Chapter 9
Jane
“H ow’s marriage and home ownership?” Claudia asks me the next day on a video call.
I’m sitting on my bed after dinner. Evan is outside, talking to Gordon, and later, we’ll watch an episode of our current K-drama. Evan told me yesterday that he thinks the lead actor is hot, and I felt a strange prickle of jealousy.
“It’s good,” I say.
It seems like such an insufficient word. Good .
“It’s just what I wanted,” I add. “I have a proper home office and a yard to care for. Someone to eat meals and watch TV with me. It might not be exciting, but it’s nice.”
Claudia gives me a strange look.
“What?” I say.
“I’m not an expert in this sort of thing,” she begins, “but I was thinking of your marriage as a queerplatonic relationship, and now, I’m not so sure. Something about your expression…”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say automatically. “I’m not falling in love—romantic love—with my husband, which is what you seem to be getting at. Just because we cuddle and hold hands sometimes—”
“This is me you’re talking to. I get it.”
I sigh. “Even when I do fall in love, I don’t look starry-eyed.”
“Are you sure?”
I roll my eyes. “It’s just pleasant. Comfortable.”
Claudia has a couple of friends who are sharing a home and raising their kids together, without being romantically involved. They’re what comes to mind when I think of a queerplatonic relationship. But why does it feel weird to use that language for me and Evan? I’m not sure, but I know it’s not because I’m falling for him.
“It doesn’t feel suffocating?” she asks. “To be around each other so often?”
“No. I…” I trail off as I consider the fact that Evan doesn’t go out as much as I thought he might. I mean, he goes for walks and talks to the neighbors, but I was always under the impression that he had many friend groups and a much more active social life than I do.
I haven’t seen evidence of that, though.
“It’s nice.” It’s the second time I’ve used that word, but I’m not sure what else to say. “Like, yesterday was my mom’s birthday, and I was glad I wasn’t alone all day. I asked him to take out some frozen wedding cake, and he lit a candle and told me to make a wish.”
“What did you wish for?”
“For our marriage to continue to be good. That’s all.”
I never wanted anything big from life. Maybe it’s because my mom died when I was so young. I had to deal with that profound loss, and I didn’t imagine things like, I don’t know, becoming an astronaut.
No, living to thirty-three and owning a house seems like enough. A house where I feel like I belong, even if I’ve been here for less than a month. By the time I was a teenager, I felt like an outsider in the place where I’d grown up. Suzanne had moved in, and every picture of my mother—aside from those in my room—had been put away. I couldn’t be myself there, but I can here.
If some tiny part of me wanted a romance, well, being married to a nice man with a nice family should suffice.
Speaking of that family…
“His parents tried to convince us to go on a honeymoon and offered to pay for it. His mom confronted me since Evan had already said no.”
“But he has your back when dealing with his family?”
“Yeah, and they’re usually fine. It’s just that one incident.”
I find myself fiddling with the band on my finger and thinking of the gift he gave me earlier. A tiny ceramic dish, made by a local artist—I assume he got it at the market that he went to the other day—to hold my ring when I’m cooking. My platonic feelings for him are deepening, but I expected that to happen, once we started spending so much time together.
“I’m glad it’s going well,” Claudia says. “I’m just a little worried that one of you will change what you want from this marriage.”
I shake my head. “Enough about me. Now tell me about the drama in your D I guess that’s why Evan went with an umbrella today. After he finishes closing the blinds, he carefully fixes the umbrella, and I look around the room.
“This room needs something else,” I say.
“Like what?” he asks.
“Maybe a plant or two? But I don’t know anything about houseplants.”
“You should ask Yvonne. I’ll give you her number, and you can text her.”
“Oh. Um. Are you sure she’d be okay with that?”
“Why not?”
I guess I didn’t imagine having relationships with anyone in Evan’s family separate from him—and does he think of Yvonne, who’s been dating Leo for under a year, as family?
He comes over to me and sets his hands on my shoulder. “I’m happy to ask her instead, if it makes you uncomfortable.”
“No, no, I’ll text her.”
A few minutes later, I send Yvonne a message. I snap a picture of the room and tell her that it faces north-ish—I don’t know if that’s important, but it might be.
She immediately starts sending me links to pretty plants, and I can’t help but smile.
Our first houseplant arrives, unexpectedly, on Saturday evening.
At Lana’s insistence, Evan and I agreed to hold a small housewarming party. At five o’clock, he drives to Finch Station to pick up our friends, while I stay back and finish preparing the food. I’m not usually much of a hostess, but then again, I’ve never had a house before. Evan suggested we buy frozen appetizers that simply needed to be baked in the oven, but I wanted to make my own. And so here I am, preparing brie bites and spinach feta bites.
With purchased puff pastry, of course—I’m not that much of a masochist.
Still, in my flowered apron, I feel like a housewife, even if the apron is my husband’s. Personally, I’d have bought something less bright and colorful.
At the sound of a key in the front door, I throw the muffin tin with the brie bites into the oven, set the timer, and head out to greet our guests, feeling more nervous than I usually would at the idea of seeing longtime friends.
