My Roommate, Kevin (novella (?) WIP)
CW/Themes: Odd couple, love story, annoyance to lovers, opposites attract, slob/neat, misunderstanding
Chapter 1 – The Stranger
“Hi. I’m here about the room.”
JP stood blinking slowly at the stranger in his doorway, not sure how to reply. The man was not the sort of applicant he had expected, given the ad he had posted on Craigslist on Monday:
ROOM AVAILABLE IMMEDIATELY in large 5 ½ upper duplex near Villa-Maria metro/Monkland Village – $350/month (hydro/heat/ultra-fast wifi included). Close to grocery, liquor store, many restaurants, and a pharmacy. Laundry in apartment, large balcony in front, and shared access to the yard in back. THE IDEAL ROOMMATE: queer-friendly, responsible, clean, quiet, no drama, no party, VEGETARIAN (no meat in my home, please). No smokers. No pets (I have a cat, and she hates other animals). I’m a quiet, responsible, neat individual seeking the same. I work mostly from home, so I would prefer someone who doesn’t work remotely. Applicant must have references. Email for info. NO PHONE CALLS.
With his bushy brown beard and hair, and his dirty clothes, the guy looked sort of . . . homeless. JP winced and mentally slapped himself, feeling like an asshole. Don’t jump to conclusions. And, unhoused . . . Unhoused is the better word. Trying to keep an open mind, he took a closer look.
Under the man’s dingy red-and-black plaid jacket, he had on some more plaid—a shirt in green and navy—and beneath that, what JP assumed was a white t-shirt. His dark-blue jeans had a gaping hole in one knee and frayed, matted cuffs, all of which seemed like genuine wear and tear rather than for fashion’s sake. Plus, they were encrusted with grime. Completing the “look” was a pair of beat-up, steel-toed work boots that may have been tan once upon a time.
Was he just a hipster who curated some sort of “authentic” style . . . or maybe he was a lumberjack. He does look like a lumberjack. A short lumberjack.
As the guy stood there squinting up at JP like a small, dirty Paul Bunyan, JP slowly leaned back to get away from the smell of onions and sweat. He had no idea what to say.
After an awfully long, awkward silence, the man ran a hand through his messy hair, the matted beard parting again to reveal bright white teeth.
“Am I in the right place? You JP?”
From the slight twang in his accent, JP placed him from somewhere west, but not too far west—maybe rural Ontario. He nodded, then frowned.
“Wait, how did you get my address?” He’d received over a dozen emails so far from people asking about the room, but he hadn’t given out his address to any of them. Not yet, anyway. He knew he was stalling—he needed a roommate soon but really wasn’t thrilled about sharing his personal space with a stranger.
The guy grinned. “I grabbed a bite at the pub down the street and chatted up the smokin’ hot blonde working there. Said I was looking for a place, and she gave me your address.”
“Ah.” That would be Laurie, JP’s favourite waitress at the Olde Grove Pub down the street. Laurie knew JP was renting the room, and she knew where he lived—she’d been over once to collect some books and a folding table he’d been giving away.
Crap. Who else has she given my address to?
“So . . . uh, is the room still up for grabs?” the guy asked, his expression hopeful.
JP considered lying, but the stranger’s smile started to fade as disappointment crept into his red-rimmed eyes the longer JP was silent. The guy looked exhausted.
“Sure. Come on in,” JP said with a tight smile.
The bright grin reappeared on the man’s face, and he stepped over the threshold, dumping a faded old green rucksack in the entranceway.
“Um. Leave your boots on the mat. Please.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Bracing himself on the doorframe, the guy pulled off his boots, and JP tried not to grimace—the creases in his knuckles and nails were black with dirt. He was surprised he didn’t leave a dirty handprint on the white door frame. The stranger then walked onto the hardwood floors in his no-longer-white athletic socks, one big toe poking from a hole, and waited for JP to show him around.
Shoulders somewhere up around his ears, JP gestured to the table and chairs in front of the patio door. “This is, um, the dining area and out there is the balcony. And, uh, through there is the kitchen.” He pointed like an idiot to the wide arch where the kitchen was clearly visible.
The man walked past him and into the room, turning around in place as he nodded.
