I raise my eyebrows. “She’s not wrong. I’ve been surviving on protein bars and sawdust.”
We carry everything inside, spreading the food out on the makeshift table we set up in the kitchen. Noah pulls out three stacked containers, each labeled with our names in Josy’s handwriting.
My chest tightens a little. Not in a bad way, just... noticing. Noticing how much life has changed for my friends lately.
Austin’s got his wife Violet, his stepson, and their baby boy, Ethan—barely a month old and already stealing hearts left and right. Their house? He designed it himself, of course. Every corner of it looks like it belongs in one of those fancy architectural magazines he pretends he doesn’t read. But more than that, it feels like home. You can tell the moment you walk in, from the smell of Violet’s candles to the toys scattered across the living room rug, that place is full of love.
Then there’s Noah. Man, that guy… he’s been through it. Used to be the kind of guy who didn’t even know what he wanted out of life besides peace and quiet and a cold beer after work. But then Josy walked back into his life like a damn hurricane, and everything changed. Now he’s got her, and Everly, their baby girl with Josy’s eyes and Noah’s stubbornness. She’s about six months old and already got him wrapped around her tiny fingers. He swears he’s still in charge, but the rest of us know better.
They’ve both got these full lives. Wives, kids, homes. Purpose.
And me?
I’m the single guy with a half-finished sandwich in the fridge, a busted finger, and a dream house I’m building to share it with someone who doesn’t exist yet.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for them. Proud, even. We’ve all come a long way from those middle school idiots sneaking candy into class and playing pranks on our teachers. But lately, watching them settle down has got me thinking.
I’ve built my dream house. My business with Noah is thriving. The guys respect me. I’ve got good people in my corner.
And I’ve got the best damn parents anyone could ask for. They moved to the States from Puerto Rico before I was born—barely had anything when they got here, but they built a life out of grit and love. I grew up surrounded by both. They made sure I never missed out on anything. Being an only child, I got all their attention, all their sacrifices, all their dreams poured into me. And I’ve done everything I can to make them proud. I know I have.
But even with all that, this house, the business, my friends, my family, there’s still this piece missing. That quiet something I don’t like to talk about. The part of me that wonders what it’d be like to have someone waiting for me at the end of the day. Someone who wants to build a life with me, not just share one that’s already made.
Someone who laughs at my dumb jokes, who’ll dancebarefoot in the kitchen, who’ll give me a reason to want to leave work at a decent hour. A pretty girl I can fall head-over-ass in love with.
Maybe now that the house is done, I’ll finally have the time to look.
Maybe she’s out there somewhere.
And maybe she’s closer than I think.
One week. That’s all it’s been since I finished the house, but everything already feels different.
Today’s one of those cold, sunny days that make you want to sit by a window with a hot cup of café con leche and contemplate life—or at least question your life choices while your hands are freezing and you’re building furniture with your two best friends who are, apparently, more of a hazard than a help.
The house isn’t empty anymore. I finally got furniture for the living room and dining room delivered yesterday, and I’ve got my bedroom set up—thank God. The other two bedrooms? Still bare. Not like anyone’s going to be staying over. Unless Violet gets any more decorating ideas and decides she needs a guest room for "ambience."
Speaking of Violet, she and Josy are currently judging every decorating decision I made or didn’t make. According to them, my house is “too plain,” “too masculine,” and “screaming for plants and throw pillows.” I told them the only thing screaming is me, on the inside.
Meanwhile, Austin, Noah, and I are upstairs trying toinstall my bed frame, and it’s going as well as you’d expect three grown men with zero patience and one tiny Allen wrench to go.
“Did you read the instructions?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“I’m an architect, bro,” Austin replies, looking deeply offended.
“And I build houses for a living,” I add.
“Exactly. So why does this thing look like a modern art sculpture instead of a bed?” Noah grunts, holding up a side rail that we somehow attached upside down.
I look down at the diagram. Then at the bed. Then back at the diagram. “Because we put the headboard where the footboard goes.”
Austin squints. “Are we sure about that?”
“Unless I’m supposed to sleep with my feet higher than my head, yes.”
“Honestly,” Noah mutters, “at this point, just throw a mattress on the floor and call it ‘industrial minimalism.’”
By some miracle and a second set of instructions that Violet found in the box while giving us her best “useless men” look, we finally get the bed frame done. Barely.
