I had no idea what I wanted to do. But his offer was more than tempting and had certain parts of me begging to accept. They were loud, obnoxious; clouding my head with reminders of the fun we have together and the feelings I’m left with afterward. They complained about the boundaries and hinted at adventures waiting on the other side. I was inclined to believe them. I mean, fun inside the room could be even more fun outside of it, right?

But there was another part of me, struggling to be heard beneath the loud chatter of pleasure seeking thoughts. It warned of blurring the lines, more than they already were, and getting tangled up in the strings of expectations or worse — commitment; and sinking into the uncomfortable position of having to choose between one thing I wanted and another I wanted… just as much.

I mulled over this decision; my mind changing as often as the traffic lights that lined my way home. I was stuck, polarized by fear, scared of making the wrong choice, and in need of guidance from someone — someone a lot more experienced with this kind of stuff.

And by the time I reached my apartment building and placed my key in the lock of my front door, I knew exactly who that someone was. I just had to make it through Hurricane Pandora to get to them.

“You’re home!” The human storm rushed toward the door; trapping me between it and the dinner table. She was dressed in her favorite apron, and judging by the sweet smell of jasmine rice floating from the kitchen, making dinner. One of the few benefits of her living here.

I eased around her, tossing my keys on the table. After two months of being bombarded every. single. time I walked in the door, I was getting real sick of this welcome wagon routine. “Yes. Pandora.” I sighed. “I came home. Like I do. Every day.”

She followed me through the living room and over to the refrigerator. “Well, not every day,” she said. “You usually don’t come home on weekends.”

She’s exaggerating. I’m home most– some– occassiona– She needs to mind her business!

I grabbed a soda from our wide-range of beverages; another benefit of our living arrangement. “Okay, but you know I’m coming back eventually, so you don’t have to be so dramatic.” And exited the kitchen before she could rebut that response, too.

I thought we were done talking, seeing as I was halfway down the hall, but the energetic footsteps behind me proved otherwise. And she wonders why this is the last place I want to be. I picked up my pace and she followed suit, blocking my evasion of yet another unwanted conversation. I wasn’t giving up, though. My safe space was just a few feet away, and she was not stopping me from getting to the answers I needed. I sped up some more, hoping she would get the hint, but a glimpse over my shoulder revealed a new level of crazy — and it was even more terrifying than I was prepared for.

She was on my tail, following– no, chasing me like a madwoman. Her arms stretched out in front of her with her hands reaching for my ponytail. She’s planning to yank me into a conversation? Really?!

With only inches left between me and my bedroom, and desperation at an all-time high, I made the dangerous, but creative, decision to baseball slide in-between the partially cracked door, landing me a home-run straight into safety and away from her motormouth-having-personal-space-violating ass.

“Wait!” she yelled from the hall. “We need to discuss dinner!”

I gripped onto the doorknob, pressing the full weight of my body into the door. I really need to invest in a lock. “Whatever you want is fine!”

She jiggled the doorknob. “But I have options!” And knocked a few times; the determination in her fist vibrating against my back. “There’s grilled salmon, teriyaki chicken- Ooh! I could do a T-Bone. Do you like yours medium or-”

My heels were as deep in the carpet as they could possibly go, my fingers were slipping, and the barrier between me and my rabid ass roommate was disintegrating at an alarming rate. I was losing this battle and if I didn’t think of something — anything — she would never leave me alone.

“Salmon!” I shouted. “Let’s do salmon, and maybe we could watch a movie or something later?”

I regretted those words the minute they bolted from my reckless lips, but it was too late to take them back.

“OH-MY-GOD! Dinner and a movie!” She finally let go of the doorknob. “Give me 30 minutes.” Her voice trailed down the hall. “And I’ll present you with the best salmon pesto you’ve ever had!”

30 minutes? I could work with that.

With the clock ticking, and my freedom disintegrating by the second; I kicked off my shoes, tossed my drink on the nearest surface, and made a call to that expert I mentioned, better known as Cassandra. Her dating rap sheet was three times the size of mine, and with her aversion to long-term relationships and all things permanent, I just knew she had some much needed wisdom to guide me through this thing. I filled her in on the details and once I was done and it was her turn to speak; she asked a question that took me right back where I started.

“So, what’s stopping you from saying yes, Salim?”

And that was the other thing… Salim. We’re… friends, but sometimes… it feels like more than that. It feels like… he’s always around, in my space, on my lunch breaks, on my phone — which, coming from anyone else, would drive me crazy, but from him… I like it. I like the way he makes me laugh and how he really listens to what I have to say. How he’s full of all these random facts that he loves to share with me and how he loves spending time with me just as much. I… like that we’re friends… Really good friends… And I don’t want to lose that.

“Yeah… kind of,” I said. “I just don’t want Amir thinking we’re something that we’re not.”

“It’s not like you can just fall into a relationship, though.” She laughed. “So, just go see your movie and afterwards, do whoever you want.”

“Cass, stop.” I smiled at the sneaky implication in her response. “It’s not like that.”

She sucked her teeth. “Girl, if it wasn’t, you wouldn’t be considering turning down Graylight tickets.”

Did she really just read me like that? I could’ve sworn I scrolled past my tell-it-like-it-is friend’s number.

“That’s not true, I– It’s…”

Okay, she’s right.

“Alright. Fine,” I conceded, “But for real, how do I keep my… very sexual… situation from messing with my… non-sexual situation?”

“Just make sure Mr. Sex knows that it’s nothing but sex and movies and whatever else y’all decide to do; then if you and Salim finally decide to stop playing, you can move on to that. Clean and easy.”

Clean and easy?

“It’s that simple?”

“Girl! Trust me,” her response beamed with confidence, “I know what I’m talking about.”

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