Chapter 2: A Beginner's Guide to Housekeeping (beta)

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Kyle

Brian… I mean Rose, Rose was her name, I had to remember that… Was so much nicer in girl-mode. Made sense -- every trans person I’d met or heard about was dealing with a constant, unending chasm of despair inside their mind every second they pretended to be someone, something, they fundamentally weren’t. It explained everything, really, namely why she was such an asshole before. 

Now, though… Well, I hoped she’d work her way up to talking again soon. When Rose wasn’t being a jerk, she was a great conversationalist. But there was no pressure. She had a very low voice, and maybe she wanted to try out the nonverbal thing while she worked on it. That was cool. It was all cool. 

And yeah, I had to admit, she was pretty. Real pretty. 

I’d have to have a talk with her at some point about dividing up the chore responsibilities around the house, especially if she was gonna be around more often, but… Hey, baby steps. 

I was just glad she wasn’t being so aggro right now. 

I started cleaning as soon as I got home, her smile echoing inside my mind. Her red lips parting to reveal those perfect teeth, those wide eyes never breaking off contact with my own. She was a great listener. Most of the people I knew… They didn’t wanna hear anything from me. They wanted to look at me, wanted to see what I could do for them. But what I had to say didn’t interest them. Except my kids, obviously: the teams I coached at the prep school where I worked. Still, someone my own age who actually fucking listened when I talked… That sounded wicked nice. 

I ran the swiffer over the floor, scrubbing away layers of dirt and grime that had accumulated during my depressive funk. And I thought about what I would do when she got back. Would she keep presenting like that all the time? Just when home? Would I have to keep it a secret around other people? Then again, her social circle outside of work was pretty limited, and we were in such different fields that it wasn’t like I’d risk spilling the beans to any of her coworkers. I guess I would have to get a clearer picture of what she wanted out of all this. 

Besides a clean apartment. 

That was when I stopped what I was doing and my jaw hung open. I’d wondered why she’d reached out to me through a dating app, of all things. The best theory I’d been able to muster was that she knew I wasn’t gonna respond to any texts from her when I was pissed off (which was accurate). The other theory I had was that she was into me and was trying to be my rebound girl without having to actually apologize.

But a new one sprouted inside my mind: she was doing this to get me to clean for her without having to do it herself. 

… No, no, that couldn’t be it. Nobody would do something that asinine --

A memory flashed behind my eyes, from three years back, when Rose had paid a pizza delivery guy a fifty dollar tip entirely in spare change after they’d stood there waiting for the tip in question. So yeah, she would absolutely do something that asinine. 

I inhaled and exhaled. I couldn’t accuse her of something like that straight out. I had to be sure. There was a chance she was sincere in what she was doing. So I cleaned and cleaned well into the night, snapping photos of my efforts. When it was done, I went into my room, circumventing the garden of cans and wrappers everywhere as I ambled over to my whiteboard. I erased the football plays I’d been formulating -- it was the off-season, and I wouldn’t be able to start coaching again for another few months. I started drawing up new plans, plans to make clear whatever the hell my gorgeous lunatic of a roommate was up to. 

What? She looked good in that dress. And I had a thing for redheads. 

Step one was to send her the photos of all the cleaning I’d done. I kept humoring her, sending the photos through the dating app, and waited. 

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting for the reply. I definitely wasn’t expecting a marching band of star-eyed emojis. 

‘So, wanna come over tonight?’ I sent. 

I watched the ellipses in the app, waited, and waited, and waited, until finally: ‘yes please!’

‘Awesome! How about 7? I’ll order us some takeout. Thai good?’

Of course it was good. Thai was her favorite. ‘Heck yes!!’ About a dozen or two heart emojis accompanied. 

She made no mention of what she wanted me to order for her. 

I made no mention of what I intended to order for her. 

