AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“And you need someone who won’t give up if your OCD makes things messy.”
“Exactly.”
Raine searches my face, then nods. “I can do that.”
“You can?”
She returns the Christmas card to the refrigerator. “That’s the only part of this job I’m confident I can do.”
“And the flat?”
She leans against the counter with a sigh. “I did say I only turn down free stuff once, so I can’t say no to a place like this, can I?” She looks down at Sebastian. “Or a roommate like you, huh, floofs?”
When she lifts her gaze to mine, the first thing I think is,I’ve fucked up, because it’s at that exact moment I realize I’m going to be undone by this girl.
Seven
Raine
When Jack leaves on my first night in his apartment, I shut the door behind me and try not to think about the many ways this can go wrong.
Yesterday I was wandering around Cobh, desperate to find my stolen things and positive I’d be booking a flight back to Boston. Yesterday Jack Dunne was a stranger. Now I’m living in his place. Now I’m in Cobh for twelve weeks. I can hear my mother’s voice in my head.You just don’t think,Raine.
It probably seems that way when I misplace my keys for the fifth time in a week or miss the bus because I lost track of time playing guitar or forget to charge my phone. (Or impulsively accept a job I am not qualified for and move into a strange man’s apartment with his giant cat for a roommate.) But my problem isn’t that I don’t think. It’s that my brain only has two modes: think everything all at once and make sense of none of it, or think about one thing obsessively at the expense of whatever actually needs my attention.
The point being, I amalwaysthinking. Just never about the right things.
At the sound of Sebastian meowing, I look down and find him staring up at me with those huge green eyes.
“I don’t speak cat,” I say, then flop onto the couch.
Sebastian doesn’t respond. He picks up his baguette and carries it to the cat perch in one corner of the living room.
“What should we binge-watch tonight, roomie?” I ask him. “Should we pretend to be intellectuals and watch a documentary?”
Sebastian licks himself, which I take to mean,Don’t kid yourself.
I sigh. “You’re right. Reality TV it is. What’s popular these days?” I reach into the pocket of my hoodie for my phone, but it isn’t there. I put it in the Ziploc bag holding my cash and passport, which I also thought was in the pocket of this hoodie but isn’t.
I know I put it in a safe place. I remember putting it somewhere special, where I’d be sure to run into it. Given past experience, it probably is safe. Safe fromme, because I never remember where these special memorable places are. After a few frantic minutes zipping through the flat, I sink onto the couch in frustration and catch sight of my boots by the door.Of course.I reach my boots in a few quick strides, and sure enough, the Ziploc bag is in my left boot.
I hold up the bag for Sebastian. “I can tell you’re judging me, and I don’t like it.”
As soon as I slip the phone from the Ziploc bag, it buzzes in my hand with a video call from my sister. I’m not really in the mood to hear about her wonderful and successful life at medical school, but we’ve been playing phone tag all week, so I throw myself onto Jack’s yellow couch and answer the call.
“Did you go running?” Clara asks as soon as her face pops up on the screen. “You look out of breath.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, the wind knocked out of me from having landed a bit too hard on the couch. “You know I’d never willingly subject myself to structured cardio.”
I smile at the familiar sight of my sister. Her dark hair is tied upinto a bun. Perched on top of her head are the giant sunglasses I bought her two Christmases ago. An exact replica of the ones Audrey Hepburn—whom Clara is obsessed with—wore inBreakfast at Tiffany’s. The year before that, I bought her a satin scarf just like the one inRoman Holiday, her favorite Hepburn movie.
Clara munches on a carrot stick and looks at me with that intense, clinical stare of hers. I roll onto my stomach and tuck a bright blue couch pillow beneath me. Really, Jack’s apartment is... wonderful. All the light. The colors. Interesting things to see everywhere. Clearly he has a great eye. Why hasn’t this translated downstairs to the pub?
“What’s up, doc?” I say.
Clara’s mouth tips into a crooked smile. It’s my favorite thing about her. It’s not a beautiful smile, but it’s a real one. “Lunch break,” she says. “Where are you?”
“Ireland.” I haven’t told her or my parents anything that’s happened in the last forty-eight hours. And thanks to Jack, I don’t need to and never will.
