Page 28 of The Reluctant Roommate

An image of Morgan in pasties, tassels, and feathers flashed through her mind. Where had that come from? That was probably the last thing the rather uptight Morgan would do. More like snow boots with her business suit—although Heidi had yet to see Morgan in full work wear. Indeed, she didn’t seem to go into the office much—or at all. Lucky her, being able to work from home so much.

“And are you still reining in your messy tendencies?” Fiona asked. “I mean, you remember the time at my place when you took the kitchen rubbish out?”

“Stop.”

“No, I’m continuing. The bag burst, and you didn’t notice, and it trailed a line of rotting vegetables and stinky fluid all the way to the front door. You said you’d clean up, but, yeah, nah. I had to throw the rug out.”

“Are you going to repeat that story every time my grungy nature comes up? I’ve been the dream housemate in every share house I’ve ever lived in. The one who does the dishes, puts them away, even cleans the toilet.”

“Melbourne share houses will never makeHome Beautiful. That bar is insultingly low. From what you’ve said, Morgan is a neat freak. Didn’t you say the house was interior designer perfect?”

“She told me she hired a designer, but it’s overkill. The napkins even match the curtains! It’s beautiful, in a sterile, generic sort of way. No individuality. She told me that the designer even found the art prints on the wall to match the color scheme, not because—weird idea, this—she actuallylikedthe prints.”

“You’re still going to have to watch yourself if you want to keep living there. Why does a high earner like her want a housemate, anyway?”

“That’s a mystery, to be honest. But I’m sure she has her reasons.” Heidi squinted at the screen to get a better look at the room behind Fiona. A toppled basket of laundry had spilled clothes over the couch, and Iza’s schoolbag was dumped on the floor in the middle of the room among a litter of shoes and an abandoned vacuum. “Looking at your living room, you calling me messy is pot, kettle, in a big way.”

“Iza’s seventeen. You should see her room.”

“How is Iza doing? Any better with school?”

“Not really. She wants to give it up and live on a commune in the Atherton Tablelands. It sounds like a cult to me—free love, communal finances, and community decisions made in a drumming circle—but right now, it’s what shesaysshe wants. Or she could be saying it to piss me off.”

“The latter, most likely. Hang in there, Fi. She’ll mature eventually.”

“It’s a long time until she’s forty.” Fiona rolled her eyes. “I may not survive.”

“You’re not forty, and you’re mature. Sort of, anyway.”

“Thanks. I think.” Fiona glanced over her shoulder. “I hear noise, so I have to go. Iza wants a lift to the mall. God knows what she does there all day. As long as she doesn’t get arrested, I don’t care.”

“Bye.” Heidi kissed her fingers and touched the screen.

Fiona blew a kiss in return, and the call ended.

~ ~ ~

Heidi let herself into the dark house. It was nearly one in the morning, but she hadn’t got away from the FlyInn until past midnight. Luckily, her Uber had arrived quickly—there was no way she’d take public transport that late.

She shucked off her shoes and padded quietly across to the kitchen. Her mind was still buzzing from the busy shift—a cup of herbal tea and some mindless doomscrolling should help settle it.

She put the kettle on the stove and pulled out a mint teabag. A note on the counter in Morgan’s distinctive bold writing caught her eye.

Heidi, your meal last night was fantastic. However, while you did clean up after, it wasn’t good enough. I spent over an hour this morning cleaning under the stovetop grate, wiping splashes of food from the tiles and marks from the cabinet doors, and cleaning the floor. Then I had to clean up after your breakfast toast as well.

I don’t mean to be a bitch about this, but I like a clean and hygienic home.

Morgan

Heidi read the note twice. She could almost hear Morgan’s precise voice saying the words. She looked around the kitchen. Yes, it was spotless, and the faint scent of lemon hung in the air. The stovetop gleamed, the cabinet doors were devoid of smears, and she could nearly see her reflection in the tiled floor.

There was clean, and there was obsessive, and this bordered on the latter. Her mom’s kitchen was the heart of the home, where the family gathered, where friends ambled in uninvited and were fed and watered. Where homework had happened, where craft projects still happened. It was clean—mostly, anyway—but it wasn’t operating-room sterile as Morgan’s was.

Still, Heidi had claimed she was neat and clean, so it was on her to live up to that claim. She’d just have to do better.

She found a pen in the kitchen drawer and wrote on the bottom of the note.

Sorry. I give myself a B minus: Must Try Harder. And I will.