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Understandable, really. Sometimes people used to come to the shows she’d put on at the gallery and tell her that their paintings were way better than the crap on her own walls and did she want to see? It wasn’t exactly the same thing, but she didn’t think anyone who liked their profession wanted to help someone else take them out. “That’s fine,” she said. “We can pretend to be looking for a house. No big deal.”

And it wouldn’t be. Friends looked at houses together all the time, right?

19

The first house they went to was a colonial revival—a term Shira heard for the first time today from Leo’s mouth and that she nodded at, pretending it meant something to her—from the 1970s located across town, a few minutes away from the main road, which wasn’t an elegant little Main Street but a four-lane highway lined with strip malls and gas stations. “So the size isn’t all that different from my dad’s house,” mused Leo, standing on the sidewalk outside the house with his hands on his hips. Shira imagined this was how he evaluated all the issues he’d work on in each house, like a teacher ready to lay down some discipline. “The landscaping is nicer here, though, even though it’s winter. My dad kind of let it go, and I can’t do much with it unless I want to wait for the summer. Which I don’t.”

“Hmm,” Shira said, trying to evaluate it herself with a real buyer’s eye. “It’s definitely closer to civilization, too. Our house is in a quieter area.” The words our house had just snuck out—she stole a peek at Leo to see if he’d react, but he seemed lost in his head. “It is the same school district, though.”

“That’s a good thing to remember. School district counts for a lot.” Leo dropped his hands from his hips and strode up the driveway, leaving her to follow. “Windows are new but the roof looks old.” He flashed her a smile. “I can tell these things at a glance now.”

“Very impressive,” she said, and actually meant it. To her, the windows just looked like windows, the roof like a roof.

Inside, they were greeted in the foyer by a real estate agent pulled straight from central casting: middle-aged; white, with dirty-blond hair in that mom cut where it’s longer in the front and shorter in the back; caked-on mascara that turned her eyelashes into spider legs above an overly lipsticked smile. “Welcome to 566 Brookdale Road,” she said. There was a smear of magenta on one of her front teeth. “Please sign in on the sheet over there and let me know if there’s anything I can help you with. Are you working with a Realtor already?”

Leo was already in the corner squinting at the fireplace mantel, so it was up to Shira to respond. “Uh, no,” she said. “We actually just started looking. Kind of getting an idea of what’s out there so far.”

“Oh, wonderful,” said the agent. “Well, your husband seems to like the fireplace. It’s a wonderful feature of this house—the current owners put in the gas line, so it’s convenient to light at the flick of a switch whenever you want some coziness.”

Shira made a mental note to remember that. Gas fireplace. She didn’t think Leo’s dad’s house had a gas fireplace. How much did that add to home value? Leo would probably know.

She was busy enough with her mental note that it took her a moment to realize the agent was speaking to her again. “So, how long have you two been married?”

Panic flared through Shira. “Oh, uh…” She should tell the agent they were just friends. That they were just browsing.

“Almost a year.” Leo came up behind her, his smile calm and assured. “Should we check out the kitchen, dear? We should make sure there’s enough stovetop space for your latke marathons.”

Shira snorted. “And enough surface area for all the shredded potatoes.”

“I love latkes,” the real estate agent said brightly, in that overly cheerful way Shira sometimes took to mean I do not hate Jews, or maybe Shira was just paranoid. “You’d be very welcome in this neighborhood.”

Shira felt it was pretty safe to take that as The neighborhood does not hate Jews, though how exactly could the real estate agent know that? Just because there weren’t any swastika bumper stickers or Klan rallies happening on Sundays didn’t mean she had any idea what prejudices simmered behind closed doors.

But she meant well. That was what mattered. Probably what she actually meant was that she’d sold houses in this neighborhood to other Jews, so they wouldn’t be the only ones here. “Great,” Shira said, trying to match her brightness.

She didn’t know what made her go on. It was probably because Leo’s dad’s house had a big backyard. It was because, just for a moment, she could actually see it, her and Leo, sitting on a green couch across from the gas fireplace, Leo complaining it was too hot and Shira volleying back that it was never too hot to be cozy. “How about the backyard?” she asked. “Is there room for a swing set?”

“Oh, the backyard is lovely,” said the agent. Shira kept her eyes studiously on her. “Come on, let me show you. You get a great view out of the kitchen windows, too, so you can be cooking up lunch while watching your kids play!”

The thought made Shira’s chest ache for some reason. She’d always thought of kids as something she’d have one day in the future, but now the future was kind of here. Thirty was looming in the not-so-distant future. Her friends from high school and even some from college were posing for pregnancy shoots, cupping their big bellies in flowery meadows and in front of waterfalls.

Her arms weren’t exactly aching to hold a baby, but she was starting to feel the lack of a plan there, because having babies wasn’t something you just did. Not if you were Shira Levinson, anyway. First you had to find the right partner, and you had to date them for an appropriate number of years, and then you had to get married, and then, only then, could you try for a baby. And because she was Shira Levinson, she’d worried about the amount of time it might take to get pregnant. It could take a perfectly healthy and fertile couple a year to get pregnant! What if she wasn’t perfectly healthy and fertile and needed to pursue reproductive treatment?

“Are you okay?” Leo asked her. Shira realized that as she was looking out into the backyard into the unremarkable frozen space where a swing set could theoretically go, she was dabbing at her eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She cleared her throat. Banished the inappropriate thoughts. “I was actually thinking about a playground for us. An adult play set.”

The real estate agent was too professional to blurt out What the fuck? but her eyebrows did raise. “Ah. I see. Well, as you can see, there’s plenty of room in the backyard for whatever kind of play set you’re looking to add.” A delicate cough. “Though I should inform you that regulations in town only allow for fences up to four feet, so your neighbors will be able to look in on your activities.”

Leo erupted into a series of coughs that was anything but delicate. When they cleared, his face was redder than a steamed beet. “I don’t think my wife meant that kind of adult play set. I think she just meant…a kid’s play set but adult size. So that we can swing and slide to our heart’s content.”

“I see,” said the real estate agent skeptically.

Shira linked her arm through Leo’s. “Shall we go tour the rest of the first floor, darling?” She felt rather smug as she steered an extremely flustered Leo around the eat-in kitchen, the mudroom, the living room.

By the living room, Leo had recovered somewhat. From the way he cleared his throat before speaking, Shira knew she was in for something fun. “This gas fireplace is indeed very nice,” he said, as if responding to the real estate agent earlier. “But I’m not sure it’s big enough for us.”

Shira had no idea what he was getting at, but she played along. “I agree. We need a fireplace large enough for an entire cow.”