Chapter Twenty-Seven
BOUNCING BACK from pneumonia didn’t happen as seamlessly as Joe hoped.
He might finally be ready to shower, put on clothes instead of pajamas, and leave the house, but prolonged physical activity still exhausted him.
When he went out with his seasonal work crew to clear snow, he had to use the self-propelled blower and leave the shovel cleanup to someone else.
The cold air made him cough, and he had to use an inhaler.
And when he got home, he usually ended up falling asleep on the couch for an hour or so before he had the energy to think about dinner.
Walker, at least, loved this development, as it meant he got his favorite cushion in his favorite room of the house for long enough to have a very satisfying nap. And landscaping work for Marco and Luca’s buyers was mostly design at this stage, which Joe could do at home on his laptop.
True to his word, Will had stepped up around the house.
He totally took over litterbox and pet-feeding duties.
He and Austin traded off dinner dishes, and the three of them rotated laundry, with Joe getting off easy once he was back to doing most of the cooking, and he usually fell asleep before ten.
All in all, Joe didn’t have anything to complain about aside from the condition of his own body, so he felt extra petulant about being so grumpy he couldn’t fuck Austin the way they both liked.
Austin never gave the slightest indication of dissatisfaction, and Joe couldn’t exactly complain at being ridden so enthusiastically his headboard left a dent in the plaster.
But his own inability to pick Austin up and rail him six ways from Sunday on their kitchen table, fuck him into multiple orgasms, and then pour him into bed did kind of grate on him.
He felt like he’d set an expectation and now he couldn’t meet it.
Considering that he’d left Austin in charge of the house, a financial disaster, a teenager he didn’t sign up for, four pets, and his own sickly ass for a couple weeks, he owed Austin better than what he was currently capable of providing. But he’d get there.
In the meantime, he needed to figure out his own financial disaster.
The landscaping crew didn’t have much to do during the winter, except in the case of a snow or ice storm, so the business didn’t have a lot of expenses in terms of salary.
Joe had secured a few contracts to clear snow at local businesses—salt sidewalks, that kind of thing—but it was really only enough to keep him and one other employee busy, without much left to pad the business account.
Since Joe hadn’t worked, he’d had to pay two people and hadn’t been able to put anything away.
Which meant paying Austin back his half of the bill for Starling’s work would require time.
But Joe didn’t want to leave it unpaid. He hated owing money.
He could take some out of savings—the kids didn’t know he had a little put aside for them for next year, and he could replenish it when they sold the house… .
Or they could sell the house now and he could pay Austin back. But then what? If they didn’t live together anymore, the life they’d built in this house would die too. And it was one thing to end up living together by accident and quite another to intentionally go out and buy somewhere else to live.
They could rent someplace, maybe. If they could find someplace that didn’t mind that they had four pets between the two of them.
In any case, selling the house seemed like Joe’s only financial option, even if he didn’t want to do it, and it was what they’d agreed upon, so he sucked it up and asked his mom for that book she had on staging and her list of things to do before selling a house.
He was flipping through it at the kitchen table while he waited for the sheet-pan fajitas to finish—not exactly like Abuela would’ve made but easy to clean up and Joe was tired, God dammit—when Austin’s car pulled in.
Ever since Joe got sick, Austin had been coming home from work earlier.
He used to come home between six thirty and seven, but now he often pulled into the driveway around five.
Joe didn’t know how he was managing that, considering the amount of money he’d just splashed out, and he didn’t know how to ask.
By the time Austin came into the house, he’d ditched the coveralls, which usually meant a messy day at work. Maybe someone’s oil pan exploded on him or something. “Hey.” He stopped in the kitchen and leaned over for a kiss. “Smells good in here.”
“It’s nothing fancy,” Joe warned. Even Austin couldn’t fuck up this recipe. Well—okay, he probably could. He definitely didn’t know how much seasoning to use on chicken.
Austin detoured to the cupboard to start setting the table. “You forget I’m measuring by the SpaghettiO standard. What else do I need to get?”