“It’s not big, I know, but it’s well organized. And there’s lots of light. These guys love it, obviously,” JP said, referring to the shelves full of plants on both sides of the big window. “And the stove is induction.” He didn’t know why he was bothering to tell the man all of that since he couldn’t really imagine taking him on as a roommate. There were definitely better matches among those who had already inquired about the room. “The bedroom for rent is this one over here.” JP walked through the dining room and pointed to the open doorway, holding his breath as the guy brushed by him, not wanting another noseful of sweaty onion.
The man looked around with a pleased expression while scratching his messy beard. “Nice.”
The room was probably twelve feet by twelve, with a decent-sized window on the far side overlooking the yard. The walls were painted a light mushroom brown, and on the floor near the entrance was an old IKEA futon without a cover. Both the paint and the futon predated JP’s tenancy and, up until a week earlier, the room had been filled with odds and ends: a big box full of cables he’d been dragging from apartment to apartment, Xmas decorations, a life-sized standing cut-out of Data from TNG, and a bunch of camping gear that belonged to his ex. The decorations and gear were now taking up valuable real estate in JP’s closet, but the cables and Lieutenant Commander Data had gone to the curb.
“Uh, so, yeah, there’s no door to the room . . . that’s part of why it’s so cheap. I’ve been trying to get my landlord to replace it, but he lives out in Tremblant, and he’s never here. He’s a nice guy, just . . . sort of lazy. But you could put up a curtain or something for the time being.”
“Okay,” the man replied, nodding again like he was taking mental notes. “This come with it?” He pointed to the futon.
“Yep. Keep it or toss it; it’s up to you.” Why am I getting his hopes up? Stupid Canadian politeness. “And there’s no closet, sorry. I think it was used as a dining room back when the duplex was first built.”
“That’s all right.”
JP stepped out of the way to let him through the door and then led him to the big living room. “The back door there leads to the yard. There’s an old guy that lives downstairs, and he sits out there maybe once or twice a year, so it’s basically mine.”
“Cool.”
“And that’s my room-slash-office over there.” He pointed to the closed door. There was reason to give him the full tour. “And there’s the bathroom. Laundry machines too.”
Poking his head into the bathroom, the man whistled. “A claw foot tub! Man, I haven’t seen one of these in ages.”
JP smiled. “Yeah, it’s pretty great for baths. A little awkward for the shower, though.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, I had to rig up a shower curtain stand when I moved in, and the thing holding the shower head is a little low.” He shrugged. “You kind of have to duck under it.”
“Well, you might, Stretch,” the guy said, grinning up at him pointedly. He was right—JP had at least a foot on him, for sure.
JP laughed politely, and the man joined in. He had an unusual laugh, oddly high-pitched compared to his gruff speaking voice.
“So, what happened to the last guy?” the man asked, jerking his thumb back towards the spare room. He gave JP a teasingly suspicious look. “Anything I should know about you?”
“Ah. No. I’m totally boring, trust me. And there wasn’t anyone renting it before. I’m just going back to school part-time, and I need the extra money because I have to cut back my work hours.”
“Gotcha.” The stranger walked over to his rucksack and picked it up, and JP followed to let him out, a little confused about the abruptness of his leaving. However, instead of putting his boots on, he went back to the spare room and tossed his bag on the futon. “I’ll take it!”
JP stood there, mouth agape for a second, trying to find a polite way to turn him down. “Um. Well. You see . . . uh . . . there are other people coming . . .”
“Well, tell ‘em it’s taken!” The man chuckled and pulled something out of his back pocket. JP stared at the thick wad of cash as he began peeling off bills. “First month, last month, and key deposit, right? How much do I owe you?”
“Oh. There’s no key deposit. I think that’s actually illegal in Québec.” JP licked his lips, his eyes on the bills in his hand. “And uh, we don’t do ‘last month’ either. That might be illegal too. I don’t know.”
“I might as well give it to you anyway.” He held out seven shiny one-hundred-dollar bills.
JP’s mind was pulling him in two directions, and he didn’t know what to do.
On the one hand, the guy had the money. It was right there. It meant JP could pay back some of what he owed on his credit cards. How bad could this guy be?
But, on the other hand, who was he? Why did he have so much cash? Where did he get it? Laurie at the pub might think the guy was nice enough to set him up as his roommate, but what did he actually know about him? Even looking beyond his grimy appearance . . . he had just walked off the street. The man could be a criminal. Then something else occurred to JP: there hadn’t seen the ad. He didn’t know all the details. What if he was a homophobe? There was no way JP was going to live in the closet in his own home.
“Just so you know, I’m gay,” JP blurted out, bracing himself. His cheeks felt hot.
