“We’ll get out early tomorrow,” Tyler said, reading her stress. “Give you space to prep before Luke picks you up.”
“I need to start dinner soon too,” Meg said, still on her hands and knees. “But the kitchen is?—”
“A disaster zone,” Stella finished. “Maybe we should just eat outside. Picnic style. Very California.”
“With paper plates,” Tyler added. “So no one has to wash dishes in the bathroom sink.”
“Has it come to that?” Meg asked.
“I brushed my teeth in the kitchen this morning,” Stella admitted. “The bathroom had your conference call setup.”
They all looked at each other—on the floor surrounded by papers, discussing bathroom logistics—and started laughing. It was either that or cry.
By evening, Meg had given up on the kitchen entirely. The dining table was a lost cause. The living room had been conquered by her presentation materials. She’d taken two more bathroom calls and was considering just installing a desk next to the sink.
Tyler and Stella had made dinner—pasta with jarred marinara that they ate standing up because there was nowhere to sit. They’d all pretended this was normal. Fun, even. Standing pasta party.
“We can’t keep doing this,” Meg said, twirling spaghetti onto her fork.
“The standing dinners?” Stella asked. “I kind of like them. Very fancy.”
“All of it,” Meg said. “The bathroom office. The kitchen conferences. You two can’t even exist in your own house.”
“We’d starve without you,” Tyler said immediately.
“Completely starve,” Stella agreed. “Do you know what he considers dinner? Cereal. Just cereal.”
“It’s a complete meal if you add fruit.”
“A banana doesn’t count as cooking!”
“We need you,” Tyler said simply. “We’ll figure out the space thing. After your presentation.”
“But—”
“After,” Stella said firmly. “You need to focus. We’ll survive one more day of kitchen gymnastics.”
Now, at nearly midnight, the house was finally quiet. Stella’s music had stopped an hour ago. Tyler’s light was off. Meg slipped out onto the front porch with her phone, grateful for the cool night air and the absence of paperwork.
She called Anna.
“It’s 9 AM here,” Anna answered immediately. “Which means it’s... midnight there. Why are you awake so late?”
“Finalizing tomorrow’s presentation.”
“The one you’ve been finalizing for a week?”
“It’s a big meeting.”
“Meg.” Anna’s voice gentled. “What’s really going on?”
Meg sat on the top step, looking out at the quiet street. “We’re suffocating, Anna. Tyler’s house is too small. I’ve taken over every room except the bedrooms, and I’m eyeing those too. This morning I took a client call from the bathroom.”
“Again?”
“The acoustics really are excellent.” She laughed, but it came out shaky. “Stella’s eating granola bars because she can’t get to the kitchen when we’re both in there. Tyler’s editing photos on his bed. We’re all pretending this is sustainable but?—“
“It’s not.”
