Chapter Forty-Two
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
We’d only been together for three weeks when he asked me to move in with him.
It was the night before Thanksgiving and his fortieth birthday.
I was excited because it would be a rare day off.
He was stressed because we were cooking for Lynn; he’d convinced her to come to his house.
From me, he’d requested no presents and no fuss, but I had purchased a small gift and planned to make a little fuss.
Only things I knew he could handle and would enjoy.
We had already fallen into a steadfast, comforting rhythm.
I loved tucking in beside him in bed at the end of the day, knowing we had the whole quiet night ahead of us.
We had quickly learned how to sleep beside each other, understood when the other person needed space and when they didn’t, and had discovered that we both took pleasure in snuggling close in the early morning, when it was still dark and cold outside but our bodies had stored up a full night’s worth of warmth, our limbs tangling against and on top of and underneath each other.
That night, I was wearing one of his T-shirts and nothing else, and we were reading, bathed in the same content afterglow as the characters in old movies who made love and then smoked cigarettes.
We liked reading the good passages out loud to each other.
It was gratifying to be able to share our books with a partner again.
Macon set down his hardcover in his lap, and I thought he was about to preface another selection.
His reading voice was first-rate, deep and steady.
But when I looked over, I was surprised to find that he looked nervous.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “I do want a birthday present.”
I lowered my novel and raised my brows. “Oh?”
“Move in with me.”
“Oh,” I breathed.
“You’ll have to leave the studio soon, and apartments are expensive. This would ease your financial burden.” The offer felt familiar. Despite framing it as a gift, he was speaking in his unsentimental librarian voice, and he wasn’t looking at me. I wanted sentimentality and ardor.
“You’re practically living here anyway,” he went on. “You’re already sharing the responsibilities and the housework.”
I stared him down until I forced his eyes to meet mine. His shyness had returned. “You know,” I said, “this is the second time you’ve asked me to move in with you.”
He swallowed. “Say yes this time.”
“Why did you ask me the first time?”
“I wanted to help you out.”
“Was that all?”
He gave me a smile tinged with remembered heartbreak. “No. I was hoping you’d fall madly in love with your new roommate.”
“And why are you asking me now?”
His hands trembled as he removed my book from my hands so he could take them into his. “Because I want you here. All the time. Just like this.”
I squeezed his hands back. “Now that’s a good reason.”
We hadn’t told his coworkers we were dating yet. The next morning, when Alyssa sent a Grim Reaper birthday GIF to Macon in their work group text, he sent them back a selfie where I was smushed up against him, kissing his cheek.
Got what I wanted this year , he wrote.
Alyssa, Sue, and Elijah all lost their shit, which was tremendously satisfying.
I spent the day assisting Macon in the kitchen.
We were using his family’s recipes, not mine, which was fine by me.
I preferred his cooking, plus he had strong menu opinions because of his birthday occasionally landing on Thanksgiving.
(“The timing makes it difficult for me to dislike a holiday that I objectively disapprove of,” he once told me.)
Before he left to pick up his mom, I called my parents. I usually FaceTimed them, but I already knew that would be too much for Macon.
“We’re both here, shucking corn,” I told them.
“Hello.” Macon managed to project confidence into the speaker despite his trepidation. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Ah, the new old boyfriend,” my dad said.
Macon swiveled toward me in alarm.
I muted the phone. “Not your age. I don’t think. Old as in we’ve known each other a long time.” Unmuted it.
“I’m not sure if you remember,” Macon said, “but we met once, the last time you were in town.”
“I remember,” my mom said. “And Ingrid has spoken so much about you over the years.”
He studied me, pleased, as he plucked off the corn silk.
I gave him a bashful smile and shrugged. “So I have good news,” I said to my parents. “You’ll have somewhere to stay when you come visit me this January. I have a new place with an extra room.”
Macon’s eyes widened as if to say, This is not how you’re telling them, right?
I shrugged again as my parents cheered and congratulated me.
“It’s Macon’s house,” I said. “I’m moving in.”
The ear of corn fell from his hands. He looked like he was dying. I walked my phone back to the bedroom as my concerned parents stuttered and asked a lot of questions, the main one being: After only three weeks?
“Three weeks plus sort of a whole summer plus five years,” I said.
