Chapter_24
Hastily, Rosie set two more places at the table. Dylan brought two armchairs from the living room. “There we go,” she said. “The more, the merrier.”
Jordan surveyed the scene and pressed his lips together in an irritated smile. “We’ll be back,” he said. “I’m going to give Bridey a tour.”
“That’s his mom? What did he call her?” Hank whispered when they disappeared upstairs.
“Bridey,” Rosie said. “It’s a nickname from—I don’t know. It’s a long story.” She felt both embarrassed and protective. She could hear snippets of the tour, including the words “exterminator,” “stressed,” “renters,” “nursery,” “termites,” and “nightmare.” She mentally divided the portions of chicken, wondering if there would be enough.
When Jordan and his mother joined the table, everyone glanced at one another: Rosie at Jordan, Jordan at Rosie, Rosie at Dylan, and Jordan at his mother, who wore a navy pantsuit and string of pearls, as though she were auditioning to play the part of herself. Her hair was coiffed and shiny, and only then did Rosie notice the Botox around her eyes. She and Jordan served themselves.
“What’s this salad?” Jordan said, scooping long, dripping ribbons of cucumber onto his plate. His mother took a long drink from her wineglass, set it down, winced at the label, and looked at Dylan and Lark. “So,” she finally said. “You must be the renters.”
Dylan put her arm around Lark. “That’s us.”
“And you’re a couple?” Jordan’s mother said. Rosie stared at her plate. “Which means you must be Dylan,” she said to Dylan.
Dylan smiled. “What gave me away?”
Jordan’s mother nodded but did not answer the question. “Jordan says you’ve been doing renovations,” she said. She eyed the child in Sasha’s lap. “I’m glad we opted for the full liability insurance.”
“We?”
“Cliff and I. Jordan’s father. And you are...” she said, looking at Sasha.
“That’s Lark’s other girlfriend,” Jordan said, taking a bite of salad, before Sasha had a chance to answer.
“We wouldn’t use that term ourselves,” Sasha said.
“I see,” Jordan’s mother said. “And does that make this Lark’s child?”
“No,” Sasha said. “I’m technically a single parent. But Dylan is sort of like a co-parent.” She picked a small piece of chicken off her plate and handed it to the child, who turned it into a car, ramming it into Sasha’s water glass before stuffing it into his mouth.
“I’m not sure I follow,” Jordan’s mother said. “You’ll have to explain it to me like I’m a child.”
Jordan cleared his throat. “Don’t be confused. She just means that Dylan is a babysitter.”
“It’s a little more than that,” Dylan said.
“Sasha,” Jordan said, pointing his fork at Dylan, “do you pay her?”
“Of course,” Sasha said.
“There’s a word for that,” Jordan said. He skewered a piece of chicken with his fork. “It’s ‘babysitter.’?”
Jordan’s mother took a sip of wine and gestured at Hank. “And what about you?”
“That’s Rosie’s boss,” Jordan said.
“Of course you are,” Jordan’s mother said, looking at Hank’s neck tattoo. “How bohemian. What is it you all... do for work?”
“Lark makes sweaters, and Dylan makes chairs,” Jordan said. He poured himself a beer and began drinking it, the foam settling on his lip.
“Jordan,” Rosie said. “Stop answering for other people.”
“And in their free time, which appears to be unlimited,” Jordan continued, “they dance with woodland creatures and make mead from the nectar of unicorn horns.” He looked up at Lark and Dylan and smiled. “What? Did I get that wrong?” He spooned half the chanterelles onto his plate.
“Jordan,” Rosie said again. Her face burned. She couldn’t bring herself to look at anyone at the table.
“What?”
“Dylan and Lark have been transforming their rental space,” Rosie said to Jordan’s mother. “And Dylan has been helping us with the house.”
“Well thank god for that!” Jordan’s mother said. “Had I known that this is what Cliff and I were buying, I would never—not in a million years—” She took another sip. “Don’t worry,” she said to Jordan, “we’re getting you out of here.”
“It’s not for everybody,” Dylan said to Jordan.
“What am I eating, exactly?” Jordan’s mother said. She pierced a mushroom with her fork.
