Chapter 7#2
“It wasn’t? What was, then?”
“The closing on the damn condo! That’s what kept getting delayed—that’s what the real hold up was. I couldn’t fund anything until the money was in my account. I’ve been so fucking annoyed by all the holdups.” She pauses, frowning at me in confusion, then says. “What? Why are you looking like that?”
“Closing? Condo? What are you talking about?”
“Oh.” Scout’s expression goes blank for an instant, and then she looks guilty, then frustrated, then annoyed. “See? I told you. This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen. Can you imagine if we’d done this in a room full of people?”
“Okay,” I say for…Christ, what is it now? Probably the thirtieth time in under ten minutes? I really need to expand my vocabulary.
“Yes, okay? I sold the condo. It was my decision. I also closed my studio in LA because I wanted to. It was time to consolidate. I want to stop traveling back and forth so much. I want to expand my studio here, and have everything in one place, and for once to stop feeling like I have a foot in two different boats.”
“Well, that all sounds good.”
“Yeah, well, I thought so too. It’s just that, once it was a done deal, I guess I started to panic a little. I started worrying about being too committed here, too tied down. About where I would go and what I would do if it all went sideways. At least that’s what Edge said.”
“Edge the angel?”
“Yeah, but I’m cured of that now. I hated every minute of his stupid freebie, but it worked. I know now that my being here has made a difference. I know this is where I belong. And I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting.”
“Hey. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not! I hate knowing that I upset you. It’s just… I’ve been feeling overwhelmed, you know? But it’ll be okay. It’ll get better. I promise.”
I nod. I’ve got my feet back under me again—even if my emotions feel like they’ve just done another one-eighty-degree turn at high speed. I take hold of her hand and squeeze it tight. “I know. It will be okay. And I think I can help. I think I have a solution for how we can deal with the overwhelm.”
She eyes me warily. “Okay.”
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, too, in these last few days. And I think the best way for us to handle this is for me to take early retirement.”
Scout’s eyes widen, her eyebrows shift up her forehead. “Okay?” And great. Now she’s doing it, too. I swear, next year I’m getting us matching thesauruses for Christmas. “That’s not what I was expecting you to say. But, okay. Sure. If that’s what you want…”
“It really is. Assuming you don’t mind being the primary breadwinner—or really, the only breadwinner, for a while?”
“I…don’t. Mind, I mean.”
“Because that way I could do the whole stay-at-home dad thing. You know? I’d spend time with the kids, deal with things around the house, keep track of everyone’s schedules—all that stuff. And that would free you up to spend more time traveling if you wanted to.” Except she didn’t want to, or wasn’t going to, or…shit. “Or, you know, not traveling. Just whatever else you want to do with your time. Spend more of it on your work. Or just…nothing. Just not be overwhelmed.”
“That sounds really good, but… I mean, look, of course I don’t mind. In fact, I’ve been thinking a lot about the whole ‘breadwinner’ concept, as well. And what I’ve realized is that neither of us is that.”
“That is not true,” I have to point out—she brings in more than I do. No question. “You win a lot of the bread, Scout. Most of it, in fact.”
But once again, she disagrees. “No, actually. I don’t.”
“Scout…”
“I’m serious, Nick. I’m not saying I don’t make good money with my art. But most of the money that funds our lifestyle comes from my inheritance, from my father’s estate, and my stepmother’s. It’s really their money, when you think about it. Just like this was originally their house.”
“Right. It was theirs. Now, it’s yours. I didn’t know either of them very well, but I’m pretty sure they’d agree with me.”
“Why? What makes it mine? Is it just because my name’s on all the paperwork?”
“That is generally how that kind of thing works, isn’t it?”
“All right. Well…I think you’ve just proved my point.”
I’m confused again. “Which is?”
“That if I want to use my money in a way that makes us happy—in a way that makes all of us happy. And in a way that would allow us all to live our best lives, then that’s what we should do. Agreed?”
I smile at her. “Look, it’s late. And we still have a lot of work to do. We can argue about this another time, can’t we?”
“I don’t want to argue about it,” Scout says. “Now or later. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It’s why I’m suggesting we sell the house.”
“The…house? You mean this house?” My mouth drops open. A sound like burning rubber fills my brain as my spirits U-turn abruptly, yet again. What the actual fuck? “ Our house?” All of a sudden it occurs to me that I may have been very, very tone-deaf on the subject of Christmas gifts. Which sucks, actually. Although not half as much as the thought of losing our home does. “ Why ?”
“What do you mean why?” she demands. “I just explained it, didn’t I?”
“Is that what that was? An explanation? Seriously?”
“Why are you doing this?” she snaps. “Are you trying to be difficult?”
“No, I’m really not. I’m trying to understand. Is that what you want? Are you telling me that you want to sell the house?”
“Yes. Didn’t I just?—”
“But you love this house!”
