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One
Brinley
“No one has answered my ad for a roommate.” I push my laptop away from me after checking my email, and the saltshaker falls over.
Lance picks it up and shakes it over his left shoulder. “Left, right?” he asks our other cousin, Easton, who’s busy beside me on what I can see is another dating app.
“Nothing is gonna happen if you don’t throw salt over your shoulder.” Easton shakes his head but doesn’t look up.
“I think you’re the one who spilled it, Brin, so you should sprinkle it over your shoulder too.” Lance holds the saltshaker in front of me from across the table.
“A sprinkle of salt isn’t going to ward off anything bad happening to me. The dark cloud over my head for the past four years is proof of that.” I take the saltshaker and place it on the table.
“You’re tempting fate.” Lance straightens his tie and throws it over his shoulder when our waitress slides his tomato soup and salad in front of him. He almost always gets the same thing when we come to Lard Have Mercy.
I pick up the saltshaker and toss salt over my left shoulder to stop this ridiculous conversation and get back to the immediate problem I need to solve—finding a roommate.
“I don’t get it. You knew Calista was gonna move out.” Easton finally pockets his phone when his double-decker BLT slides in front of him.
Calista is our oldest cousin and was my roommate, but last year, she married the love of her life—a professional soccer player. Although she’s been living in Chicago, she’s been nice enough to pay the rent. But she’s returning to our small Alaskan town for the off-season this week, and they’ve found a house, which means I need to find another roommate.
“Hence the ad,” I deadpan.
“Maybe we should tweak it. It was a little…” Lance isn’t going to tell me what specifically is wrong, he’s too nice. Instead, he glances at Easton, who’s always happy to give his honest opinion, even when you don’t want it.
“Anal retentive,” Easton says. “Cold. It reads like you’ll have a chore chart on the fridge, and there will be consequences if you don’t get a gold star next to your name.”
I huff. “It was not that bad. I’m not ending up with some slob.”
Easton busies himself with taking the tomatoes out of his BLT.
“Why don’t you just tell them you don’t want tomatoes?” Lance asks but gets no answer.
“Don’t you ever look at your life and think… how did I get here?” I put my laptop in my messenger bag tucked between the wall and me.
They shovel food in their mouths so they don’t have to answer.
“My mom and dad want to help me with the rent or have me stay with them.” I roll my eyes.
Lance shakes his head, grabs his soda, and sucks down a third of his Coke before wiping his mouth. “That’s the worst thing you could do. I’m proud of you, Brin. You’re living on your own and learning to run Bailey Timber. Soon things will fall in place.” He notices I’ve yet to get a plate of food and points at the empty spot in front of me. “Where’s your food?”
“Hasn’t come yet.” I look to find the waitress, but Easton catches her attention first and she practically runs over. Of course she does.
“Hey, Mindy, my cousin here hasn’t gotten her food?”
She looks at my empty spot.
“The chopped salad?” I gently remind her.
Her eyes widen and she nods. “I’ll be right back.”
“Thanks, Mindy,” Easton says and winks.
I groan.
“Please tell me you haven’t scored with the waitress?” Lance says to Easton.
“No way, she’s jailbait.” He picks up half his sandwich and holds it out to me. “Have some of mine while you’re waiting.”