“Oh, um, those are hen of the woods,” Dylan said. “Justin found those for us on our hike today.” Justin lay at Dylan’s feet, and she reached down to scratch his head. Jordan sneezed.
“You hiked today?” Jordan said sharply. He was looking at Rosie.
“And swam,” Lark said cheerfully. “It was beautiful.”
Jordan kept his gaze on Rosie. “Didn’t you have work? Wasn’t it in the low forties today?”
“Dylan built a sauna in the woods,” Rosie said. “It’s her birthday, and she wanted to hike, so we took the day off.”
“You’re forgetting the most important part of the day,” Dylan said. “Rosie slaughtered her first chicken.” She gestured to what remained of the chicken on the table, its parts now divided between plates.
Jordan stared at his plate. “She did...” he said. “And this—this is what we’re eating?” He put down his fork.
“Yes!” Lark said. “Ordinarily, I don’t eat animals, but when they come from Hank’s farm, where I know they lead full lives—”
“And easy deaths,” Hank added.
Jordan’s mother made a sound and draped her napkin over her plate. Jordan’s face twisted, as if he’d bitten something rotten. He took a long drink of water.
Rosie looked at him. “What’s wrong?”
Jordan swallowed. “Don’t you think you should have told me this before we started eating?”
“Why?”
“I’m just a little...”
“What?”
“Grossed out,” Jordan said, glancing around. “I’m grossed out. Sorry, but it’s true.”
“Because I slaughtered it?”
“Yes. I don’t want to think about you slaughtering something while I eat. And your first time... Are you sure you...” Jordan looked to Hank. “Did you supervise?”
Hank frowned. “Why? You need a man to make sure she did it right? She did a great job.” Rosie felt herself flush.
Hank raised a glass. “To Ferdinand,” he said. Everybody except for Jordan and his mother toasted.
“What, um,” Dylan said after a moment, “what brings you up here to Scout Hill, Mrs....”
“Bridey,” Jordan’s mother said. She pushed her plate toward the center of the table. “Jordan was in the city for an important meeting that he missed, due to an unfortunate miscommunication about the car, as I’m sure you’re aware.” She looked pointedly at Rosie.
“Well,” Rosie said, but Jordan’s mother cut in again.
“And he just sounded so down. With everything happening at this property, between the rats—”
“Mice,” Rosie said.
“The vermin,” Jordan’s mother said, “and everything he told me about the disastrous foundation. I had to see for myself.” She refilled her wineglass. “I happened to be in Manhattan for a keto convention. You would not believe some of the proteins they are squeezing out of vegetables. If only I had known about them when I was twenty-five.” Her face had transformed into a mask of regret. “Hemp is falling out of fashion right now, which is interesting. I’m in the smoothie business, as I’m sure you’ve heard,” she said to no one in particular.
“GoldenDrop,” Dylan said. Rosie bit her lip and stared at her plate, forcing her face into a serious expression.
“That’s right!” Jordan’s mother said, turning to Dylan. “So I told him, ‘Jordan, I’m here, I’m your mother.’?” She gripped his chin. “?‘Your house might be falling apart, but you’re not in this alone. I’m going to help you. Again.’ It’s what mothers do, isn’t that right?” She directed this last question to Sasha, who smiled uncertainly and nodded.
“The so-called nursery alone is enough to give me hives,” Jordan’s mother continued. “Speaking of which”—she turned to Jordan—“do you have a Zyrtec? I didn’t realize there would be animals here.”
“It’s not really his house,” Sasha said.
Everyone turned to look at her.
“Well, that’s true, it technically belongs to Cliff and me—”
“No, I mean, if you think about it,” Sasha said, “the property doesn’t actually belong to him, or you, or Cliff, whoever that is. To any of you.” She looked at Rosie.
“Why don’t you elaborate,” Jordan’s mother said. “I am eager to learn what you could possibly mean.”
“Well, we’re on stolen land,” Sasha said. “So we can’t honestly believe it belongs to anyone sitting at this table.”
“No,” Lark said somberly.
“Well, that is a lovely sentiment,” Jordan’s mother said. “Unfortunately, this is how money works. You buy something, and immediately thereafter it belongs to you.”