“Aside from that. It makes sense, doesn’t it?” she asks, answering a question with a question—a classic avoidance technique. “Between the money from the condo, which I’ll probably need to reinvest anyway, and the money we’ll get from this place, we could buy…anything. Whatever kind of house you want.”
“What do you mean, what I want?” Because what I want is…well, we’re sitting in it.
“We could get something here in Oberon—something bigger or newer. Or we could buy land outside of town somewhere, and have something designed for us. Or we could move away altogether, if- if that’s what you want.”
“Would you stop that?” I glare at her. “Why do you keep talking about me —about what I want to do, or where I want to live? What about us? What about you ? What is it you want?”
Scout falls silent and I take the opportunity to pull her close. “Just talk to me, Jen,” I murmur. “Tell me what this is about—really.”
Scout gazes vexedly at me. “What it’s about, Nick; or what it’s supposed to be about, is your Christmas gift. Your gift. That’s why I’m asking. What I want isn’t important in that regard. Right?”
I shake my head. “Actually, I’m pretty sure it is. Because if there’s one thing I never asked Santa to bring me, it’s an unhappy wife.”
“Cute.”
“And ignoring your wishes seems like a great way to ensure that that’s what I’ll end up with. So let’s cut to the chase. Bottom line this for me. What’s this all about?”
Scout pulls away. She crosses her arms and glares at me. “Fine then. Since you asked, no. Selling the house would not be my first choice.”
“Okay. Then why?—”
“Because you’re my first choice.”
“But…”
“I love this house—of course I do. But I love you more. And you’re always going to see it as my house. Or my stepmother’s house. Never our house. And that’s no way to live. I want more for you than that. And I want more for Kate, as well. I want us to live in a house where no one is thinking dumb shit like whose house it really is. Oh, and just for the record? I wasn’t looking to find an unhappy husband in my stocking either.”
“Well, sure. How would he fit?”
“Nick!”
“Okay, fine. And thank you—at least that makes some sense now. But, don’t you think you might be overthinking this? I also tend to think of the Cavanaugh’s house as Lucy’s house, you know? Maybe it’s sexist, but…”
“It’s not the same,” Scout insists stubbornly, although I’m pretty sure it is. “I just spent two miserable days in alternate Oberon. This house belonged to me in that reality too. But you weren’t in it. And if I wasn’t clear before that about where my priorities lay—with you or with the house—I definitely am now.”
“Good. I’m sure about that, too,” I say as I pull her back into my arms. “And I didn’t even have to take a side trip to Woo-wooville for clarity. I love this house—I really do. And I also love you more than it. So, if you want to sell the house, we should definitely consider it. But if the only reason you feel that way is because you think it will make me happy? Then I suggest you think again.”
“Okay, but?—”
“No. Stop with the buts already. If you would rather live somewhere else—in a barn, or a bus, or a sailboat, or what have you—then great. Tell me now and we’ll do it. We might wanna teach the cats to swim before we move them onto a boat, but otherwise, we’re good. But if you’re asking me what I want, or what I think would be best for us as a family? Then that’s a no-brainer. I think we should stay right where we are.”
“But—”
“Stop, I said! Let me finish. I guess I have thought of this as your house primarily. Because that’s how we started. That’s what it always was. But I have a lot of really great memories here now, too. And that’s made a huge difference. But that’s still not the most important part.”
“Okay. What is?”
“The whole truth is that while I’ll probably always think of it as ‘your house’ to some extent, what I mostly think of it as is ‘our home’ and that’s altogether different.”
“Oh, Nick,” Scout says as she throws her arms around me—which is starting to become a habit, one I would not mind getting used to. “That’s all I ever wanted.” Although she’s crying again, too. Which is less ideal. Definitely not the reaction I was hoping for.
“I hope those are happy tears?” I say.
She pulls back far enough to smile at me. “They are. Definitely happy tears. But…well, now I have another problem. I don’t have a Christmas present for you.”
That is categorically untrue. It’s false in so many ways, and on so many levels, but this is probably neither the time nor the place for that. “What are you talking about?” I pull the ornament back out of its box and hold it up where she can see it. “You got me this great Christmas ornament, didn’t you?”
“Mm. Which seems a little anticlimactic at the moment.”
“You think that now. But wait until you see what I got for you. Here.” I hand her a sparkly gift bag stuffed with three gift-wrapped packages. “Open these, then we can discuss what does and doesn’t count as anticlimactic.”
Scout opens the first box to reveal a pair of red-sequined, fleece-lined slippers. She squeals and holds them against her chest. “Are these…ruby slippers?”
“You kept talking about how happy you were to be home, so I figured you should have a pair. Just click your heels whenever you need a reminder that home is where the heart is.”
The second box contains a music box that plays Somewhere Over the Rainbow . “I’m sensing a theme,” Scout says, running her fingers over the words emblazoned on the front of the box: There’s no place like home.
