To his credit, Merlin managed to stay awake the remaining fifteen minutes of their ride, the BART releasing them into the green bosom of a street called College Avenue. The sidewalks were dappled with sturdy oak trees; bicycles zipped past in gusts of wind. Cafe's dotted the street, filled to the brim with laptop clicking fingers and Blue-toothed ears. A dread-locked hippie at one corner crooned a poem about peace to passersby and Merlin flipped a quarter into his crocheted hat, complimenting him on his voice. Something about the skill of the flip made Arthur even less convinced that Merlin wasn't an amateur magician.
"The apartment's a short walk," Merlin announced, grabbing both suitcases. "Do you need to buy anything before we head over? Didn't forget your toothbrush, did you?"
Arthur wheedled the bags out of Merlin's hands. He was tempted to grab Merlin's own bag from him, but was certain the gesture would completely emasculate him. "No, I'm fine."
"So Arthur, is it your first time in California?"
"I went to Los Angeles once when I was a kid. Disneyland and all that..." A picture from that trip still sat on the mantel in father's living room. One of Arthur's few genuinely happy moments of childhood, when his father and stepmother weren't at each other's throats. He couldn't blame his stepmother for filing for divorcing after a tumultuous seven years. He'd only wished she'd fought harder for full custody of his stepsister Morgan.
Merlin sighed, tapping his fingers rhythmically on his bag. He stared straight ahead and asked. "So you've never visited Oakland before, or even San Francisco? Brave of you to up and move somewhere you've never been."
"Hardly," Arthur replied. "Gwen's been wheedling to come up for two years, and this year in Indiana we had coldest winter in 20 years. It's been snowing since November, and I spent my months shoveling and salting it out of the driveway. You could say I'm looking forward to some sun."
"You'll be majoring in industrial design at CCAC right?"
Strange, Arthur thought. This guy even knows my major. But all he said in reply was, "Yeah."
"What do you think of Oakland so far?"
"I've been off the plane for less than an hour so I'll reserve judgment. But I can say without bias that it's sunny."
"It is, but its no So-cal," Merlin replied. He shifted the bag at his shoulder, his scarf slipping down his neck, exposing ivory skin. "Don't let it fool you. Always dress in layers, first rule of the Bay Area."
The luggage wheels clicked cheerily down the sidewalk. They were moving away from cafes and into residential streets. Passing brown picket fences and imposing Craftsman's that looked large enough to house generations within. Arthur didn't know why he asked it. Curiosity? The realization that he knew nothing about his girlfriend's odd friend except that he knew far too much about him. "So Merlin, how do you know Gwen?"
"Were in the same year at CCAC," Merlin shrugged. "And we're roommates, of course."
The words were a punch in Arthur's gut. "Wait, I thought she lived alone-"
Merlin stumbled over a root in the sidewalk, his eyes briefly meeting Arthur's before looking back to his sneakers. "She didn't tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
The sentence jumbled together as if it was a single word. "A downstairs unit opened up at her place, and she was able to switch the studio for a two bedroom. It's a ton more space but she couldn't afford the full rent so I split the lease with her."
"When did that happen?"
"Two months ago."
Arthur stopped dead in his tracks. Two months? For two months his girlfriend had been living with a dude and she didn't have the decency to tell him? She didn't tell him, did she? No, he couldn't remember a single text, email, or call mentioning her moving in with a guy. He would have vetoed that shit right off the bat. "So you and Gwen are friends?" he said, making sure to over emphasize the last word.
"Yes," Merlin exhaled. "Just a friend from school who needed a place to live."
Arthur's skin bristled. It would be one thing if the guy standing next to him were a troll. But he was- attractive, albeit in an unusual way. A strange and unprocessed handsome Arthur couldn't quite put to words. In silence they reached the apartment, a modest brown shingle building with a medieval steel gate. Arthur wouldn't go as far as to call the neighborhood ghetto, but it was borderline sketch. He saw the break off once they passed Telegraph Avenue. Perfectly manicured lawns retreating into older homes with peeling paint and iron bars. Merlin struggled with the gate until it clicked open. The inside of the apartment building was a hidden oasis. A lush common lawn in the center, and a BBQ pit shadowed by redwoods.
Arthur was led to a corner unit with a small patio and potted plants dotting the front entrance. "This is the one," Merlin said, then he unlocked the front door, unlacing his black Converse string by string.
"Gwen's still gardening, I see." Arthur replied.
"We just bought-I mean, Gwen thought succulents were the only plants that would stand a chance against me so we picked some up-" Arthur was about to step inside when Merlin caught hold of his arm. "Take your off your shoes, please," he said lightly. "You'll track mud on the floor."
The unexpected contact prickled Arthur's skin. He didn't feel right. Not sick exactly. Tired, hungry for sure. He pulled off his Nike's and left them by the door. The living room was spacious but held little more than a white IKEA couch and an old model television perched on a milk crate. The dining room was a similar deal. Metal patio table with three chairs. A garage sale poster taped to the wall displaying two kittens stuffed in clothes, smoking in a bathroom stall. The epitome of the 'Starving artists', Arthur thought with a chuckle. He plopped himself down on the couch as if he had always lived there and asked. "When does Gwen get off work?"
"I'll text her," Merlin said, pulling his phone from his gray skinny jeans with some difficulty. "Go ahead and put your stuff in her room, she won't mind. It's down the hall to the left."
Gwen's room looked like her. Spotless. With the same prissy white bedroom set she had in Indiana. The same bed frame they had tumbled in and out of together a thousand times. Arthur sunk into the down comforter, drawing it to his stubbly chin. It even smelled like her, a distinct bouquet of Downy laundry detergent with just a hint of coconut oil. The same oil she'd have him rub on her skin before she slept, as both moisturizer and enticement.
The walls were the hallmark hospital white of cheap apartments, livened up with photos. Some were neatly framed but most crudely tacked. Clothing torn from fashion magazines, photo shoots with sullen fish-faced models photo shopped beyond reason. Arthur was relieved to see Gwen keep touches of their shared past. Photos from a Catholic youth group trip at Lake Michigan and a photo from senior prom. She looked like Cinderella, wrapped in sequins with gold glistening from her ears and throat, him a per-hour prince charming in a sauvé rental suit. Next to the prom picture she'd pinned something more recent, a Polaroid of her and Merlin. Gwen was in pink duck-facing the camera, Merlin looking the shy puppy in the exact same color palette he was wearing today but a wine scarf.
Just how many scarves did this guy own?
A raven head popped in the room. Speak of the devil, thought Arthur with a sigh.
"She say's she'll be back in hour or two and to start dinner without her. You hungry?" Merlin smiled.
"Famished." And he was, his stomach tying in knots. "They only serve rabbit food on flights nowadays."
"Well, I'm afraid you might have a similar problem at Chez Merlin. But I'll do my best."
Hm.
The door shut. Arthur laid his luggage on its side, found a clean shirt, tossing out a government inspection card with it. He always got checked; what about his underwear and toothbrush read terrorist? He'd have to ask Gwen where she wanted him to put all his stuff. He'd have to ask her a lot of things. Once he was dressed, he opened the closet, just for a peek. He didn't know what he expected to find in there. Skeletons? Written admissions of a sordid love affair with a certain new roommate? Something about Merlin still didn't sit right with him.
The closet was full of nothing but clothes and shoes. Candy colored and painstakingly arranged.
He felt like a tool.