“Aren’t you dating our real estate broker?” Jordan said suddenly, to Sasha.
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Dylan’s eyes widened. Rosie remembered her impression of Jordan shaking a cocktail and Dylan’s laughter. You look like you’re about to throw a lasso, she’d said. She turned to Rosie. “I shut off that thing! How did it hear us?”
“Have you been talking about lassos?” Jordan said. “Were you at the rental property?”
Rosie glanced at Dylan.
“You were,” Jordan said. “You were over there. When? Last night?”
“Yeah,” Rosie said, unable to keep the guilt out of her voice. “Just for a little while.”
“You texted me back really late,” Jordan said, looking at his phone.
The table was still. Rosie’s heart lurched into her throat. Hank chewed his food slowly, looking wide-eyed at Jordan. The toddler screamed, “More,” and squeezed a mushroom in his fist.
“Lark, did you know Rosie and Dylan were”—Jordan crossed his fingers—“this weekend?” He had taken on a forced casual tone and poured himself another beer. Rosie could see his cheeks were reddening. His mother reached a hand to his wrist.
“Oh! What does this”—Lark crossed her fingers—“mean to you?”
“Rosie, why don’t you tell us?” Jordan said. Rosie felt Dylan’s eyes on her.
“We were just hanging out,” Rosie said.
“Are you all right, Jordan?” Lark asked.
“This doesn’t bother you?” Jordan said to Lark, exasperated.
Lark looked up tranquilly at the ceiling, as though waiting to find her answer there. “That’s not my first feeling. I feel very secure in our boundaries. Perhaps I’ll ask Dylan a few questions in the privacy of our home.” Dylan smiled coolly at Jordan, who rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on—”
They were interrupted by the sound of van doors slamming shut outside and the chatter of a small crowd. A Sprinter van had slowed to a stop. The decal on the windows read “SheTours?.”
“Mercedes-Benz,” the child said with some difficulty.
“No fucking way. No,” Jordan said, standing up from the table. He stormed out the front door. “You can’t be here,” he shouted. “This is private property. You have to go. Go ahead. Goodbye!” He stood with his arms crossed until they drove away.
“Who on earth was that?” Jordan’s mother said.
“You don’t even want to know,” Jordan said, returning to the table. “This house is a cultural landmark. It’s a historic lesbian house where a lesbian painter lived with her lesbian Boston wife. She made a lesbian painting, and now every lesbian on the East Coast has made this a destination on their lesbian tours of the United States.”
“Did Lise Bakker identify as a lesbian?” Lark said thoughtfully. “I had always thought they were more of a nonbinary icon.”
“She was definitely a dyke,” Sasha said.
Jordan erupted at this, much to the confusion of Dylan, Lark, Hank, Sasha, and the toddler, who dropped the food from his fist and stared at Jordan.
“Do not say that word in this house,” he said, glancing at the family friend. “You can’t say that.”
“Calm down,” Rosie said quietly.
Another car pulled up the driveway, and Jordan became stiff and alert. He stood and pushed in his chair.
“This one’s for me,” Sasha said. She lifted the child onto her hip and opened the front door to their broker, who took the child into her arms.
“You’ve come at a very exciting time,” Sasha said. “You can use my plate.” She turned to everyone else. “Hope it’s OK to add one more.”
“Of course,” Dylan answered, and Jordan’s face hardened.
“Hi, Callie,” Rosie said.
“Amazing, I’m starving,” Callie said. She sat on Sasha’s lap and took over her fork. “I had about thirty viewings of that Germantown house with the terrible construction and the wraparound porch. City people go absolutely nuts for a wraparound porch, even if the house is a wreck. No offense,” she added, looking up at Rosie and Jordan. She took a bite. “Nice to see you two again,” she said to Jordan and his mother.
Jordan stared at his empty plate.
“Well, isn’t this just so quaint,” Jordan’s mother said. “The butcher, the broker, the seamstress, the woodworker, and the—I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your trade,” she said to Sasha. “I feel like I’m inside an old-timey jigsaw puzzle.”
“I’m a poet,” Sasha said.
“She bags groceries at the general store,” Jordan said.
