The Roommate, Kiersten Modglin [best books for 20 year olds .txt] 📗

then been dragged back down before it could fully form. We’d gone to high school together, I wanted to say. I recognized him—probably from a party or a class…or maybe I was thinking of college, after all? His features were so familiar, it was driving me crazy. I could picture him, then, but the edges of the memory were fuzzy. Why couldn’t I place his face with a name? I’d never been good with names, but usually I could at least figure out where I knew the person from. Why was he so elusive?

He cleared his throat, interrupting my thoughts, and I shook my head. “S-sorry. Yeah, of course. What do you do?”

“I work in IT, freelancing for companies all over the city.” He said it as if the wind had been taken from his sails, and I instantly felt guilty. “I dabble a bit in software development, but it’s mostly just cybersecurity.”

“Very cool, man. I’m lost on all that technology stuff. I still have to Google how to find certain things on my iPhone.”

That seemed to make him feel a bit better, and he grinned. “Well, if you ever need any help, I’m around.”

“Thanks,” I said, tapping the pocket where my phone rested. “I may just take you up on that.”

He inhaled sharply, shifting a half step back. “Well, you said you have meetings to get to, right? I should probably let you go.”

I glanced at the Apple Watch on my wrist and nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got to get this stuff to the office and check on Addison, but it was—”

“Addison?” he asked, his teeth peeking out from between the thin lips again. His eyes gleamed at me. “You’re still with Addison Taylor?”

The sound of her name sent pain tearing through my stomach, but I stayed still and emotionless. “Addison Gates now—” Probably not for much longer… “But, yeah, we’ll have been married sixteen years next month.” How was it possible he remembered the name of my then girlfriend, but I couldn’t even recall his name?

“Wow. Congratulations to you. I knew you two were serious back then, but I had no idea you’d actually end up together long term. What’s she up to these days?”

Something about the way he said it, or maybe the look in his eye, made my stomach flip. How did he know Addy, besides from school? Had they been close? If she were here, I had no doubt she would know who he was. That was just who Addy was. Her kindness soaked through in the form of making sure everyone felt included, important. It was why she made such an amazing teacher. “She teaches at Willow Grove Academy.”

He glanced up, seemingly lost in thought, before saying, slowly, as if he were expelling air through the plug of an air mattress, “Wow, good for her.”

It was my turn to nod stiffly. “Yep.”

“Well, anyway, I’ll let you go. Give Addison my best, will you? And, seriously, if you ever need help with your phone or…technology in general, or if you just want to grab a beer sometime, I’m always around. It’d be great to catch up.”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” I said, sidestepping to make my way around him. “It was great to see you.”

“You too,” he said with a casual wave. “See you around.”

Not likely. I checked out without adding anything else to my basket, my mind too consumed with figuring out who he was. As I walked to my car, I pulled out the keys to my silver BMW and got inside, speeding out of the parking lot and toward the outskirts of downtown to get onto the interstate.

The entire way home, I thought only of the man, trying desperately to place him. Had he been Addy’s friend? Was that why I knew him? Or had he just been another face in a crowded classroom? It felt like more than that. His features were so burned into my memory. It was on the tip of my tongue, and yet, I couldn’t quite figure it out.

As I pulled into the paved driveway of our two-story, white-brick home, he was still on my mind. The house was modest compared to most of the ones in our subdivision, with outdated features and less than a quarter of an acre, without a pool or fenced-in yard, but we’d still gone nearly a million dollars into debt to call it ours.

We liked our neighborhood, liked that our neighbors were all much older than us and mostly kept to themselves, and we liked Rory’s school. But as the property taxes rose exponentially each year, the financial struggles had become more prominent. It was one of the leading causes of our fights. The house was my idea. I wanted to fit in at work. I wanted to host parties and extend dinner invitations without feeling self-conscious about where we lived. If it were up to Addison, we’d have bought something less gaudy in an older neighborhood farther from downtown. Something with half the price tag and double the space. But, as usual, I’d won the argument.

My ability to win, to cause my opponent to concede, had always been something I’d taken great pride in, but I knew now how it had made Addison feel. Always giving up and giving in, she’d lost a part of herself. I’d argued it right out of her. I needed to fix that.

I approached the door, staring into the two-story, black-paned window that looked directly into the foyer as I knocked and, within moments, my wife’s shadow passed over the white tile of the floor before she came into view. It was another perk of our neighborhood: we were one of the few places on earth where people still answered the door without scurrying across the floor to peek through the blinds first. In fact, most of the homes in the neighborhood had similar large windows and glass-paned doors, giving everyone a clear view into each other’s homes and lives. When we’d first moved in, it had