She shoots murder eyes at me for the relentless attempts at small talk. “I was like, four.”
I’m undeterred. “Still.”
“Sure, yeah. I liked it. But I love California and I’m never leaving.” A warning, a shot across the bow.
My wife lives here.
That’s fine.
I can live here, too.
But notherehere, not in Sloane’s house, as much fun as it might be to playFour’s Companyfor a hot second.
“Noted.” I take a big bite of pasta to keep myself from asking her how she feels about summers on the lake. That’s a non-issue this year, because she’ll have just started her residency, but on the other side of that… “How long is your residency?”
“Three years,” Sloane helpfully provides. “And then she’ll have all the time in the world for visiting Minneapolis.”
Sloane might be a mind reader.
Francesca shifts the murder eyes her way. “I’ll have a job.”
Liz waves her hand. “You’ll work ten shifts a month.”
“Interesting,” I say.
“Not interesting,” Francesca says, but she doesn’t mean it. She’s thinking about the logistics, too. There’s a set to her shoulders, a tilt to her head. The murder eyes are just a cover for wondering how much time she might have with a hockey player husband who can cook for her.
During the hockey season, we’ll be two shift workers juggling a busy calendar, but my career won’t last forever, and in the summers…
But that’s a question for tomorrow. Or the coming months, when I’ll be far, far away from here, and the only connection we’ll have is our phones.
“We’ll do the dishes,” Liz announces as soon as Francesca finishes eating. “Frankie, you cooked. Logan, you helped. You two are off the hook.”
“That’s not—” Frankie starts.
“You know the house rules, chef doesn’t clean.” Sloane’s already gathering the bowls. “Why don’t you two go...talk some more?”
The pause before talk is loaded with enough innuendo that my wife’s cheeks turn pink.
“Subtle,” she mutters.
“Since when do we do subtle in this house?” Liz asks cheerfully. “Go.”
We go.
I grab my suit jacket and Francesca leads the way to the living room again.
“Your friends are great,” I tell her.
“They are.” She fidgets. “And they’re going to have a million questions the second you leave.”
“You can give them any answers you want. Or none at all. That’s my plan.”
“I’ll probably tell them everything.” She exhales shakily. “It’ll be good to fully debrief with them about just how unhinged you are.”
That makes me chuckle. She’s not wrong. I showed up here and pressed my case without holding back.
So I gesture to the door. “I should probably go before I push it too far.”