“I think I found a few more comps for you,” Callie continued, looking between Jordan and Rosie. “Not many of them have rentals, but they’ll give you a good idea of what you could expect.”
Jordan stiffened.
“I’m sorry,” Rosie said. “Comps?”
“We just thought,” Jordan said, gesturing to his mother, “that while Bridey’s in town, we should talk to Callie and see what we could expect to get out of the property. So we can start thinking about what’s next.”
“I don’t know which we you mean,” Rosie said. “Us? Because last I checked, this was our life, and we weren’t talking about selling.”
The tapered candles had burned halfway down.
“It’s more like your life, Rosie. I miss our life.”
“Oh, dear,” Lark said.
“And you weren’t going to tell me?”
“Of course I was going to tell you.” Jordan scoffed. “I didn’t know everyone and their polyamorous lover would be here tonight.”
“I actually only have one partner here,” Callie said.
“I have two,” Lark said.
“Enough,” Jordan’s mother said. “Now, here is what is going to happen. We are going to sell this house. It is clearly a disaster for your marriage, and this is no place to raise a child. I shudder to think about the lead jumping out of these walls. I’m sure you ladies are very nice,” she said, wincing at Lark and Dylan, “but I certainly don’t need my son distracted by the threat of infidelity, on top of everything else. And you two,” she said, looking between Jordan and Rosie, “are going to be very happy, very soon.”
“You can’t force us to move,” Rosie said. “This is our life.”
“Have your adventure,” Bridey said. “But see it for what it is. This is no place to start a family.” Her expression suddenly changed—she looked like she might cry with happiness. “You were such a beautiful bride,” she said to Rosie, touching her face. She turned to the others. “Did they show you photos?”
“No,” Dylan said with a smile. She poured herself more wine. “I don’t think we had the pleasure of seeing those.”
Jordan’s mother pulled an iPad from her purse and started scrolling through photos, her pink-painted fingernail lightly clicking against the screen.
“Oh, that’s OK,” Rosie said, with a polite urgency. “I don’t know that we need to look at those right now.”
“I would love to see them,” Sasha said.
“See?” Jordan’s mother said. “Sara would like to see them.”
“Sasha,” Dylan and Rosie said together.
But Sasha was not on the receiving end of the photo slideshow. Jordan’s mother had angled the iPad at Dylan. An alt-rock song that Rosie had never heard before accompanied the slideshow, which comprised slight variations of the same photo of Rosie and Jordan at the altar. “Aren’t they gorgeous?” she said.
Dylan looked at Rosie, who felt that her insides were being wrung out like a dish towel.
“Beautiful,” Dylan agreed.
What, you’re going to be mad at me forever?” Jordan said. They were doing the dishes. Dylan, Hank, Lark, Sasha, Callie, and the child had left, and Jordan had driven his mother to a nearby eco-spa hotel after she declined to stay in the house.
Rosie didn’t answer.
“I’m sorry.” Jordan’s voice cracked.
“What are you sorry for?”
“I’m sorry I accused you of having an affair.”
“And?”
“And that I talked to our broker without you. I wanted to know our budget before talking to you. Look at these listings I found in Connecticut.”
He pulled out his phone and showed her one of the Zillow listings. “This one has a pool with a waterfall. And look, there’s a whole kitchen that they built outside. Apparently the sellers are really motivated.”
Rosie’s dread metastasized. “I cannot believe you accused me of having an affair, at a dinner table, with guests, and your mother.” She squeezed dish soap onto a sponge and began vigorously scrubbing glasses.
“What was I supposed to think?”
Rosie rinsed the glasses and handed them to him. “I’m allowed to have friends! You always wanted me to have more friends in Brooklyn! And now that I do, you’ve turned into this little insecure man-baby! Who are you?”
“I’m sorry!” Jordan’s voice cracked again. “I was panicking. I just felt like there was something between you two, and then I leave and I can’t get in touch with you, and then I learn you were over there all night? And the family friend is offering to order us a lasso, which is some inside joke between the two of you? What even was the joke? I’d like to know!” He rubbed the glasses with the dish towel.
“I don’t even remember,” Rosie lied. They were quiet for a moment. “You promised you’d run interference on your mom.”