“Shredded cheese, sour cream, and the tortillas.”
He was well-trained enough by now that Joe didn’t have to remind him to bring the panini press to the table so they could warm the tortillas.
“Call Will down for dinner?” Joe asked.
“Mm-hmm.” Austin took two steps out of the kitchen and shouted up the stairs. “Will! Food!”
Joe sighed. “I meant go get him like a civilized person. I could’ve done that,” he complained.
Austin snorted. “Been doing your lung exercises? ’Cause last I checked you couldn’t out-shout a mouse, sweet thing.”
Unfortunately, this assessment proved to be all too true the next day when he failed to answer his mother’s cheery greeting as she let herself in the front door, because he was in the bathroom.
At least Pepa kept her entertained while he flushed and washed up. Also they’d fixed the door handle properly this time, so he didn’t have to worry about accidental walk-ins.
“Mom, I wasn’t expecting you this morning,” Joe said when he found her in the living room sweet-talking Pepa. She’d never been a dog person, and certainly never one who cooed at them.
“I know, but I was gathering some information about house listings, and I thought, why email all of it when I could just pop by and tell you in person?”
Joe narrowed his eyes at her. His mother loved him, but she didn’t have a history of being casually affectionate or thoughtful.
Her love usually came in the form of money or material possessions rather than time.
She’d been trying to do better these past few years, but she still wasn’t a “just popping by” sort.
“Oh?”
“Yes, so why don’t you come sit with me and talk staging.”
Joe wrinkled his nose but followed directions. “Coffee first. You want a cup?”
“No.” The answer came so quick and firm that Joe sent her an alarmed look. “Already had a cup this morning,” she said brightly.
Joe shook his head and got his own cup of morning stimulants, then rejoined her and Pepa.
“So, what did you want to talk about?”
“Well, as you know, staging is an important part of selling. And you’ll want to think about how to go about these things. There are a few companies that I can recommend that take care of everything, or if you want, there are places that rent furniture so you can do it yourself.”
“Hm.” Joe hummed into his coffee. “Well, I’ll have to talk to Austin about it, since we’d be splitting the fees, but send it all my way so we can look over stuff.
” The thought of more bills terrified him, but at least they could likely put these off until it was time to sell the house—which would solve those cash-flow issues.
She made a note in her book and then asked something else. Joe kept answering her questions, mostly with the same answer as the first—for her to email him the details.
“Mom, not that I’m not happy to see you, but most of this stuff can wait,” he pointed out twenty minutes later. “I mean, we’re not planning to list for a few more months, and you know we want you to be the listing agent. You have time to share all this.”
“Right, yes.” She smiled. “Never hurts to get a jump on things.”
“True. But all of this could have been done over email.” Most of it was contact details.
His mother shifted in her seat and then shrugged. “I guess I was just in the mood to see you.”
“Right.” It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her, but he wasn’t sure what to make of it. “Well, whatever the reason, I’m happy to see you. Nothing like an overnight stay at the hospital and an oxygen-tank prescription to make you appreciate seizing the day,” he said jovially.
His mother’s face twisted unhappily. “Your father had to talk me out of storming the hospital,” she admitted.
Joe started. His father? “You talked to Dad?” As far as Joe knew, his parents had hardly spoken for the past two decades.
Theirs had been a love match to start, he thought, but they’d also been young and unready for the realities of a marriage, two busy careers, and a child.
Their divorce was the first in either family, and despite their amicable split, the disappointment of the in-laws meant they didn’t spend time together. At least, Joe didn’t think so.
“Your young man called to tell me your fingers had turned blue and you were in the hospital. Of course I called your father.”
Put like that, it made sense. Still.
“You talk often, do you?”
His mother shrugged and busied herself tidying up her work things, tucking her pen and notebook into her portfolio. “Now and again. It’s hard to cut ties completely with the father of your child.”
“Right,” Joe said. It wasn’t like he thought they never talked.
Her phone pinged then, and she checked it. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she read and typed back.
“All good?”