I nod again. “Yep. I got one good idea and ran with it. Although, full disclosure: Kate helped. A lot.”
“Did she?” Scout tears up again. “That makes it even sweeter.”
The third box holds a Christmas ornament—shaped, in case you’ve missed the memo, like a pair of ruby slippers. Scout lifts it up and gives it a little shake and a clear, sweet note peals out. “It’s a bell!” she says delightedly. “How perfect!”
“Guess that means your angel finally got his wings,” I say. “No more planes for him.” I’m not entirely sure how I feel about that. Sure, things appear to be working out, but it feels like we’re still not out of the woods.
“Thank you,” Scout says as she pushes everything aside and gives me a hug. “Thank you so much. They’re perfect. They’re just what I needed. And not anticlimactic at all.”
“Well, good,” I tell her. “And now, I guess we’ve settled everything that needed settled.”
“Not quite.” She pulls away, frowning. “About this retirement thing. Is that really what you want to do? I mean, if it is, great! By all means, go for it. Not having to worry anymore about you getting shot on the job? That sounds great to me.”
“Was that ever really a worry?” I ask. “I mean, it’s Oberon. What are the odds of that happening?”
“Pretty high, apparently, judging by Ryan.”
“Yeah, he really screws the curve, doesn’t he? But you know that he’s the exception, right?”
“I guess. But I’m still surprised, you know? Not to mention confused. You’ve never talked about wanting to do this before now. And, given the timing… I mean, I’m not going to be traveling as much as I was. And Cole’s in school part time—and that’s been working out okay. And now, Kate’s going away to school in the fall.”
“I know. I’ve thought of all of that.”
“So, I guess what I’m really wondering is…why? Don’t you think you’ll be bored?”
“Bored? Are you kidding?” I shake my head. “I mean, maybe at first. But not once the baby gets here. That’s a full time gig! Maybe you’ve forgotten what that’s like, but I sure haven’t.”
“Baby?” She’s frowning now. “What baby?”
Ah, shit. Too late I remember that we hadn’t actually talked about this yet. “Sorry, hon. I know it was supposed to be a surprise for Christmas, or whatever. So if you don’t to talk about it yet we can?— ”
“What? Oh, no, no, no. You don’t just drop a bombshell like that on a person and then not tell her the rest!” Her lower lip is caught between her teeth. Her eyes are wide with interest. “Who is it? Is it someone we know? I mean, it must be; but who?”
“Who?” There’s an uncanny suspicion growing in my mind. Almost a sixth sense kind of thing. And it’s telling me that I’m about to find myself in big, big trouble. “Umm…”
“Yes, who! Stop playing around. Who’s having a baby?”
“I thought…we were?”
“Us?” Her gaze grows alarmed. “Like…you and me, us? This us?” Pointer finger extended she gestures between us.
“Mm.” I say, feeling somewhat abashed.
“Nick! You… Me? Pregnant? Now?”
“Well, y’see?—”
Scout gasps in outrage. Splaying her hand over her abdomen she demands, “You think I look pregnant? Is that why you were asking about my weight before?”
“What? Oh, hell. No!” And now I’m using my pointer finger, too; wagging it in her face. “Stop! Nuh-uh. Do not go there. That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Really? Because it sounds like that’s what you’re saying.”
“No! That’s not what this is about. Don’t you dare try and make this about weight. You’re being ridiculous.”
Eyes narrowed; she glares at me. “Then what the heck is it? Where else would you get an idea like that from? Did you just pull it out of thin air?”
I got it from you , is the easiest answer—and probably the worst that I could come up with. So instead, I throw my cousin under that bus…under a bus. I’m not equating my wife to a— You know what? Never mind.
“It’s Lucy’s fault! Blame her. She started it.”
“Oh, sure,” Scout leans back against the pillows, arms crossed over her chest. “And where did she get the idea from? Given that I hadn’t even seen her in weeks!”
“Well, I’ve seen her! I saw her just the other night, in fact.”
“Exactly. And…?”
“Look, it was a pretty good guess, if you want my opinion. There was a lot of circumstantial evidence.”
“Like what?”
“Like the fact that you’ve been so tired lately; way more so than usual. I mean, you fell asleep on the plane home, for fucks sake! And that’s…what? Not even an hour!”
“I know that, but…”
“You used to do the same thing when you were pregnant with Cole.”
Her gaze softens. A small smile curves her lips. “I remember. And you were always very sweet about covering for me.”
“And you…” I take a deep breath. She’s calming down, but this is dangerous territory. “Look. You have to admit that, these past two days, you’ve been a little more emotional than usual.”
Scout’s lips purse. “I suppose I have. It’s been a very emotional time for me.”
“I know.” For both of us, I nearly add, but I’m not that big a fool.
