The Unexpected Roomate

Grace Chen's top three priorities were her serenity, her solitude, and her immaculately maintained abode. She will be losing all three by tomorrow.

"You're making that face again," Elena observed, lying on Grace's immaculate gray couch with a wineglass perilously near the coffee table's edge. "The one that says you're mentally alphabetizing your spice rack to avoid a panic attack."

Grabbing the glass, Grace placed it on a coaster. "I'm not panicking."

"Your left eye is twitching."

"It's allergies."

"In January?"

With a sigh, Grace sank into the recliner across from her closest friend. She may not be able to call her Capitol Hill apartment her home for long, but the late afternoon sunlight, which is uncommon in Seattle at this time of year, seeped through the wide windows.

Grace said, "I just can't believe Megan left me hanging like this," as she peered into the now-vacant second bedroom. Last week, her two-year roommate declared that she was moving in with her boyfriend, effective right away. Not enough notice. No assistance in locating a substitute. A pile of overdue debts and a polite "Sorry, but love waits for no one!" as all.

Elena took another sip of wine. "People suck. But you need a roommate by next week or you're screwed on rent."

"Thank you for that insightful analysis of my situation."

"That's what best friends are for." Elena grinned, then grew serious. "Listen, Matt mentioned his friend needs a place ASAP. Some messy divorce situations. He's a chef at Vertigo."

Grace perked up. "That new place on Pike everyone's talking about?"

"That's the one. Apparently, he's a good person. Matt has known him forever."

Grace hesitated. A stranger in her space. A male stranger, at that. Someone who might leave dirty dishes in the sink or shoes in the hallway or heaven forbid use the wrong towels.

"I don't know, Elena..."

"Look, your options are: take a chance on this guy, move back in with your parents in Bellevue, or magically produce sixteen hundred dollars in rent by yourself." Elena crossed the alternatives off her list. "Your call."

Grace's eye twitched once more at the idea of returning to her childhood bedroom, where she would have to deal with her mother's daily remarks about her "biological clock" and "wasted potential."

“All right.” Give my number to Matt.

“Already did.”Elena's phone rang. She looked at her screen and smiled. "Max's coming by at seven tonight to see the place."

"Tonight?" Grace almost suffocated on her wine. "Elena, the apartment is a mess!"

Elena looked around the spotless room, where every surface shined and not a single object was out of position. "If this is your view of a mess, I'd hate to hear what you call my house."

Grace mumbled, "A biohazard," immediately mentally listing the things that needed to be done before this Max person showed up. In the guest bathroom, there are new towels. A few cookies, perhaps? Did you need cookies to show an apartment? She had never before found herself on this side of the equation.

"Slow down," Elena whispered as she drained her wine. "Just be yourself."

"Last time I was myself with a potential roommate, she said I gave off 'strict kindergarten teacher vibes' and ran away."

"Okay, be yourself but, like, twenty percent less intense." Elena picked up her purse and stood up. "I must run. Tell me via text how it goes.

Grace spent the next hour cleaning frantically after Elena left, more for the sake of soothing herself than for practical reasons. After three costume changes, she ultimately decided on dark trousers and a cozy blue sweater that, according to her sister, made her appear "almost approachable."

The bell rang at exactly 7:00 PM.

Grace inhaled deeply, brushed her long brown hair, and opened the door.

She was shocked to see the man standing in the corridor.

For starters, Grace had to raise her head to look into his eyes because he was tall well over six feet. Also, he was different from the presentable experts who worked in her publication house. Max Walker wore a brown leather jacket, faded trousers with a small tear at the knee, and a shirt that was pulled up to show off his tattoos. His dark hair was cut neatly and smooth. His jaw was covered by a shadow of beard.

However, it was his warm, slightly off-center smile that briefly distracted Grace.

He remarked, "You must be Grace," and held out his hand. "I'm Max."

His palm was callused, and he shook hands firmly. Grace recognized the hands of the chef.

She said, "Please, come in," and moved aside. I’m Grace.

"Grace," he said again, seemingly to test the sensation of it in his mouth. The smell of frigid air and something spicy she couldn't place followed him into the apartment. "Nice place."

Like a bull in a china shop, he strode across her tastefully decorated room with limitless energy and broad shoulders. His fingers swept over her bookcases organized alphabetically by different authors, looked at her assortment of porcelain birds, and paused at the wall of framed pictures (symmetrically placed, of course).