“Jane!” Ash hugs me with one arm. “I can’t believe you own a house now. Red bricks, a garage, and everything. Here, I got you a bunny ear cactus. I wasn’t sure what to buy for a housewarming gift because I don’t know anyone else who actually owns a house.”
I take the cactus from his hands. “Thanks for coming.”
“Nice apron. It’s Evan’s, isn’t it?”
Evan laughs from the back of the group. “Of course it is.”
Ash is one of those people who’s more a member of my friend group than an actual friend. I find him a bit much in large quantities but am happy to see him at group events. He and Evan dated briefly, though it was a long time ago now.
Lana and Camila enter the house after Ash. Camila is carrying the charcuterie tray that she promised to bring.
“It’s a shark-cuterie board,” she says, “but you’ll have to eat some of the prosciutto before you can see the shark.”
“I won’t have any trouble doing that,” Evan says.
“The board itself is your housewarming gift, by the way.”
Behind Lana and Camila is Georgie, who doesn’t say much but pulls a bottle of white wine out of their hoodie.
Everyone takes off their shoes in the front hall, and I meet Evan’s eyes. “How was the drive?”
“Not too bad,” he says. “A stalled bus caused a back-up near the station, but otherwise, about as good as you could expect.”
We give our guests a quick tour, beginning with the kitchen. In the living room, Watson—decked out in a rainbow lei—is the main attraction. Next, we head to the dining room, which is mostly empty, unfortunately. We still need to buy furniture for it, but it hasn’t been a huge priority. Ash is impressed by our “in-unit laundry,” and Lana appreciates the fact that we have multiple washrooms.
But as we climb the stairs, I feel a bit anxious. When we arranged this little party, I wasn’t thinking about everyone seeing our bedrooms.
“This is my room,” I say, opening the door a crack. “Looks like the bedroom in my old apartment, basically.”
“You have separate bedrooms?” Ash says. “That’s smart. I wish we could do that. Jer sends his regrets, by the way, but he couldn’t get out of work.”
“The extra closet space would certainly be nice.” Lana sighs.
I swear Georgie gives me an odd look because of the bedroom situation. However, I’m saved when the oven timer goes off and I have to head downstairs, leaving Evan to finish the tour.
We gather in the living room, the food on the coffee table. There isn’t a ton of seating, so I sit on the floor in front of Evan and reach for a brie bite. It’s very good, if I do say so myself, though it’s hard to screw up something that’s centered around warm cheese. The wine is good, too. It’s the first time I’ve had a drink since the wedding.
“I still can’t get over the fact that you two are together ,” Ash says.
I stiffen a little, but I don’t think anyone notices. Except Evan, who rubs my shoulder.
“You were at our wedding,” he points out to Ash.
“I know . Speaking of which, do you have your pictures yet?”
“No,” I say, “but I think we’re supposed to get them next week.”
“I can’t wait to see them.”
I focus on the charcuterie plate, trying to decide which cheese looks best.
“I’m curious about chores,” Lana says.
“Chores?” Ash rolls his eyes and takes a glug of wine. “Why are you curious about that?”
“Who does what?”
“Jane does the yardwork and the majority of the cooking,” Evan says. “I do the laundry and most of the cleaning.”
At least, I think that’s what he says, but he’s continuing the rub my shoulders, and he hits the perfect point that nearly makes me moan. Is he doing this to convince everyone that we’re a real couple?
I don’t like the idea, for some reason. I hope he’s doing it because he wants to, and I try not to think about my recent conversation with Claudia.
Our friends insist on taking an Uber to the subway rather than depending on Evan for another ride. (He rarely drinks and didn’t have any alcohol tonight, so he’d be perfectly capable of driving.) They hug us and stumble out into the night, in various states of inebriation, and we finish cleaning up. I pop the final piece of prosciutto into my mouth, followed by a grape, before I put the remaining food in a large glass container. Evan, meanwhile, loads up the dishwasher.
We work in silence for a couple of minutes before he says, “I think that went well.”
“Me, too.”
“It’s nice to have a big enough place to properly entertain. I always wanted that.”
I’m about to put the container in the fridge when I realize there’s a single cube of the best cheese left. I have no idea what kind of cheese it is, but it’s really good and lightly smoky. Before I know what I’m doing, I walk over to Evan, who’s cleaning the muffin tin. His hands are in soapy water, so I can’t actually hand him the cheese. Oh well. I stand on my toes and hold it to his lips. I’m just being practical, right? He hesitates for a split second before pulling the piece of cheese into his mouth, his lower lip brushing my fingers.
“Mm. That’s delicious,” he says. “I didn’t have any earlier. I guess I was too busy inhaling your brie bites.” He knocks his hip against mine.
Perhaps it’s the wine—I had two generous glasses—but I feel an unusual amount of pleasure at his compliment. At the smile aimed in my direction.
A little flustered, I take out the broom and give the kitchen floor a good sweep.