“See?Thisis why we need an RV.”
He smiles, shaking his head. “You just won’t let go of that one, will you?”
“Why couldn’t we?”
“Let’s build the house first. Then we can see where our finances are. I’ll be able to contribute some up front to building the house, but not nearly as much as I’d like.”
I finger the buttons on his shirt. “Joint bank account?”
“Yeah.”
We stand there for a moment, silently gazing into each other’s eyes. We don’t often get moments like this together. They’re damned rare, because we don’t get nearly enough time together to start with. During those times, if we’re here at the house, we’re usually tonsil-deep down each other’s throats, or we’re sprawled across our bed and sound asleep after wearing each other out.
I gently poke him in the chest. “You didn’t tell me you guys had lunch together this week.”
He smiles. “We wanted it to be a surprise. The plans, that is.”
“You really talked to your attorney?”
He nods. “I did. Mike can set us up paperwork to protect us. He’s got a couple of other clients who are poly, I guess, and knows some tricks.”
I start playing with his shirt buttons again. “You’re going to wear a ring,” I tell him.
He sighs. “Needs to be on my right hand, sweetie. For now.”
“I know. But you can wear it on your left when you don’t have to be around her.”
He nuzzles noses with me. “Okay.”
This has been a minor point of contention for me over the past four years. The first Christmas we were “officially” together, he gave me a gorgeous titanium band with a celtic knot pattern etched all the way around it, and I wear that on my right ring finger. He gave Arlo a gold ring with a Tanzanite stone nearly the same color as Arlo’s eyes. It almost looks like a class ring, so it’s not something that would trip anyone’s curiosity too much. We gave Nolan a gold necklace, and he wears that all the time. He’s wearing it now. I feel better knowing he’s got it on.
Not that I don’t trust him—I do. But I hate that he can’t publicly declare he’s taken, meaning wearing a wedding band.
If Jerilyn spotted it, she’d pepper him with a bazillion nosy questions she has no business asking. She’s always asking him—or us, when we see her—if he’s dating. We know she’s dating like crazy, based on the unsolicited information passed to us by friends who see her out and about, or who hate-stalk her Facebook or Instagram feeds. But Arlo and I suspect if she had so much as ahintthat Nolan was dating, she’d be all over him, trying to hook him back even though they’re divorced.
That was her pattern throughout their courtship and marriage. She didn’t want him.
She just didn’t want anyone else to have him.
Did I mention that I can’t stand the bitch?
“So what can be moved around in here?” he asks.
I start pointing things out, and before I realize it, we’re rearranging the garage.
Maybe because it’s not his stuff, it’s ours, and I’ve kind of lost sight of the forest because of the trees, but it goes a lot faster than I thought it would. We’ve cleared a decent-sized area when Arlo joins us about thirty minutes later.
“Okay, I—holy crap.” He stands there admiring our progress. “We could almost park a car in here now.”
“Or a kid’s bedroom full of stuff,” I say. “We’ll need to turn the office into Katie’s room.”
“Why?” Arlo asks.
Nolan and I both give him “the look.” “Because,” I say, “we’re pretending in front of her that Nolan has his own room. She’ll need her own bedroom.”
“Oh, yeah,” Arlo says, walking over and kissing me, then Nolan. “So when are we moving you in?” he asks Nolan.
“My lease comes due at the end of next month.”
