“You like this one?”
His eyes take an impassive shape. “Or another one. As long as it’s ours.”
“Really?” I run my hand down his chest. This is real. This man wants to be with me. He wants to buy a house with me. One with a backyard big enough for my dog to run around in. One where we can build a life and possibly grow old. And maybe, once we’ve outgrown our home through wrinkled skinand brittle bones, we’ll somehow still end up side by side in the afterlife. Sharing a dance with him instead of sitting in a lonely seat at the singles table.
“Yeah.” His soft voice is gentle and careful.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “It’s a really big commitment. Not like leaving your Keurig at my place.”
“I know.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
I consider his proposition, but the usual conformist traditions start hacking away at my ability to jump headfirst into our atypical relationship. They turn my daydreams into a delusion, making me worry about my parents and his parents and everyone in between.
“Shouldn’t we…”
“What?”
My eyes search his. I don’t know how to do this, be with someone without all the conventional idiosyncrasies that make up a relationship. How did the rhyme go? First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage?
“I don’t know,” I answer, “be husband and wife or something?”
“Is that what you want?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. “I just think that’s what people are going to expect. My parents, your parents?—”
“Grace,” he interrupts, “this is about us. We should be worried about whatwewant.”
“And you?” I ask. “What do you want?”
“I don’t care. As long as we’re together.”
“Me too.” I’ve done the whole marriage thing. I walked down the aisle in a pretty white gown and posed for pictures. I celebrated anniversaries and birthdays. And I watched it all crumble alongside the hopeful person I used to be. But Andrew brought me back, and now we can do whatever the fuck we want.
I might’ve wanted the picket fence and two-point-five children at some point, all of it wrapped neatly with weekend soccer games and ballet recitals, but Andrew’s shown me I don’t need all of that to feel fulfilled. I can be happy with just me and him and Buster. We can fill our lives to the brim with whatever future we decide to write.
“So we’re buying this house.”
“Actually, can we maybe do some more shopping?”
“Okay,” he says with an encouraging tone. “Why? Is there something about this one you don’t like?”
“Ireallyneed a walk-in closet,” I confess.
“It’s just as well,” he says, leaning down to kiss the corner of my mouth. “I think I can find Buster a bigger yard.”
“So, what do you think?” Andrew steps away from me at the same time I hop off the counter. The realtor, who introduced himself as Dave, greets us with his blinding smile.
“It’s very nice,” I tell him with a grin, still on a high from this new development between me and Andrew.
“The bathrooms have been redone,” Dave explains, “and the floors.”
“Closet’s a little small,” Andrew comments. I stifle a giggle behind his arm.
Dave nods in agreement. “It’s a good starter home.”
Andrew leads the way back to the living room, and I follow with Dave trailing behind us. “Thank you for your time,” Andrew tells Dave.
He hands Andrew his card. “If you’re interested or are in search of an agent, feel free to give me a call.”
