Her smile didn’t waver. “Your perfect girlfriend,” she said. “You just haven’t agreed to the terms yet.”
“How do you always know?” I mumbled.
At first, I thought she was just kind. Then I thought she liked me. Then I found the notebook. PerfectGirlfriend 24 11 24 Angie Faith Roommate...
She smiled. “I pay attention.”
The kitchen clock ticked. Angie was still watching me, still smiling that soft, calibrated smile. Her smile didn’t waver
The coffee maker beeped at 7:14 AM—exactly 26 minutes before Angie Faith’s alarm. Not mine. Hers.
“Who are you?” I whispered.
End of piece.
“You okay?” she asked.
That was the thing about Angie. She wasn’t just a good roommate. She was a PerfectGirlfriend —except we weren’t dating. We’d never even kissed. But she did the things girlfriends in commercials did: stocked the fridge with my favorite seltzer, left little sticky-note jokes on the bathroom mirror, remembered the name of my childhood dog.