“Absolutely.” I take it from him (clearly we need to have another one made) and unlock the door. Before I can step through, though, Jason grabs me and picks me up. I let out a shriek of surprise.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m carrying my wife across the threshold.”
I let out a mock-aggrieved groan, though I actually love the gesture. And the fact that he can pick seven-months-pregnant me up nearly as easily as not-pregnant me (though there’s been a lot less up-against-the-wall sex lately, for logistical reasons).
“You already did that at our apartment after the reception, remember?”
“Yeah, well, this is a new house.” He shrugs. “It’s symbolic.”
I laugh. We ended up getting married just four months after we left Red Rock Canyon—it turns out it doesn’t take a lot of time to plan a small, intimate wedding ceremony and then a big party. Both of which turned out exactly how we wanted. I was pregnant by then—it didn’t take us long—but not showing very much, so I didn’t have to limit my wedding dress choices. Su-Lin quickly got over not getting to throw us a wedding on their show when I asked her to be my maid of honor and also to have her number one Sockwife puppet, Ruby Van Raspberry, give the toast. Jason’s mom and sisters were beyond ecstatic about the whole thing, as were my sister-in-law and, to a lesser emotive extent, my sister. And though my parents are never ecstatic about anything, my mom happily offered to make her famous Pietrowski pierogi to add to the catered dishes, and was even more happy when they ended up being the most popular dish there.
Mom said my dad helped her make them, which I thought was nice. I like to imagine they bonded again, even a little bit, over making something like nine hundred pierogi.That maybe they shared stories about past bouts of Polish cooking and laughed and talked and shared their feelings openly and—
Okay, that probably didn’t happen.They probably made them in relatively companionable silence, with NPR in the background and miles of unspoken words and feelings between them. Which, I don’t know, maybe they’re more happy with that than I imagine.
But I’m not afraid anymore that Jason and I will end up like that. We’ll fight and we’ll love and we’ll love some more, and we’ll never end up merely existing in each other’s presence. No designer purse dustbag languishing for us. (Metaphorically and literally, because I doubt I will ever own a purse that requires itsownpurse.)
Jason sweeps me dramatically over the threshold, then looks around carefully. “Good. No sinkholes have formed since we were last here. I don’t think even Brendan and a deal with Netflix can fix that.”
I laugh again as he sets me down. “It’s not that bad. Sure, there are a few holes punched in the wall.” I gesture at said holes in the front room. “And yeah, the previous owners took all the appliances and lighting fixtures and the kitchen countertops”—that one was especially unexpected—“but we were going to want to upgrade all that stuff anyway. It’ll be a breeze to redo.”
Jason arches an eyebrow. “When did you get so recklessly optimistic?”
“Since I heard the plan aboutyou and Brendandoing all this work and not me.” I pinch him in the side. “Besides, you love this house. You practically moan ‘open-concept’ and ‘soooo much storage’ in your sleep.” I moan those words as I say them, and he laughs that big boisterous Jason laugh that I love so much, especially when it’s echoing off the walls of our new house.
“I do love this house,” he says. “Not as erotically as you think, but yeah.” He bites his lower lip, and his expression turns more serious, but still happy. He strokes my belly gently. “Our family is going to have a great life here.”
My whole body flushes with this content warmth. “Yeah, we are.”
There’s this moment where we just stare into each other’s eyes, and I think maybe we’re going to lean in and start making out—and then undoubtedly more—right here in the entryway. But instead, he grabs my hand and starts tugging me forward. “Let’s go check out the kitchen. Make sure it hasn’t become home to a family of possums.”
“Why do you always assume you’re going to find wildlife there? Are you still traumatized by that skunk? Because as long as you aren’tpeeingin the kitchen—”
My words cut off as I see the sight in front of me. Our semi-torn apart kitchen, yes, and our attached dining room with the carpet that I’m pretty sure hasn’t seen cleaning since Bill Clinton was in office.
But there’s a blanket laid out there on the floor, and a bottle of sparkling cider with two wine glasses and two covered plates.The windows are open, so even though there’s no electricity in the house, there’s fresh air and light.
“Oh my god,” I say, breathless, looking over to Jason. “When did you—”
“I had my mom and Marissa set this up as soon as we signed the papers. We may find that the back door handle has been crowbarred off. My sister was way too excited about the breaking and entering.”
“Oh my god,” I say again, and sit on the blanket. Jason sits next to me and pulls the fancy silver plate cover—well, the sort-of fancy silver-colored but definitely plastic plate cover—off the food, and this amazing smell wafts out.
Spaghetti, with the homemade sauce that Jason cooked for me for our first real date after the YouTube Convention where we met.
“But this,” he says with a smile, “I made this morning while you were at work.”
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. Jason’s not big into cooking, but he learned to make this specifically for me that day.
“I figured it would be okay,” he continues, “now that we’re able to eat spaghetti again without imagining my balls swimming in it.”
I laugh, my eyes still misty. “I don’t know that anyone is ever going to eat spaghetti again without imagining your balls in it.”
He groans and rolls his eyes.
Ever since that show aired, there have been a nonstop barrage of memes featuring him sitting in that tub of tomato sauce. He thinks it’s pretty hilarious now, though, and he gets this really cute smile on his face every time one of his stepbrothers texts him a new one—which they’ve been doing fairly often.
