I refuse to take fifty percent of the blame, even though in relationships everything is fifty-fifty. Even so, I can say comfortably that I own my unhappiness. Just as I now am responsible for my life being the opposite. I am genuinely happy.
As is Romeo when I get into the apartment. He comes running over, rubbing himself mercilessly on me. I lift him up and kiss his nose. He still hates it. He purrs the moment I place him on the back of the sofa and rub his back and tail.
Sam knocks on the door with his signature thumping. My stomach still flutters when I hear it. We answer, me smiling and Romeo purring and rubbing against his legs.
“Hi.” He smiles at me but lowers to scratch Romeo’s head and neck. He picks him up and kisses his nose. His eyes flicker to mine. “Did you just go for a run?”
“Yeah.” I step aside so he can come in. Something he’s been doing for two weeks. We accidentally skipped dinner and had sex and now we’re in a weird place. It’s like dating but without discussing dating.
“How was it?”
“Interesting,” I reply, not bothering him with the stupidity of my ex and his needs. “But I need to grab a shower. I’ll be right back.” I hurry into my room and speed through my ablutions. I don’t bother doing my hair and instead slide a hair tie on my wrist for when it starts to dry naturally into the fluffy hell it becomes.
“Dress warm,” he shouts from the living room when I’m in my bedroom again. “I have a surprise.”
“Okay.” I hurry into the closet and drag on a sweater and some smaller socks to wear with my boots. My sweater is baggier than it was last winter.
Sizing myself up in the mirror, I can’t tell if I’ve lost weight or just inches or if maybe I’m hallucinating and put the sweater away after wearing and stretching it out. I’ve been fooled by that before.
I don’t have a scale anymore. I left it with Rod. So I take a look in my closet for something that won’t lie. Can’t stretch. Hates me.
The shimmery flapper dress in the back catches my attention.
That damned dress.
Nodding furiously, I strip to nothing but my underwear and pull it from the back of the closet. I unzip and drag it on roughly, still angry at the dress for the last time it betrayed me by acting like a few pounds was the end of the world.
But this time it zips up like a dream, so easily I nearly dislocate my shoulder getting it all the way to the top.
I hurry back into my room and turn, taking it all in. The underwear lines aren’t great so I haul them off and take another spin.
The dress fits perfectly. It’s body hugging and magical.
I have lost inches!
Excitedly, I shake my butt, making the tassels quiver.
“While I have always been a fan of sequins that isn’t what I was expecting when I said dress warm,” Sam says from the doorway where he and the cat are watching me.
Humiliation and the loss of words to explain how this happened, hit at exactly the same moment. I press my lips together and point at the closet. “I’ll just be a minute.” I bend and pick up my underwear from the floor.
“No, please, I was enjoying the show. Continue.” He tilts his head and grins.
I take a breath and confess, “I was checking to see if I’ve lost weight. This dress is like getting into an unforgiving sausage casing.”
“It looks great.” His eyes travel my body. “Accentuates the curves. I’ve always had a thing for The Great Gatsby look. In the same way I’ve always had a thing for you.” He walks to me, taking me in his arms. We kiss and I try to enjoy it but the awkward feeling of being in a costume is all-consuming.
“Just give me two seconds.” I wriggle free and hurry into the closet to change. Like Superman, I’m back out in a flash in jeans and a sweater with boots in hand.
“That’s probably more appropriate, but can we keep the flapper dress for later?” he asks cheekily.
“Only if you have a proper costume to complement it.” I slide my arm into his and pull him from the room. “What is this surprise?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you.” He furrows his brow as I pull on my boots. Noticing they’re just as tight. Clearly, I haven’t lost calf inches.
He insists we take his SUV. His bias against Helen is insulting.
My stomach tenses as I wonder where we’re going. It’s Covid times again with cases popping up more frequently now. People don’t just go out.
He drives down by the water and turns up a street I haven’t been on in ages but the name is familiar. He pulls into the driveway of an old house with a “for sale” sign in the yard. James is here, mask and all.
“What are we doing?” Nerves twist inside me.
“James and I were talking at the gym last week, before it closed down again, and he was telling me this house would be perfect for you and he wished you would see it. But he didn’t want you to think he was suggesting you move out.” Sam turns and smiles. “So I said what if the house tour was my idea?”
“You two are insane.” I laugh and climb out, pulling on my mask. “I can’t buy a house right now. This is crazy.”
“Okay, well let’s just take a look,” Sam says.
“Lil, you gotta trust us,” James shouts. He sounds excited. “Do you remember when you and Rod were looking for houses and you kept coming back to that one in Dartmouth that needed a lot of work, and Rod just wanted to live the high life in Bedford with a house you could barely afford?” He turns to the old white house and points. “This is ten times the house that one was. Way better neighborhood. Massive yard. And the houses around you have all been done. This is the last one that needs the reno.”
“Fine, whatever.” I turn to Sam. “But I’m not ready to buy a house. And certainly not a fixer-upper.”
We walk up and right away I notice how massive the wraparound porch is. It’s run-down and falling apart in a couple of places, but I can picture how it would be if it were fixed up with maybe rocking chairs and lanterns.
We take our shoes off and sanitize our hands before going in.
It’s empty and cold. No one lives here and there’s a vibe that suggests it hasn’t been loved in a long time. But whoever did build it, loved this house. The bones suggest that affection haunts the place.
As we walk in, none of us speaks, as if this were a mausoleum and we are treading on sacred ground.
The foyer is large enough you could put a massive table in the middle of it, with high ceilings and crown molding. The wainscoting is dented and beaten up. If this were my house, I would make this room stark white and hang a large wrought iron lantern-style chandelier over a sizeable round foyer table. I would replace the door and frame with something fancier and paint it black to make it stand out against all the white.
The arched doorways leaving this area are small. Sam hardly fits through them. On the right, the first room would make a nice office. It’s smaller and has a large window facing the street.
The left is a formal dining room. It’s closed off and the tray ceiling shows signs of water damage from upstairs.
We walk to the back end of the house where we find a small closed-off kitchen with ancient white wooden cupboards and a nice window into the huge backyard that’s filled with dead bushes and overgrown trees. It appears there was once a stunning garden but those days are long gone. And what’s left is a remnant.