He pointed to a photo of Grace at her college graduation, nestled between her parents, and questioned, "Your family?"

"Yes," she responded, feeling strangely uneasy. Most individuals didn't listen very intently. "My parents and my sister, Lyla."

He turned back to her after nodding and taking another look at the picture. "So, the room?"

Hyper aware of his presence behind her, Grace guided him down the corridor. She said, "It's not very large," and opened the second bedroom door. "But it gets good light in the morning."

Max entered and looked around the deserted room. With the exception of the dust bunnies beneath the bed and an enigmatic stain on the carpet that Grace had spent hours cleaning, Megan had taken everything.

He said, "It's perfect," after a brief pause.

Grace blinked. "You wish to avoid taking any measurements? Or look in the closet."

He gave his wide shoulders a shrug. “I don't own many possessions.” Most of it had to be left behind.

Grace was intrigued by something in his tone, but she wasn't going to ask. Rather, she escorted him back to the living room, where she had set up a folder with all the pertinent documents: building regulations, utility breakdowns, and rental agreements.

She handed him the packet and they sat at her dining table. "I've outlined everything here," she said. “I have really explicit expectations.” All utilities are divided equally. Take care of yourself. No parties without prior notification. Quiet time on weeknights after 11 p.m.

Max's eyebrows were up a little as he looked through the pages. "You've got a tedious schedule in here."

Grace corrected, feeling her cheeks heat up. "It's a suggested cleaning schedule," she said. "Just so we're clear on responsibilities."

"And a bathroom schedule?"

The statement, "Mornings can get stressful," was delivered defensively.

To his credit, he didn't laugh so loud, but a smile played at the corners of his mouth. "You're very... ready."

"I like order," Grace acknowledged. "It's very important to me."

Laying back in his chair, Max observed her while closing the folder. For the first time, she saw that his eyes were a warm hazel color with gold flecks around his pupils.

“I should tell you now  that I'm not the world's neatest person.” I work late. I occasionally bring stuff from home to test recipes. And sometimes, my pals come over."

In Grace’s mind, every word acted as a little caution sign. This dude was the epitome of pandemonium. He'd leave shoes in the hallway and dishes in the sink. He would sabotage her meticulously planned life in a hundred little ways.

"I see," she uttered rigidly.

"But," he went on, "I accept other people's personal space. Eventually, I clean up my mess. Additionally, I have better roommates than you since I make a mean morning burrito.

Grace grinned in spite of herself. "Is that what makes you stand out? Burritos for breakfast?"

"That and I can pay first and last month's rent right now." Between them, on the table, he took an envelope out of the pocket of his jacket. "Cash."

Grace gazed at the letter. She had five days to pay her rent. It would be quite difficult to find another roommate at that time.

She dared to ask, "Can I ask why you need a place so urgently?"

A shadow moved behind those warm eyes, and something changed in his face. Last month, my divorce was finalized. Since my ex-wife took over the house, I've been staying on Matt's couch. Not good for anyone.

Grace said, "I'm sorry," without thinking.

“Don’t be.” In the end, it was the best thing that ever happened to me. He smiled again. "Look, I know that I'm not the kind of roommate you were hoping for. However, you need rent money, I need a location, and I swear not to ruin your life."

Grace bit her lip in thought. This was a bad concept on paper. In every aspect that was relevant to peaceful coexistence, they were obviously diametrically opposed. And yet...

She heard herself question herself, "When would you want to move in?"

"Is tomorrow too soon?"

It was much too soon. She required time for mental preparation, schedule reorganization, and acceptance of the impending invasion of her refuge.

"Tomorrow is fine," she said.

His face flushed with relief. "I'm grateful. Really.

Max signed his name in a rather elegant scrawl on all the dotted lines as they went over the papers for the next twenty minutes. He stopped at the door as she led him out.

"Just so you know," he admitted, "I truly appreciate this. You won't regret it, I promise.

Somehow, Grace knew she would remember those words later for all the wrong reasons.

She leaned against the locked door after he departed, enjoying the peaceful apartment on her final night of complete seclusion.

Max Walker, with his chaotic life, chef's hours, and who knew what else, would show up tomorrow. Everything will be different tomorrow.

Elena texted Grace, and her phone buzzed: "Well? "Disaster or potential husband material?"

"Neither," Grace texted back, rolling her eyes. Merely a short-term roommate until I can pay for this house myself."

If only she were aware of her error.