Balconial Conversations

37 // mango smoothies

For the first time, we walk past our door to his. It looks the same as mine except with the number 6d instead of 6c. He unlocks it with a jingling keychain, and leans his shoulder into it as it reluctantly opens. "It sticks sometimes," he tells me, before ushering me inside.

It's bright, like our apartment, with the same window overlooking the balcony, connected rooms, kitchen island. The sunken bookshelves filled with textbooks, CDs, and what looks like antique toy cars.

It's only slightly messy, as a guy's apartment would be; with a large hoodie tossed over the futon couch, cans lined up on the counter, and the faint smell of his cologne.

"So, this is it." He says, making a long sweeping motion with an arm. He drops his backpack near the couch, and turns. "You can toss your bag anywhere."

I carefully set my bag beside his, and stick my hands in my pockets.

"And um, most of this stuff is Matty's, just, FYI." He says with a touch of... something. Bashfulness. He sets about making smoothies with a state-of-the-art looking smoothie maker that works upside-down.

I wander about the living area looking at the nicknacks lying around. There are equal amounts of books about psychology books and Shakespeare plays. A Maxim sits on the coffee table beside an empty coffee mug and a sleek silver laptop.

"Mango smoothie," Cam announces as he strolls around the island carrying two ginormous cups filled with orange-coloured smoothies. "Warning: it's so delicious, you might faint so you should sit down."

I take a seat on the futon, and he drops beside me. I take a tentative sip, and taste explodes on my tongue. Equally tangy and sweet and creamy; absolutely delicious.

Cam watches me carefully. "What do you think?"

"It's okay." I tell him, and he pouts before taking a sip of his own.

"You're crazy, this is fantastic." He takes a big slurp. "Oh, I have something for you. Come on."

He stands and motions for me to follow. He walks across the living room to the open door, the same room my mom claimed in our apartment. His room. I loiter in the doorway as he rifles through a stack of books on the chair in the corner.

His bed is just a large futon sprawled on the floor, made neatly with a large gray duvet and two white pillows. Discarded clothes are all over the floor, especially around the cramped closet.

It smells lovely, like fresh rain and Cambriel.

I sip the smoothie as he straightens with a wide grin. "Found it!"

He holds one of those TV shows on DVD, thick with a cardboard sleeve. It's orange as full of pictures.

"Okay, I think you'll really like this." He offers it to me, and on the cover in skinny letters is Gilmore Girls - the complete first season. "I grew up watching this show."

"I've never seen it," I tell him, shyly.

"I know."
***

His roommates name is MATTY i messed up