Chapter 1: First Step

It all started when I decided to pursue my dream of creating a food blog. I quit my day job as an accountant as it was finally time to take the leap. But if I wanted to make this work, I had to think long-term. I earned good money and put a good chunk into savings, but you never know. So, I decided to get myself a roommate.

Looking through the applications a name stood out. Trina Woods…? Trina “Queen bitch” Woods? I know it wasn’t the most original nickname for her, but in middle school, just saying “bitch” was bad. She made my life pure hell, and I always thought it was because I was such an easy target. A skinny, scrawny little guy, always in hand-me-down clothes. God, I hated her.

I looked through her application, but I needed to make sure. My curiosity got the best of me, and I decided to invite her for an interview. What’s the worst that would happen? If she stepped out of line, she won’t be my choice. I’d most likely be able to kick her out nowadays. I hope.

The day for the interview came, and I had to admit: I was nervous. Not to toot my own horn, but I had seriously worked on myself since then; spite is a powerful motivator. Thoughts went through my head: how would she react when she realized it was me? She clearly didn’t recognize my name, or else she wouldn’t have applied… right? Or was she so oblivious to her bitchiness? Does that mean she’s still a bitch? What if she actually recognized my name?

A polite jingle fills the air. That’s the doorbell, interrupting my thoughts. I shook myself off, I went to open the door. A young, athletic-looking blonde woman in a classy business suit was standing outside.

“Matt, is it?”
“Yes - Trina, right?” I said as I extended my hand for a handshake. Might as well be civil. It must’ve been middle school graduation when we last saw each other, and I hated that it looked like the years had been kind to her.
“I’m glad you responded to my application; I’ve been apartment hunting for months now, and living in a motel”, she said while taking off her overcoat.
“Of course; I got surprisingly few applications, so I felt it would only be fair to interview them all.” A big lie on my part. I got swamped by applications due to my apartment being in a great area.
“Do you want anything? Coffee, tea…?” I said while going into the open kitchen.
“Just water, please”, she said, while sitting down on the couch. “Wow, this is such a nice apartment - a wonder that you didn’t get swamped by applications!”
“Yeah, I wonder why that is”, I said, trying to sound pensive. I decided that was enough pleasantries; it was time to see if she actually remembered me.
“So, where are you from?” I asked innocently.
“Oh, I’m from Pottsville, Pennsylvania. It’s a small town, closer to Philly than Pittsburgh.”
Good, I thought to myself. She didn’t seem surprised that I was asking the question.
“Oh, so escaping the small town from the east to find a fabulous life in LA?” I continued.
“Yeah, I guess”, she said coyly. “I just felt like there was nothing really left for me over there, you know?”
“I know the feeling. In small towns, the routine is so set in stone. Everyone knows who, and where, and what. Some like that, but it’s not for me”, I say as I bring over two glasses of water and set them on the coffee table.
“You’re not from LA then, I take it?” she says.
I laugh. “Oh, no. I thought you’d notice my Pennsylvania accent immediately!”
“I was wondering if I was imagining it!” she says in disbelief. “Where from?”
“I grew up in Altoona”, I say as I pick up a glass and take a sip. “So, we should probably get into the nitty-gritty.”

“Nitty gri-... ah, yes!” she seemed confused at first, then immediately takes out a stack of papers from her bag. “Here are my references and a pay stub. As you might see, I’m a freelance graphic designer; I own my own business, as you might remember from the application. I know it might seem risky to rent to a freelancer, but I guarantee you I have a steady client base that isn’t going anywhere.”
I look through the papers, but it’s mostly for show. I feel confident in the fact that she doesn’t recognize me, otherwise she would have called my bluff.
“Seems good to me”, I say as I put the papers down on the table. “So, a couple of roommate questions then. Obviously, you feel okay living with a man, seeing as you applied. How do you feel about cleanliness?”
“Everything divided, right in the middle. Weekly schedules, perhaps?”
“Mmhm. Parties? Yay, or nay?”
“I’m not the biggest party person, but a nice dinner party every once in a while might happen. Or the occasional late night. Once in a while being… once a month? Once in two months?”
“Do you tend to bring partners with you?”
“Not a habit of mine, but I’ll be honest. It might happen.”
“How much time would you spend in the apartment daily?”
“A lot, but I’m completely silent. Headphones on, doing my work. Occasionally might go work to a coffee shop, probably going to rent an office space in the future until I can afford an apartment of my own.”

I scribble down some notes at the same time to seem like I’m actually thinking about it, but we already know what’s going to happen here, don’t we?

Letting her move in was just the first step.