"You're here! C'mon. This place is absolutely smashing. It's perfect for us. You're going to love it."
When Ophelia pulls down her mask, I can see her mouth is set into a tight line, and it stops me in my tracks.
"What's up? You don't seem like a happy chickadee."
She lifts her shoulders and lets them drop, her gaze trained on the floor. "Nothing. It's fine. I'm sure it will be fine."
"No, it won't. It's more than fine." I take her hand and pull her down the hall. The rental agent is still waiting for us inside our unit. "Please trust me. I know you must on some level."
As we walk up the stairs, Ophelia says, in between breaths, "It's just I like my place. It has character and charm. I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not sleek and stylish. I'm not put together. That one link you sent—I'd never feel comfortable there. I'd always be afraid I'd break something. But I understand, it's your place and your decision. So I'm telling myself I'll be fine wherever."
We get to the door, and I'm still holding her hand. I turn to face her, taking her other hand in mine. "This isourplace. Not mine.Ours. I don't want you to be fine. I want you to be good. More than good. Bloody good. And if you don't like this place like I do, then we'll keep looking until we find something that fits us both. For better or worse, we've got a few years ahead of us, and I'm not going to make you miserable. I'll do whatever I can to make you happy. You've given me so much, it's the least I can do."
Her eyes are shiny with tears and her mouth quivers into a tight smile.
"But," I add, "I think you're going to love this place."
The moment she sets foot inside, her demeanor changes. "Look at this!" She points to the built-in desk with slate blue cabinets, nestled into an archway alcove in the living room. "It's got arches! It's not all white!"
She wanders from room to room, pointing out all the things she likes. "Wood floors that aren't gray. I mean those look nice and all, but there's no warmth. This place feels warm. Ooooh, look out the window! Isn't that the cutest little bench? I can't wait to sit outside and read a book. Oh! A balcony! A loft!"
I have to laugh, following her throughout the space. She opens every door, peers in every cabinet. "Sunny has so many windows to look out of. He's going to love it here."
Apparently, the Sundance the Cat seal of approval is all we need. It takes less than ten minutes for Ophelia to ask for the paperwork to sign. I didn't even tell her I was planning on putting her eyesore of a couch in the loft. She still thinks it's going to go to the bin.
One hour later, we're back in our future home, taking measurements. It's ours for the next twelve months.
At least that's one contract signed.
The apartment is available now, and the management company is eager to have tenants. If possible, we'd be able to move our stuff in tomorrow. It's not possible, but perhaps by next week. Certainly before the end of November, which is good because there's a fitness center for me to use when it's too cold to run outside.
"Okay, well the back bedroom seems a tiny bit smaller than the front one, but the back one has the bathroom in it. The front one has the bathroom that guests would use." Ophelia's walking back and forth between the two rooms.
"Alright." I'm not sure what her point is.
"You should have the bigger room, but it has the less desirable bathroom. The en suite really is better, but I think that room is a tad smaller. But the closet's bigger."
She's putting a lot of thought into this.
"It doesn't matter to me. Which one do you want?" I couldn't care less in all reality.
"I want you to have the better bathroom and closet. You shouldn't have to share your space with guests. Oh, and we'll probably need to have a code or policy or something for guests. I mean, for me it'll just be Marley, but if you want to bring someone back here, I can make myself scarce. You know, leave a sock on the doorknob like in college."
My head spins at the abrupt change in her thoughts. Barely able to keep up, all I manage to say is, "I didn't go to uni."
I've no idea whythatwas my response. It's neither here nor there, and it has nothing to do with the fact that she thinks I'll be bringing ladies back here to entertain in our home.
There's only one woman I want, and she's already here.
That realization hits me like a ton of bricks as I stare at said woman.
"Oh, well, you see, in college when you're sharing a room, and one roommate is having, you know, sexy time, they leave a sock on the doorknob or some other signal so the other roommate knows not to go in."
While I actually do understand the concept, as I've roomed with plenty of blokes during the junior leagues, I still can't form words realizing that she just said sexy time, and now that's what I'm imagining.
With her.
"Right. Understood. I don't think that'll be an issue. We're married so, at least for the sake of public appearance, we probably shouldn't have anyone gallivanting in or out or selling stories to the internet." Then I add, "Should we have Tony put something in the NDA about it? If I can ever get ahold of him, that is."
