Roommaid QUOTES

21 " Pigeon observed me silently as I took my pile to the stackable washer and dryer located next to my bathroom. I decided to do a rinse cycle and then wash them. I then grabbed my phone to figure out where I’d gone wrong. Turned out only dishwasher soap should go in the dishwasher. Which was different from dishwashing liquid. And there were also handy directions on how to clean soap out of a dishwasher when you used the wrong kind.

Feeling reassured that I wasn’t the only one who’d ever done this, I pulled all the dishes out of the dishwasher. When I got to the bottom rack, I noticed that the heavy pan I’d placed in there looked . . . rusted.

I finally gave in and called Shay. I explained what had happened, and after she stopped laughing she told me to send her a picture of the pan in question.

“You put his cast-iron pan in the dishwasher?” she shrieked when my text arrived.

“Is that bad?”

“So bad! I mean, there’s things you can do to try and fix it once you’ve rusted it up like that, but if you don’t want him to know . . .”

“I definitely don’t want him to know.” I’d been at his place for twenty-four hours and I was already destroying his property. This did not bode well.

“Then I think you’re better off buying him a new one. When you do, watch a video on how to take care of it. They’re not like regular pans.”

“Why would someone buy something you couldn’t put in a dishwasher?” I asked.

“Because it cooks certain foods so much better. It’s one of those things where if I have to explain it to you, you’re not going to get it. But time to replace that sucker. And make sure you season it.”

She hung up before I could ask her what seasoning it meant. Time to do more research.

I looked his pan up on Amazon. I gasped when I saw how much it cost. “Why would anyone spend this much on a pan that, I repeat, you cannot put in a dishwasher?”

Pigeon cocked her head at me.

I’d put a self-ban on online shopping mainly because American Express had invited me to stop using their card.

But desperate times and all that . . . I put the pan in my shopping cart and then entered my new address and my debit card information. The new pan was going to arrive in two days, which was plenty of time before Tyler was due back.

Pigeon had continued to study me, keeping her distance. Was it an improvement that she was choosing to hang around me?

“We just had our first adventure together,” I told her. "

― Sariah Wilson , Roommaid

22 " Inside, there was a small plush Hello Kitty holding an apple in one hand and a book in the other. She was a teacher. "

― Sariah Wilson , Roommaid

23 " Do you have any fun plans today?”

“I’m going to buy a car.” I couldn’t keep the glee out of my voice, and it made him smile. “I’ve never bought a car before. I’m really looking forward to it.”

“That does sound . . . well, I don’t know if fun’s the word I would use. Having the car is fun. Buying it usually not so much.”

“I’ve been adequately warned. And my friend Shay is supposed to be here in a few minutes. I’m hoping to get to the lot before it opens so I can get the car I want.” This was the dealer’s busiest day of the week and I was afraid the car would get sold. My phone buzzed with a text from Shay. “Speak of the devil.”

“Oh no,” I said.

“Everything okay?”

“Not really. Shay had to cancel. I’m going to try one of my other friends.” I called Delia and she didn’t pick up. Which was unlike her. I tried texting her and waited.

“No answer?” Tyler asked.

“She didn’t reply,” I confirmed, a sinking feeling settling in my stomach. “Which means I’m going to have to take an Uber to get to this dealership.” It wouldn’t be cheap.

“I can drive you.”

“What?” Had I heard him correctly?

“I can drive you,” he said, repeating his offer. “I don’t have much going on until later on this evening, so if you want, I can go with you.”

He’s not interested in you. He has a girlfriend who looks like a Russian Barbie come to life. He is just being your friend. Stop being so excited.

My pounding heart didn’t listen.

Something in my expression made him laugh. “Is that a yes?”

Um, obviously the answer was yes. Because I might have been a lot of things, but stupid was not one of them. It was, in fact, an overly enthusiastic “Yes!” It made him laugh again. So even if I was embarrassing myself, it was worth it to hear his reaction.

“From what I’ve read online, you’ll be even better backup than Shay,” I told him. “Because you’re a man. And you’re tall.” And hot.

Thankfully, my lips refrained from uttering that last part.

“You don’t know any other tall men?” he asked.

“We did discuss this as a friend group, and no, we didn’t have anybody else to ask that we thought might do it. Delia did offer to send along her giant cardboard cutout of Edward from Twilight, but I passed.”