I knew what her favorite was, mind you. She ordered the same thing every time: spicy pineapple fried rice with extra shrimp, and a side of veggie spring rolls. She especially loved it when someone else ordered Pad Thai with squid so she could mix the two of them together. 

Step one was to set the trap. Then I’d get her to fess up. 

I wasn’t mad. This all just seemed like an overly-elaborate way for her to come out to me, while also getting me to clean. Which I was gonna do anyway. And, where coming out was concerned, I suspected she was gonna do anyway. 

I just couldn’t resist the idea of seeing the look on her face when she realized her foolproof evil plan wasn’t foolproof at all and was, in fact, totally banal. Beyond that… 

I wasn’t really sure what was beyond that. Part of me was wondering if there was anything more to the fact that she’d messaged me through a dating app and met me at a singles bar. Was she… INTO ME?

Seemed unlikely. For some reason. I wasn’t sure why, but the odds that Rose liked me like that just didn’t seem terribly high. I mean, if she liked me, why was she never around? Why did she barely talk to me? Half the time, it felt like she was using me as a personal butler she seldom had to interact with. And I didn’t mind, per se: there were benefits to my arrangement, like the fact that I could live in a swanky apartment on a high school teacher/coach’s salary. Still, why the sudden turnaround? Was she that torn up by our argument the other night?

I didn’t buy it. 

I thought back to the night we’d met: a frat party, in some rich idiot’s brownstone their parents were letting them use while they wasted their money on a degree they wouldn’t even need because they had all the right connections. The night had been hot and humid, the stars all blotted out by the city lights and the interior of the brownstones packed with drunken students like sardines in a can as we all danced around each other to the tones of terrible music. I’d been leaning on the wall, red Solo cup in hand while a curvy brunette was inching further and further towards me. From across the room, I spotted a skinny redheaded guy, desperately attempting to make space for himself… For HERSELF, in the claustrophobic nightmare of a room. Every time someone got close, she bent and twisted and contorted like a cat desperate to avoid being petted, moving around the other partygoers so intently it may as well have been her version of a dance. 

That was when I noticed someone following her: a tall girl, one I’d seen on the rowing team, muscular and broad with an unforgiving look of determination on her face. Hair dyed green and white, clad in skinny jeans and a low-cut white tank top. She had a nasally voice that cut through all the other noise in the room, which was no mean feat. And she was, near as I can tell, trailing after the person I now knew as Rose and wasn’t taking no for an answer. 

Rose slammed against the wall next to me. She looked legitimately scared, so I did the right thing: I formed a wall between Rose and the rower girl and looked her straight in the face. “You okay, bro?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I just… Trying to avoid that girl. She keeps following me.”

“Why?”

“I said I wouldn’t go out with her,” she said. 

“And she’s following you around now? The fuck?”

“Yeah, I don’t know what her damage is,” Rose said, eyes shooting to the ground. “Guess it’s my own fault.”

“Don’t say that,” I said. “Stick with me, I’ll help you keep some distance.”

She eyed the brunette who’d been getting cozy with me, who herself was giving me an annoyed look. I just shrugged. She walked away, and after a few minutes during which it became clear I wasn’t going anywhere, so did the rower girl.

I leaned back against the wall, standing next to Rose, and poured her a drink from the refreshment table. “This happen to you a lot?”

“I dunno, I guess,” she said, running a hand through her shaggy red hair. She sipped from the glass of vodka I’d poured her, her face contorting with discomfort. “I’m O’Neil, by the way.”

“Kyle,” I said. 

Rose, for her part, cracked her neck and started to walk away. “Coast is clear. Thanks again. I think I’m gonna go upstairs, see if anyone’s smoking weed. See you around, Kyle.”

And with that, she left. 

It was always like that. She got what she needed from me, and then she made herself scarce. I didn’t take it personally. Didn’t think there was much point to that. But the pattern was what it was. And if she liked me, she would stick around more. 

Guess I’d be testing that theory tonight. 

Now to wait until it was time to implement step three.