But I wasn’t doing all of this so I could still live in a car three nights out of seven. I needed Cory to want me with him all the time.
So, I invented a neurotic roommate named Sylvie who loved to get high. “It’s disgusting there,” I told him. “I can’t believe you don’t smell the pot on my clothes.”
I complained about Sylvie constantly and made sure she caused problems for Cory as well. I’d be too tired to go out to dinner because, the night before, Sylvie had had people over until two in the morning. I was late to meet him for lunch because Sylvie had locked me out of our room. Waiting for him to offer another solution: Move in with me.
But Cory wasn’t biting. Instead, he’d tell me stories about his college roommate, Nate, who’d once had a girl in their room for over twenty-four hours, forcing Cory to sleep in the common room. Or the time Nate accidentally set fire to a plant that had died on their windowsill.
The nights in my car became almost intolerable as I tossed and turned, my blankets too scratchy compared to the high-thread-count sheets at Cory’s. Trying to sleep in the chilly fall weather, having to wait until daylight to find a bathroom.
Which is why, on a Tuesday night in mid-November, I showed up at his apartment carrying a large duffel bag filled with my clothes, my hair messy and my eyes red.
“What’s this?” he asked as I dropped my bag on the floor by the front door.
“I got kicked out of the dorm,” I told him, letting my voice wobble.
“What? What happened?”
“Fucking Sylvie happened.”
He guided me into the living room, sat me on the couch, and poured me a glass of wine. I gave him a grateful look and took a sip. “Someone said they smelled marijuana coming from our room. The RA came and did a search and found a stash of pot in our fridge. Sylvie swore up and down it wasn’t hers. Obviously, I said the same.” I closed my eyes and tried to imagine the scene. How desperate I must have been to be believed. How much that would derail the plans I’d made for myself, if any of them had been true. “We were lucky we didn’t get kicked out of school. But we’re both out of the dorm. Sylvie will just move back home with her parents, but I’ll have to figure something else out. And fast, if I don’t want to live in my car.”
As soon as I said the words, I regretted them. Too close.
Cory pulled me into a hug and I let myself rest against him, counting the beats of his heart, waiting.
“Move in here,” he said.
I pulled back, wide-eyed. “No way,” I said. “It’s too soon.”
“You practically live here already,” he argued. “It’s just a few more clothes and a key on your key ring.”
Relief unfurled in my chest, but I shook my head, my tone firm. “My mother taught me to earn what I need, not take it from a man willing to trade sex for convenience,” I told him.
He looked hurt. “Is that how you see me?”
“Of course not,” I told him. “But favors create expectations, which create resentment. What we have is still new. I don’t want to ruin it.”
“You know it wouldn’t be like that.”
I let the silence drag out, pretending to be considering his offer, and thought about the one time my mother said yes. Ron Ashton had been the man she’d been waiting for. He’s different, she’d told me. A healthy relationship isn’t just about love. Each person brings something to the table, creating a partnership. A committed collaboration.
My mother brought a property worth millions. Ron brought lies.
“I insist on paying rent,” I finally said.
“I don’t want your money.” Cory slid his hands around my waist, his fingers lifting the bottom edge of my shirt, thumbs brushing against bare skin. “It’ll be good for our relationship to have you here all the time. We can start to build some trust. Break down some of those walls.”