When someone tells me 'no pressure' I feel ten times more pressure; so when Ronald reminds me for the nineth time in the last four days that I have to go back to Rutherford Suites to sign the lease before the school year starts and adds "but no pressure," I definitely feel the pressure.
I glance around at my apartment, with boxes everywhere and feel a bit nostalgic. Well, at least I won't have to endure the rats again.
I pick up my purse, ready to go to the bus stop, when I get a ping from my phone.
It's a message from Indrek, still saved as Henry Rockstar. It has been five days since I last texted him, asking how he knew me. I checked my phone obsessively for any update from him and got nothing, so naturally, my stomach swoops.
It's an image. I download it before I leave. It's a picture of my current profile picture. Under it are the words 'That's how'.
Oh.
My mind spins for all of two seconds before I realize that of course he could see my profile picture, he's on my contact list. Duh. Then I back track and realize that he still remembers what I looked like and I do a weird little victory dance. I'm glad there are no witnesses.
I think about it on my walk to the bus stop. I'm just one person among the millions I assume he's met because of his career, and yet, he remembers ME. I almost break into another victory dance but I compose myself.
Once I'm on the bus, which is surprisingly not overloaded today, I think of a reply. They are all sound stupid, but I figure that stupidity did lead me to Indrek, so I take the chance.
10:42am: Oh. You must have a good memory then.
Before I can put my phone back in my purse, I get another ping.
10:42am: I don't.
I blink repeatedly—my normal reaction when I'm speechless. I now have millions of follow-up questions swirling in my mind, none that I dare voice, because what does he mean he doesn't have a good memory????
My fingers are itching to reply but the only word on my mind is 'Oh'. I figure it won't help the conversation so I shove that idea into the bin. I think of something different.
10:43 am: We may have that trait in common.
This time, I'm waiting for the reply. He is typing.
10:44 am: Some more than others.
Oh my God. Was that shade? Did he just throw shade on me? I should be offended, but I find myself smiling like an idiot. Clearly, there is something wrong with me.
10:45 am:Well played.
I see a single grey tick in my bubble. He just went offline.
I do the same and shove my phone back in my purse again.
I replay the conversation in my head as the bus wades through Thika Road traffic.
I wonder if he smiled. I wonder if he rolled his eyes. If he smirked. If he performed a victory dance when he threw shade at me. Because yes, that totally was shade. I wonder if he went off because he knew he'd delivered the perfect blow and decided to quit while he was ahead.
I get off at my stop and spot a familiar red Toyota Corolla. Ronald. I walk up to the passenger door and knock on the window. It opens immediately, and I see Ronald settling back in the driver's seat.
"Hey stranger," he says smiling.
"Hi," I smile back. "Were you waiting for me?"
"Me? Oh no, I just got back from town and I decided to wait in case you needed a ride. It's more convenient this way, right?"
I force a smile. It feels strained, I take it down a notch. "Right. How thoughtful,"
I get in the car and decide to brush off his weirdness as being adorably dorky. The drive uphill is appreciatively silent as I gaze at what will be my normal surroundings for the next year.
The gate to Rutherford Suites is elegantly plain black bars. I love the simplicity of it.
"The caretaker is in today and I took the liberty of picking out the best apartment for you. It doesn't even need a new paint job," Ronald says.
"That's actually, really nice of you," I respond.
"Of course. It's what friends do," he says.
I hope that's all he wants us to be. I hum through my tight smile in response.
The Rutherford Suites are three three-story buildings arranged in a triangular shape. There is a water fountain in the middle. I gape.
I know I sound like an uncivilized small town girl—which I am at heart— but I have never lived somewhere where I could see a water fountain everyday.
I see Ronald smiling at me from the corner of my eye and promptly snap my jaw shut.
"Sorry, it's just…really pretty," I say, self-conscious.
"Don't worry. It's cute, I like it," he says. I shrug, realizing that I may have to watch my words and actions around him, lest he sees signs that aren't there.
Ronald drives into an underground parking lot and I hold on to my purse, my nerves suddenly on edge. I am fairly sure (judging from our two days of acquaintance) that he wouldn't try anything forward, but I choose to leave nothing to chance.
He parks the car, we get out of it and walk back up to the building. I feel calmer once I see the daylight.
We walk into the lobby of the middle building (omg there's a lobby!) where Ronald greets the woman behind the desk.
"Hey Lucy, I brought you a new customer," he says, walking towards her with me in tow.
"I see her, Ron. Hi there," Lucy says, turning a snow-white smile on me. I immediately think 'there's no way that's naturally white' then 'I need to get my teeth whitened' before I greet her back in kind.
"Could you draft up her lease while I show her around?" Ronald asks.
They stare at each other for a moment in what seems like a silent argument before Lucy caves with a sigh.
"Fine. I'll get you the keys," she huffs and turns to the board behind her to pick out a bunch of keys.
Ronald accepts them with a cocky 'thank you' and he leads me up the stairs.
I decide not to ask why his interaction with Lucy felt like a contest between two alphas, you know, for my mental stability.
In half an hour, Ronald has shown me three apartments and my only comment is he does not understand the meaning of small.
As he opened the door, he specifically said, "Now I know it's small, but trust me, it's got charm,"
The apartment was anything BUT small. The living room alone was bigger than my entire apartment, and when I turned to Ronald waiting for a "I got you, didn't I?" smug look, all I get is a bashful smile in return; like he truly was embarrassed.
Now I'm truly embarrassed.
When he leads me to the fourth apartment and says "Now, this is my personal favorite. I just know you'll love it," I am honestly intrigued.
"The balcony is a bit bigger here, and everything else is pretty much the same except for the bathroom," he says.
"What's wrong with the bathroom?" I ask, suddenly wary.
He shrugs and gestures for me to lead the way. I'm now familiar enough with the apartments to know that they've been designed the same way. Plus (bonus) every bathroom has a bathtub!
When I open the door, I trump the urge to scream in delight.
The bathtub is pink!
The toilet is pink!
The sink is pink!
It's all friggin pink!
I engulf Ronald in a surprise bear hug that has us stumbling back from the impact.
"I take it that you like it?" He asks, patting my back.
I nod against his chest—he is that tall.
I more than like this place, I love it.
We rush back downstairs so I can read the lease and sign it. I'm excited enough to take the stairs two at a time but also paranoid enough to think that the wrong step could make me fall and break my neck. And I am not dying a horribly tragic death before I get to use my pink bath tub. No way!
Lucy is sitting exactly where we left her, a grim smile on her face. The drafted lease is on her desk and I can only figure that she has my information because the school has it too.
While I skim through the papers—irresponsible, yes, but I'm trusting and I know how to look for key words— I watch Lucy and Ronald indiscreetly glare daggers at each other.
It feels awkward that I'm the only one in the room without insider information.
I sign the lease and slide the papers back to Lucy, who's too busy hating Ronald to notice.
My eyes bounce back and forth between the two, studying their grim faces, rigid backs and the knowledge that they've forgotten about a third party in the room.
Oh my God.
"You guys used to date, didn't you?" I ask.
Their heads snap back at me, surprised.