My roommate asked how her new dress looked. I stared too long. She smirked. "Want a better look?"
The evening started like any other. I was sitting on the couch in our apartment, pretending to watch television while scrolling through my phone. My roommate, Emma, had been getting ready in her bedroom for almost an hour. We had lived together for eight months.
Eight months of shared grocery lists, arguments over dirty dishes, late-night conversations, and pretending we didn't notice the little things about each other that were becoming harder and harder to ignore. Emma was my roommate, and unfortunately for my peace of mind, she was also the woman I was slowly falling for. I had never told her. I wasn't even sure I wanted to admit it to myself.
Then her bedroom door opened. "Hey," she called. I looked up and forgot what I was about to say. Emma stepped into the living room wearing a new dress.
It was elegant without trying too hard, and somehow it made her look completely different from the woman I saw every morning drinking coffee in an oversized sweatshirt. She turned around once. "So?" I stared. She raised an eyebrow.
"Well?" I realized I had been looking at her for far too long. "Sorry," I said quickly. "You look really nice."
She smiled. "Just nice?" I swallowed. "No. You look beautiful." Her smile became smaller, but more meaningful.
"Really?"
"Yeah."
She took a step closer. "Then why were you staring?" I laughed nervously.
"I wasn't staring."
"You absolutely were."
"I was thinking about..." I looked away. "Nothing."
She crossed her arms. "That's not an answer." I could feel my face getting warm. Emma laughed softly. "You're terrible at hiding things."
"I don't know what you're talking about." She walked toward the mirror near the hallway and looked at herself. Then she looked at me through the reflection. "Want a better look?"
I froze. She turned around with a playful smile. "I'm kidding." But something about the way she said it made my heart beat faster.
"You're dangerous," I said.
She laughed. "Maybe you're just easily distracted."
"Maybe."
There was a pause. A strange one. The kind where both people suddenly realize the conversation has become something different. Emma broke the silence.
"I actually bought this dress for tonight."
"Going somewhere? With who?"
She hesitated, then smiled. "Why?"
"I was just asking."
"Are you jealous?"
I almost choked. "What? No."
She laughed. "That sounded very convincing."
"I just wondered." She walked over and picked up her purse. "It's not a date."
I nodded. "Okay."
"It's dinner with someone from work."
"Right."
She studied my face. "You look relieved."
"I don't."
"You do."
I smiled. "Maybe a little." She stared at me. For a few seconds, neither of us said anything.
Then she quietly asked, "Why?" I didn't answer. Because the real answer was sitting right in front of me. Because every time she came home late, I wondered if someone else was making her laugh.
Because every time she dressed up, I wondered if somebody else would notice what I noticed. Because somewhere between the first grocery trip and the hundredth midnight conversation, Emma had stopped being just my roommate. She had become the person I looked for whenever I walked through the front door. "I don't know," I finally said.
Emma nodded slowly. "Okay." She turned toward the door, then stopped. "You know what?"
"What?"
"I don't think you don't know." I looked at her. She smiled gently. "I think you're scared to say it."
And then she left. I sat there for several minutes. My television was still playing. I couldn't hear a word.
That night, Emma came home earlier than I expected. I was in the kitchen making coffee. She walked in and placed her purse on the counter. "How was dinner?" I asked.
"Fine."