Macon was hovering in the doorway when I hung up half an hour later. “At least they called me your boyfriend.”
“You are my boyfriend.” We had never actually said the word before.
“I know. I’m just glad they know, too. I like people knowing.”
“They definitely know now.”
“I cannot believe you told them like that.”
“It is okay for them to stay here in January, right?”
“Of course.”
“Okay. Thanks. I realized belatedly that I didn’t ask.”
“You don’t have to ask me. They’re your parents.”
It was a good response, yet I felt an odd pang that he didn’t add, “And it’s your house.” But I doubted anything was meant by the exclusion, so I didn’t allow my thoughts to linger there. “Speaking of parents,” I said.
“Yep.” He grabbed his wallet and keys from the top of the dresser. “I’m gonna bring her in through the kitchen door, okay? The living room might freak her out.”
I was taken aback but kept it to myself.
I knew his mom was afraid of empty spaces, but the living room wasn’t exactly empty .
He’d painted the bookshelves the previous weekend, but they were curing, so they still didn’t have any books on them.
And he still didn’t have a couch. But Edmond’s blankets and toys were in there, and the cat tree had been installed.
Macon and his neighbor had done an impressive job.
The tree was tremendous, spanning floor to ceiling in one corner of the room, smooth limbs and branches. A perfect foresty addition.
I set the table, peeled and boiled the potatoes, and put the homemade rolls into the oven.
His errand shouldn’t have taken more than ten minutes.
My anxiety grew. It was important to him that she come.
He wanted her to see all the work we’d done and wanted to remind her that his house was safe.
I also suspected that he wanted my first longer interaction with her to be on his territory. I think that felt safer for him .
Forty minutes later, they arrived. I watched him lead her through the garden.
Although her voice was frail, she had never looked it in the handful of times that we’d met.
She did now as she kept stopping and squeezing her eyes closed.
She clung to him tightly. Patiently, he guided her to the back door, and I opened it to greet them.
“Mom, you remember my girlfriend, Ingrid.”
Of course she remembered me. I could tell he just wanted to call me his girlfriend to complete the saying-words-out-loud circle. My stomach warmed with pleasure.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Lynn,” I said.
She was dressed in a nice blouse and jewelry, which made me grateful that I had put on something nicer, too.
(Macon was wearing his normal clothes, but I’d instinctively not trusted this to be the dress code.) She was pale and agitated and didn’t speak.
Macon shot me a frustrated, apologetic look, and I touched a reassuring hand to his back.
He led her inside and straight to the table.
“Why don’t you rest for a few minutes?” he said to her. “We’ll be eating soon.”
He joined me in the kitchen. I’m sorry , he mouthed.
I brightened my expression. It’s okay!
I brought her a glass of water and then gave her some space to recover.
It didn’t escape my notice that he’d sat her in a corner where she couldn’t see the living room.
He was mashing the potatoes, perhaps too aggressively, when I returned.
“I’ll finish that up and carve the turkey,” I said.
He’d gotten a small bird because she was coming. “Why don’t you go grill the corn?”
I love you , he mouthed.
“I love you, too,” I said, cheerfully and aloud.
One side of his mouth lifted in a smile, and he shook his head, but in an affectionate way, as if he was remembering how much he liked me.
I preened.
His head was still shaking as he went back outside.
I resisted checking on him and Lynn, figuring they both needed time to regroup, and finished what needed to be done.
When I carried the gravy boat to the table (Macon owned a gravy boat!
Cory and I had definitely not owned a gravy boat), Lynn’s color and breathing had both returned to normal.
“You’re clearly a better guest than I am, Ingrid,” she said.
“Nonsense.” I gave her a friendly smile, only belatedly snagging on the word guest . He’d told her this morning that I was moving in. He said she’d been happy for us. But I couldn’t dwell on this because I needed to make sure she was comfortable. “We’re really glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad you’re here, too. It was so obvious my son liked you.”
I laughed. “I wish he’d told me sooner.”
The back door opened, and we heard him reenter. “Oh, he’s the same boy he’s always been,” Lynn said. “Waiting for the girl to ask him out first.”
“ Mom .” He dropped the plate of corn loudly onto the counter, where it rattled. “That conversation stops now, whatever it is.”