Page 57 of The Goat Next Door

She pauses, then grimaces slightly at herself. “God, that sounded depressing.”

I glance at her.

“It’s not,” she says, sitting up a little straighter. “Wait—no, I mean, it is, but not in a tragic way. I actually really like my life. I swear. This just sounds like I’m auditioning for a sad indie film voice over.”

That gets a small laugh out of me.

She tilts her head slightly.

“I like my life,” she repeats, firmer now. “I love it, actually. I love moving. I love coming back. I love Sophie. I like the in-between. I’m not trapped in it. I chose it. It’s just… messy. I love this place in doses. I just… also like air. And distance. And not being sentenced by the same goat every morning.”

I laugh. “The goat is the real villain here?”

“She judges me. I can feel it.”

Lauren grins, her face lighting up. “But no, I do love everything about my life. There’s this guy, Mark. He’s a sculptor. He builds these massive kinetic metal structures that look like they’re about to take flight, and he’s absolutely insane. We spent three hours the first time we met arguing about whether or not gray is a ‘mood’ or a ‘lack of a mood.’”

“Gray is definitely a lack of a mood,” I state.

“Thank you!” she shrieks. “That’s what I said!”

“So, Mark is the guy?” I ask.

“Mark is the guy,” she confirms, a dreamy smile playing on her lips. “He doesn’t care if I’m covered in paint or if I haven’t slept in two days. He just brings me coffee and tells me my composition is ‘aggressive.’ It’s a different kind of love. It’s chaos and it’s exhilarating, and I love every second of it.”

She looks at me, her gaze piercing. “You deserve that, Emmy. Not the chaos part—you’ve already got the farmhouse for that—but the part where you don’t feel like you have to be a ‘lottery winner’ to be worth something.”

“I’m not just a lottery winner anymore,” I say, pulling a face. “I’m a homeowner with a very expensive plumbing problem.”

“Same difference,” she laughs. “But seriously, don’t settle for the ‘neighborly’ thing if it’s making you want to punch him in the throat. If he doesn’t start playing the game, we’ll just have to cheat.”

“Cheat?”

“I have a very specific set of skills,” she says, leaning in conspiratorially. “Mostly involving ‘accidentally’ leaving doors opened or ‘misplacing’ his keys in your living room.”

I stare at her, my mouth hanging open.

“You know,” I say. “I’m really glad you called, Lauren.”

“I know,” she says, shooting me a wink. “I’m a gem. Now, let’s go see if your house is as much of a ‘beautiful disaster’ as you claim, or if you’re just hiding the fact that you’ve actually got a secret interior designer tucked away in that pantry.”

“I have a pile of wet drywall and a dream,” I say, walking toward the door.

“Perfect,” she says, grabbing her bag. “I love a project.”

⋆ ✦ ⋆

Two hours later, the Gilded Goat’s front entryway looks like a hurricane made of Home Depot samples hit it.

Lauren is currently lying flat on her back on the old hardwood, staring at the ceiling, her legs propped up against the wall. She’s holding a paint chip that is a shade of yellow so aggressive it’s practically vibrating.

Meanwhile, I’m sitting cross-legged next to a stack of wet, peeling wallpaper, picking at a stubborn corner with a plastic putty knife.

“This wallpaper is a hate crime,” I say, finally getting a strip to peel back. It comes off in a satisfying, long sheet. “I think the previous owners just layered new paper over the old paper every ten years. I’m basically performing an archaeological dig of bad taste.”

Lauren rolls over and props herself up on her elbows, squinting at the wall. “It’s like the rings of a tree, Emmy. But instead of seasons, it’s just decades of people making poor choices. That floral print underneath? That was definitely the seventies. Nobody should be forced to look at mustard-colored daisies while they’re trying to find their keys.”

“I’m just glad it’s coming off,” I say, tossing the strip onto the pile. “Honestly, two hours ago I was ready to just paint over it and call it a day. But the way you keep making those disgusted faces is actually working. I feel weirdly motivated to keep going.”