“Good choice,” he said with a grin. “Are you ready to go?”

“Let me grab my purse. "

― Sariah Wilson , Roommaid

24 " I would be Mr. / Dr. Clean-Dolittle. Practically perfect in every way. "

― Sariah Wilson , Roommaid

25 " He smiled. “I’m pretty sure she’s not plotting my demise. And it’s nice to love somebody who doesn’t want anything in return. "

― Sariah Wilson , Roommaid

26 " You know,” I told him, “Bitsie missed out. If she’d just auctioned off a dance with you, she would have raised all the money she needed.”

“Ha-ha.”

“I’m serious. You were unquestionably the belle of the ball tonight. Did you leave behind one of your shoes just in case?”

This time he did actually laugh. “I’m not trying to land a prince.”

“You’d be the only one. "

― Sariah Wilson , Roommaid

27 " A few days later, I was hunting under the bathroom sink for a bottle of window cleaner. Which I had, in my naivete, assumed only cleaned windows. As per the label. While cleaning the mirror I’d been using the kitchen cleaner, which had falsely labeled itself as “all-purpose.” It was not all-purpose and made bathroom mirrors streaky. “Deceitful advertising,” I mumbled to myself.

Once I found the window cleaner, the internet recommended I not use paper towels but since this wasn’t 1996, we didn’t have any newspaper. I also highly doubted that Tyler had microfiber cloths.

The paper towels worked well enough. Which freed me up to indulge in one of my favorite pastimes: daydreaming about Tyler.

It was one of the few ways to make chores entertaining. I imagined him coming home, finding me in the bathroom, washing the mirror. He would sneak in behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, nuzzling my neck. I’d lean against his brawny frame, loving the way he felt and how he touched me. Shivers of anticipation would rack my frame, making me rely on his strength to keep me upright.

Then he’d whisper words hotly against my ear. “There’s something I want to ask you.”

My rib cage would constrict my breathing, my heart speeding like a jackhammer. “Yes?”

“Madison . . . how did you get the mirror so clean?”

Ugh. It had been so long since I’d been with someone that even my fantasies were lame. "

― Sariah Wilson , Roommaid

28 " I scrubbed at the mirror harder and wondered how Tyler cleaned the one in his bathroom.

Or if he had someone else do it for him.

Someone like Oksana.

“Oksana, Oksana, Oksana,” I muttered as I continued cleaning the mirror. It was weird to be so deeply jealous of someone I knew nothing about.

I had just finished up when I heard a noise. I figured it was Pigeon, but then she came in to sit on the floor next to my feet. She was whimpering.

Which meant . . . I went down the hallway and found Oksana in the kitchen.

I tried not to gasp. I’d chanted her name and had accidentally summoned her.

She had spread groceries all over the counter. A large pot sat on the stove, and I heard bubbles popping, as if something was boiling.

For all that was holy, I hoped it wasn’t a bunny. Whatever it was, it smelled a little like dirt and sulfur. Wasn’t that how brimstone was supposed to smell?

Maybe she was cooking up something for her good buddy, Satan.

“Hello.” I smiled and waved at her.

She had a cigarette hanging from her lower lip. She paused from cutting up a head of cabbage to glare at me and then resumed her cutting.

When it was obvious she wasn’t going to respond, I opted to be more direct. “What are you doing here?” Did somebody accidentally leave the gates of hell unlocked? I hoped I didn’t come across as too accusatory. I was genuinely bewildered to find her in my apartment again.

Her eyebrows went up, as if my question were stupid. “Cooking.”

“Oh. So, what are you, uh, making there?”

“Borscht.”

That was a kind of soup if I remembered correctly. “What do you use to make borscht?”

She glared at me again, obviously not in the mood to talk, and it kind of surprised me when she answered. She held the large knife she was using against her shoulder, making me feel the tiniest bit of fear. “Beets. Cabbage. Knucklebones. And other things.”

Knucklebones? Like . . . from people? What other animals had knuckles? This concerned me.

“Well, that sounds . . . great. Have fun. I’m going to go clean.” She so didn’t care what I was going to do. I wanted to ask her not to smoke because I was a big fan of my own lungs and breathing in general, but I didn’t know if I had the authority to say so.

I scampered away, trying not to think about how unfair it was that she not only looked that way but could cook, too. She’d probably never stick a cast-iron pan in the dishwasher. "

― Sariah Wilson , Roommaid