray long-sleeved T-shirt, old jeans, and a gray baseball hat with brown hair sticking out from under it. He shifted a navy-colored backpack from slipping off his shoulder as he removed his sunglasses. His forehead was wrinkled but then smoothed again as he fixed his light brown eyes on me calmly.
Intimidated by his beard, my instinct was to shut the door, but I refrained. Instead, I looked at him and asked, “Can I help you?”
“Yes, maybe you could,” the man said in a thick British accent. “Is this 211 Maple Street, number 77? Rory’s apartment?”
I nodded. “Yes, that’s correct. What can I help you with?”
The crinkle on his forehead appeared again. “You are… Rory?” he asked carefully, trying to hide his surprise.
“Yes,” I answered. “And who are you?”
He scratched his chin and mumbled, “I thought Rory was a male’s name.”
“True, but I’m a female Rory,” I answered calmly. “Since you’re looking for a male Rory, maybe you need to go to the leasing office for help. Have a good day!” I stepped back to close the door.
But the man was daring. He placed his foot in the door to prevent me from closing it.
“Hey, what are you doing? Move your foot away, or I’ll call the police!” I cried, kicking his foot away while taking out my phone from my jeans’ pocket.
Looking panicked, the man moved his foot away.
“No! Please don’t call the police!” he cried. “Jane Ryder sent me here.”
I seized the opportunity and slammed the door and locked it quickly. But his last sentence stopped me from dialing my phone. What did he say? Jane Ryder sent him? I cracked open the door to peek out. “What did you mean by saying Jane Ryder sent you here?” I asked from behind the door. “Where’s she now?”
“I’m Peter, her brother. Jane can’t come because she had surgery last week and isn’t allowed to be on a plane.”
His answer made me speechless, and I slammed the door again.
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