The guy looked at him a little funny. “Cool cool.”
At that moment, Loki, JP’s tortie, decided to make an appearance.
“Oh, you’ve got a cat!” the man said, squatting down. He pocketed the money and held out his hand to her.
“Uh. I wouldn’t do that,” JP warned him. “She hates everyone but me. She’ll tolerate you after a while but don’t expect to—” He gaped as Loki began to rub her face against the guy’s knuckles, purring audibly. “It might be a trap,” he said weakly. “She really does hate everyone.”
“Animals like me,” the man replied, looking up at JP with another of his gleaming white smiles. He scratched behind Loki’s ears and under her chin, just the way she liked it. “Aw, you’re a good kitty. Such a pretty girl, aren’t you? Aren’t you?” He made silly kissy noises at her, which she ate up, slow-blinking up at him.
“Well, that’s a first.” JP shook his head. “Okay. Listen . . . thing is, I don’t know anything about you. Like . . . what do you do for a living?”
The guy straightened, and Loki rubbed herself against his legs a few times before wandering off, her tail high. “A bit of this, a bit of that. I’m actually between gigs right now. But I’ll have something lined up in no time, don’t worry. Never have a problem finding work.”
“O . . . kay.” There was his out! He could refuse him simply for being unemployed. JP was relieved.
Then the man shrugged. “I just flew in this afternoon from Kuujjuaq. Was up there for a six-month construction contract. A government infrastructure initiative thing with Northern communities . . . helping to build stuff, fix things . . . you know? Like, lend a hand?
“They had us working with people from all over the Nunavik region, giving them some extra help and tools to get them where they want to be. So, I uh, let’s see . . .” The man held up his hand, counting off on his fingers. “Well, first I worked for a bit on a new hospital centre, and then I helped to set up the new beachside port that’s going up near Kuujjuaq . . . then I went a little south of there to do some logging. I also spent a few weeks just breaking up rocks to get a road through so’s folk don’t have to wait as long for supplies.” He laughed, looking at his rough, grimy palms. “Shit, I’ve got calluses on my calluses, but it was totally worth it.”
The guy had spent six months up north in the bush doing humanitarian work. JP realized he couldn’t very well refuse him now without looking like a total asshole. Great.
“That’s pretty awesome,” he replied slowly. “I can’t even imagine going all the way up there.”
The man grinned. “I’m just glad they’re not flying Otters anymore. It’s all standard Boeings and shit now, except half of the plane’s cargo. But, man, just getting back to Kuujjuaq last night in time to catch my flight this morning was hell. Everything that could have gone wrong did. I haven’t slept since . . . fuck, I don’t even know.” He laughed. “What the hell day is it?” Shaking his head while still chuckling, he pulled the bills from his pocket again and held them out to JP. “So? Whattaya say? Roomies? Hm?”
“But . . . what about references?” JP asked weakly, trying one last thing.
“Aw, that’s fine, bro,” the man answered, thumping him on the shoulder. “I don’t need ‘em. You seem like a decent guy.”
That’s not what I meant, JP thought as accepted the money, but he knew he was defeated. He sighed. “When do you think you’ll move in?” he asked nervously.
“How about now?” The man threw himself down on the futon, and it creaked so loudly JP thought it would give out. He lay back on the naked mattress with a happy sigh, lacing his fingers over his chest. “Oh yeah, that’s the ticket.” He closed his eyes.
“Right now?” JP hadn’t planned on this. He wasn’t ready to share his space yet. He needed a few days to prepare himself mentally. Oh my god, what have I done? “Wh-what about your stuff?”
Without opening his eyes, the man nudged the bag with his foot. “This is all of it.”
Oh my god. “Do you even have sheets?”
“No, but I’ll go get some tomorrow. No worries.”
“Okay,” JP said in a faint voice. He stood there a moment with his stomach clenched tight with anxiety, feeling like he needed to say more . . . but what? Loki brushed against his leg before hopping onto the futon to curl up at his new roommate’s feet, fixing him with a slow-blinking green stare. In a daze, JP started to turn away, then stopped. “Wait . . . I don’t even know your name.” The guy let out one of his high-pitched laughs—it was nearly a giggle. “Wow, my bad,” he said, sitting up. He held a hand out to shake, and JP politely took it, grimacing inwardly as he tried to ignore the dirt. The man smiled.
“The name’s Kevin.”