“That still doesn’t explain how Lucy came up with the idea.”
“I was worried,” I explain. “I couldn’t shake the feeling that you were keeping something from me.”
“Well, I was! Just not…that.”
“And when I mentioned it to Lucy, she said that the last secret she remembered you keeping was that we were expecting Cole.”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t a secret from you !”
“Yes, thank you! That’s what I said. But you know Lucy.”
“I do,” she agrees, then her mouth drops open. “Omigod. That’s why she was acting so weird last night with the wine, and the lemonade…”
“Was that what that was?”
“Oh, count on it!”
“All right, well…”
“And now she’s going to tell everyone. And by the time they get here tomorrow?—”
“No,” I protest. “Come on. She wouldn’t do that.”
“Of course she would!” Scout glares at me in exasperation. “That’s exactly what happened the last time. I told her, and then she told Janice, and Janice told Joey, and he ran and told his folks, and the next thing we knew—before we’d so much as walked down the aisle, or had the chance to announce it ourselves—everyone was congratulating us.”
“Huh.” I nod thoughtfully as imaginary puzzle pieces, misaligned for years, finally slide into place. “I always wondered how those rumor got started.”
“Yes, well; now you know.”
“Okay, but… Well, it doesn’t have to be a big deal,” I tell her. “Does it? When they get here, we’ll just tell them we’re not. Or… you know what? Screw that. We’ll tell Lucy we’re not and she can take it from there.”
“Mm. It would serve her right.”
“Yeah. It would. Unless…” I pause as an idea takes hold. “It’s only a rumor now. But what if we…?”
“What? What if we…what?”
“Would you…want to have a baby?” I ask slowly, mentally revisiting all of my recent thoughts on the subject; all the pros and the cons; all the myriad of possibilities—good, bad, and indifferent.
“I… don’t know?” Scout blinks in surprise. “Do you want to have a baby?”
“I don’t know either,” I confess. “I wasn’t thinking about it at all, before this. But then the last few days happened, and now I…”
“Okay, well, it’s only been a few minutes, for me,” Scout points out. “So, I’mma need a chance to catch up.”
“Yeah,” I agree. And then I smile. “It wouldn’t be terrible though, would it?” I ask, parroting her question from five years ago.
A smile of recognition trembles on Scout’s lips. Her eyes grow luminous with tears—still feeling emotional, I see; even if she isn’t pregnant. “No,” she says at last, quoting my own words back at me. “No, it wouldn’t be terrible. Nothing that comes from this could ever be terrible.”
For a long, long moment we stare at each other, and I swear, it feels like time has stopped. As though our past and our future were coalescing all around us. As though the entire world was nothing more than a snow globe, with the two of us at its center. For just an instant, I feel all the magic of the season—a vast, eternal field of infinite possibility, spreading out in all directions…
And then she stirs, or I stir, or one of us blinks and…we’re back in ordinary time again.
I take my first deep breath in what feels like minutes. “So,” I say. “We’ll table it for now?”
Scout nods. “I think that’s for the best. We’ll stick a pin in it, though.”
“Just slide that pot to the back burner for a bit?”
“Mm. We’ll circle back around to it. Maybe. Possibly.”
“We’ll shelve it in the archives?”
“Nick.” She glares in mock annoyance.
“Mm?”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
And of course, I comply. I pull her close and slant my mouth over hers and… You know what? Forget all that stuff I said earlier about chocolate and cherry and how the taste of them, combined in her mouth, is perfection. Because this—this right here—this is all I need. It’s her, just her, forever.
“So, what do you want to do now ,” Scout murmurs, a few minutes later.
I glance across at the clock. “Well, we still have a little time, so perhaps we should practice.”
“Practice?” Her eyebrows arch. “Practice what?”
“Practice making a baby, of course. So we’ll be ready in the event we decide to untable the topic.”
“I don’t think that’s how that metaphor works,” she replies, speaking sternly. But I’m not fooled. There’s a hint of a smile quirking at the edges of her lips.
“Unpin it?” I say, hoping to tease that smile into coming all the way unstuck. “Unslide it? Uncircle the wagons?
“Worser and worser!” Scout says. “That’s hardly even English.” Her lips are still mostly firm, but her eyes are agleam. I count that a win.
“Well, what do you want to do?” I ask, and then she does smile. And it is glorious.
“Well…” she tells me. “I was really hoping you could show me a little more of that Spicy Nick action you were telling me about.”
“I can do that,” I say as I tumble her down into the bedding. I brace myself on one arm, ravage her throat with kisses as I set to work on the belt of her robe. Her hands slide up my back, beneath my shirt, skin to skin, trailing pleasure in their wake. “I can definitely do that.”
“ We can do that,” she corrects, right as usual.
“Yes,” I agree. “We can.”
And then we do. And it’s a very, merry Christmas.