That first week in Cousins, I steered clear of Conrad. I couldn’t deal with one more person telling me that I was making a mistake, especially judgy Conrad. He didn’t even have to say it with words; he could judge with his eyes. So I got up earlier than him and ate meals before he did. And when he watched TV in the living room, I stayed upstairs in my room addressing invitations and looking at wedding blogs that Taylor had bookmarked for me.
I doubt he even noticed. He was pretty busy too. He surfed, he hung out with friends, he worked on the house. I’d never have known he was handy if I didn’t see it with my own two eyes—Conrad on a ladder checking the air-conditioning vents, Conrad repainting the mailbox. I saw it all from my bedroom window.
I was eating a strawberry Pop-Tart on the deck when he came jogging up the steps. He’d been out all morning. His hair was sweaty, and he was wearing an old T-shirt from his high school football days and a pair of navy gym shorts.
“Hey,” I said. “Where are you coming from?
“The gym,” Conrad said, walking past me. Then he stopped short. “Is that what you’re eating for breakfast?”
I was munching around the edge of the Pop-Tart. “Yeah, but it’s my last one. Sorry.”
He ignored me. “I left cereal out on the counter. There’s fruit in the fruit bowl too.”
I shrugged. “I thought it was yours. I didn’t want to eat your stuff without asking.”
Impatiently, he said, “Then why didn’t you ask?”
I was taken aback. “How could I ask when I’ve barely even seen you?”
We scowled at each other for about three seconds before I saw a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Fair enough,” he said, and his trace of a smile was already gone. He started to slide the glass door open, and then he turned and said, “Whatever I buy, you can eat.”
“Same here,” I said.
That almost-smile again. “You can keep your Pop-Tarts and your Funyuns and your Kraft mac and cheese all to yourself.”
“Hey, I eat other stuff besides just junk,” I protested.
“Sure you do,” he said, and he went inside.
The next morning, the cereal box was out on the counter again. This time, I helped myself to his cereal and to his skim milk, and I even cut up a banana to put on top. It wasn’t half bad.
Conrad was turning out to be a pretty good housemate. He always put the seat back down on the toilet, he did his dishes right away, he even bought more paper towels when we ran out. I wouldn’t have expected any less, though. Conrad had always been neat. He was the exact opposite of Jeremiah in that way. Jeremiah never changed the roll of toilet paper. It would never occur to him to buy paper towels or to soak a greasy pan in hot water and dishwashing soap.
I went to the grocery store later that day and bought stuff for dinner. Spaghetti and sauce and lettuce and tomato for a salad. I cooked it around seven, thinking, ha! This will show him how healthily I can eat. I ended up overcooking the pasta and not rinsing the lettuce thoroughly enough, but it still tasted fine.
Conrad didn’t come home, though, so I ate it alone in front of the TV. I did put some leftovers on a plate for him, though, and I left it on the counter when I went up to bed.
The next morning, it was gone and the dish was washed.
