“Desperately.”
“All the food in my fridge is probably bad, actually.”
“It’s not too late to go out,” Dean offers. It’s nearing 9 p.m., and for my homebody self, it is too late to go out.
“How about take out?” I suggest.
“Name your place.” Dean hands me his phone. I choose a large margarita pizza from a nearby pizza joint as we walk back to the house. I sit at the dining room table as Dean picks up the books he knocked off earlier.
“I think I’m going to sell it,” I say aloud.
“The memorabilia?”
“Well, I’ll give it to Mark if he wants it. But I think I’m going to sell the house.”
“Where is this coming from?” Dean asks, concerned.
I contemplate it. Although I’ve just decided, it feels like the right thing to do. I’m starting the next chapter of my life. This house is just a place to live to me, and it has been for a while. “I’d thought about it for a while a few years ago when a realtor made an offer. I never worked up the courage to go through with it. But if I’m going to go to Allagash with you, I’m going to need more money for a new place. I don’t have to decide right away.”
“You could always rent it.”
“I don’t think I’m cut out to be a landlord,” I laugh. “I can barely order a coffee.”
“You had no problem ordering pizza.”
“That’s different. I didn’t have to talk to anyone.”
“Thank goodness for online ordering.” Dean grins. “Where are your dishes?”
I point him to a cabinet above the sink, and he sets the table for two. As soon as he sets the plates down, the doorbell rings. I get the pizza and tip the delivery person a $10 bill. When I come back, Dean is waiting right where I left him. Right where he should be.
By the time we wake up the next day, it’s nearly afternoon. Like literally, afternoon.Although we didn’t stay up particularly late, in fact, I think I fell asleep on the sofa while watchingCommunityreruns. We must have been exhausted. I know I was. Dean is still snoozing next to me, his mouth slightly parted, stubble on his chin starting to come in.
He looks like a mythical creature, a radiance emanating from him, backlit by the sun through my window. It’s the first sunny day in what feels like forever. I slip out of bed, leaving him resting, and get ready to throw in a load of laundry. I dump the contents of my suitcase into the washing machine, eager to have my favorite sweater clean to snuggle in again.
After boiling myself like a lobster in the shower, I brush my teeth in the sink with a fresh toothbrush, pleased with myself for remembering to buy new ones before I left. I set one aside for Dean. I’m very glad I woke up before him, as I don’t want him to smell my gargoyle breath. I’m deciding whether or not to wear my hair up or down, when a large shadow is cast over my small bathroom. Dean.
“You look adorable in that robe,” He yawns. “So freaking adorable.”
“This is for you.” I hold out an orange toothbrush for Dean.
“Thank you.” He takes it from me, automatically going to stand at the sink. He uses a small dab of toothpaste, careful not to touch the tube to the brush. “Do you mind if I take a shower?” He asks, foaming at the mouth.
“Sure.” I reply, wiping my hands on the bath towel. “Are your clothes in the van? I can wash them.”
“Yeah, they are.” He says, smacking his forehead. “Fuck, we were supposed to return the van at 11.”
“Shower is all yours. Use whatever you want. I’ll be downstairs.” I leave the bathroom, and gently close the door, heading downstairs.
After getting Dean’s clothes into the washer, I settle into my work-from-home station. The first thing I do is google REALTORS NEAR ME. If I’m going to do this, I should do it right, right? The search results are overwhelming. There are so many people to choose from, and half of them are paid ads.
Fuck. This is going to be more complicated than I thought. I don’t even know where to begin. I plug in a search for HOW TO SELL YOUR HOUSE. Inspections, repairs, upgrades, agents. Not to mention going through the basement. I'm in way over my head. Andy did all of the work when we were buying it. Maybe I should just keep the house.
This is stressing me out—but people do this all the time, right? I can get through this. I have Dean on my team. Speak of the devil. He’s coming down the stairs, shirtless, with only his jeans on.
“Clothes ready yet?” He asks, leaning on the counter.
“Not yet,” I say, eyeing his tattoo. I look him up and down. “We could probably put them in the dryer now. About twenty minutes.”