“I’m sorry, I know she was a lot tonight. But what about what I want? I should get a say.”
“You do have a say.”
“It really doesn’t feel that way,” Jordan said. “I mean, you don’t even want to do our thing in bed anymore. You used to like it.”
“Aren’t kinks supposed to be a little more, I don’t know, suppressed? Spicy? More about unacceptable desires? Can you think of a more basic kink than pretending to impregnate your own wife?”
“Well, you don’t seem to want that,” Jordan said. “Like, at all. So it sounds like a repressed desire to me.”
“Suppressed,” Rosie said.
“What?”
“You mean suppressed. Because it’s a conscious effort.”
“OK?” Jordan said, bewildered.
They fell silent.
“I just think—” Rosie started.
“What?”
“You’re more of a partner to your mom than to me.”
“Having an involved parent is not as crazy as you’re making it out to be,” Jordan said. “Look, nothing against your mom, but I’m glad we have someone who is actually in the weeds with us. For all I know, your mom doesn’t even know our address up here.”
“She does,” Rosie said. “I emailed it to her.”
“And? Did she respond to that email? Maybe a simple Congratulations, I’m so happy for you, honey? Maybe a housewarming gift? Did she even get us a wedding gift?”
Rosie let her silence answer the question.
Jordan sighed. “Look, I had to calm Bridey down. I mean, I’ve been telling her about all the problems Dylan found, and she has been freaking out. She hates that we live here. I reassured her it’s just until we get a family started.”
“Jesus,” Rosie said, running the plates under a cold jet of water.
“I don’t think she’s wrong about everything. It would be so much easier in Connecticut, Rosie. The plumbing works, the houses are built straight, the neighbors aren’t sitting around drinking herbal tinctures all day. You won’t have to decapitate chickens for a living. I mean, what the fuck are we doing?” His eyes had glassed over with tears, but he laughed. “It’s OK to admit we made a mistake.”
“We are living.” Rosie’s eyes were hot. “I am begging you to see that. Stop scrolling through investor spreadsheets and take a look around. Look at this beautiful house that has stood here for over two hundred years. Look out that window,” she said, pointing behind the kitchen sink, “and tell me you aren’t moved by the number of stars you can see. And that’s just through one little square piece of greasy, smudged glass!”
“There are stars in Connecticut! The same exact ones!”
“Not like this,” Rosie said. “Please just open your eyes and see what I see.”
“What I see,” Jordan said, “is a guy who just wants to live a happy life and build a family. Without anything, or anyone, getting in his way.”
“And what I’m asking you to do,” Rosie said, “is to look beyond yourself, even just for a second, and see if you can find something you like here. Why don’t you try rock climbing or skiing?”
“Because I’m not my dad,” Jordan said. “I like my weight bench and my dumbbells and my little app that tells me when it’s leg day.”
Rosie finished rinsing the last dish and handed it to him. He took the damp towel and brought it to the surface of the plate. “Would you say,” he said, his voice straining. He cleared his throat. “Would you say you even want to have a baby? Just be real with me. I need to know.”
Rosie looked at him. He was staring at the sink, awaiting her answer like a slap. Every part of her body felt squeezed.
“I— Yes,” she found herself saying. “I would say that. Maybe not right this second,” she added, seeing Jordan’s relief, “but yes.”
Her words had their intended effect. He wrapped his arms around her. “Thank you,” he said, holding her. His neck was warm against her face. “You have no idea what that means to me.” He took a step backward and held her face in his hands. “I’m sorry I acted out at dinner. I’ll tell Bridey to back off. We’ll put down some roots here, OK? If that’s what you want, I want it, too.”
Rosie nodded, relieved. “I do want that.”
“Then I have to ask you for one more thing,” Jordan said. “And I hope you can understand. I want less of her.”
“Of—”
“Of Dylan, OK? I want less of her.”
Rosie could see he was trying not to cry. She put a damp hand on his chest. “Jordan,” she said.
“I know I’m being paranoid and jealous. But please don’t make me ask again.”
“OK,” Rosie said. “All right.”
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Jordan looked at Rosie, waiting for her to answer.
“Yes,” she said, pressing her cheek to his chest, a door closing inside her.