After Calling My Brooding Roommate My Wife

Chapter 4: The Party

The radio station's spring fundraiser was held in the student center, where the walls had been decorated with blue paper streamers and the snacks were marginally better than the last mixer. I went because June had spent a week making posters and because the station needed people to show up.

Rowan came with me.

He stood near the back wall in a charcoal shirt, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. He'd brought a paper cup of soda and kept both hands around it, as if he needed the excuse.

"Thanks for coming," I said.

"I said I would."

"You could've changed your mind."

"I didn't."

I smiled at him. "I'm glad."

He looked away, but I saw the faint color rise along the tops of his cheeks.

I wanted to ask if he was nervous. I didn't. I'd learned that guessing what Rowan felt was sometimes just a way to avoid asking what he wanted.

"Would you like to stay near me," I asked, "or would you rather I leave you alone?"

He gave me a look. "You make everything sound like a survey."

"I'm trying to give you options."

"I'll stay near you."

"Okay."

He didn't touch me. I didn't reach for him. Still, the answer warmed me more than it should have.

The fundraiser was crowded and noisy. June pulled me into conversations with alumni and a professor who had once hosted the station's midnight jazz show. Rowan stayed beside me, listening more than he spoke. I noticed he was more comfortable when the conversation stayed about sound, recording, or equipment. Once, he talked to an alum about microphones for almost fifteen minutes.

I liked watching him settle into himself.

After a while, June came over with a plate of cookies. "You two look respectable. It's unsettling."

Rowan took a cookie. "We can leave."

"You can't. You're on the volunteer schedule."

June turned to me. "Eli, the booth is running behind. Can you help?"

"Sure."

She pointed at Rowan. "And you can keep him from sneaking out."

"I'm not going anywhere," Rowan said.

I left to help at the booth, where a line had formed for the fundraiser raffle. It took about twenty minutes to get things back under control. By the time I returned, Rowan was talking to two students I knew from the production crew.

I caught the end of their conversation.

"—so he calls you his wife?" one of them asked.

Rowan went still.

I felt the question hit me before he answered. I had made the nickname public enough that people knew it. I'd put Rowan in the position of explaining something I'd invented.

"Don't worry about it," I said, stepping up beside him. "I'm not doing that anymore."

The two students exchanged a glance.

"Sorry," one of them said. "We were just kidding."

"It's fine," Rowan replied.

His voice sounded flat. He excused himself and walked toward the doors.

I followed after a pause, careful not to crowd him. The hallway was quieter, though the music from the fundraiser still thumped through the walls.

"Rowan," I said.

He stopped near the windows. "What?"

"I'm sorry they asked."

"You didn't make them ask."

"I made it something people knew to ask about."

He looked at me, tiredness gathering around his eyes. "You don't need to defend me."

"I'm not. I'm trying to own my part."

"Your part is that you said it."

"My part is that I made it into a running joke without asking you how it felt."

He studied me for a long moment. "That's better."

"I'm trying."

"I know."

There it was again: that quiet certainty, the one that made me feel both understood and exposed.

"Can I ask you something?" I said.

"You can ask."

"Do you want me to go back in with you?"

He looked through the window at the crowded room. "No."

"Do you want me to stay out here?"

He nodded.

"Okay."

I leaned against the wall a few feet away. I could hear the muffled music and the people laughing inside. We stood quietly. It wasn't the comfortable silence I'd imagined when we first met. It was something more careful, but it didn't feel like a door closing.

After a few minutes, Rowan said, "You really did like the word."

"I did."

"Why?"

I put my hands in my pockets. "At first, because I thought it was funny. Then because it became our thing."

"It wasn't our thing."

"I know."

"I don't think you know why it bothered me."

"I don't," I admitted. "I can guess, but I don't want to treat the guess like it's the truth."

He swallowed. "You made it sound like you were close to me, but only in a way that made other people laugh. You could call me your wife and then act like you didn't mean anything by it. If anyone asked, you could say it was a joke."

I felt my face grow hot. "I didn't think about it like that."

"That's what I mean."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I should have been clearer about what I meant."

"Were you?"

The question was simple. I didn't have a good answer.

"I don't know," I said.

He looked toward the window. "That's what I thought."

I wanted to reach for his hand. I kept my hands in my pockets.

"I don't want you to feel like you owe me anything because I'm careful now," I said.

"I don't."

"I mean it."

"I know."

We stayed outside until the fundraiser started winding down. When we went back in, Rowan kept close to me, but he didn't touch me. I didn't expect him to.

On the walk back to the dorm, he asked about the raffle. I told him June had accidentally sold two winning tickets to the same person. He laughed once, low and brief.

I looked at him. "That was a laugh."

"It wasn't."

"It was a small one."

"Don't label it."

"Right. Sorry."

He glanced at me. "You're allowed to notice things."

"Am I allowed to be pleased?"

"That depends on what you do with it."

I thought about the difference. "I can be pleased quietly."

"You can try."

At our door, Rowan reached for the handle at the same time I did. His fingers brushed mine again. This time, he didn't pull away immediately.

I didn't ask what it meant.

But I remembered the warmth of his skin on the walk back.