Page 32 of Spicy Nick

“No, I’m really not. I’m trying to understand. Is that what you want? Are you telling me that youwantto sell the house?”

“Yes. Didn’t I just?—”

“But you love this house!”

“Aside from that. It makes sense, doesn’t it?” she asks, answering a question with a question—a classic avoidance technique. “Between the money from the condo, which I’ll probably need to reinvest anyway, and the money we’ll get from this place, we could buy…anything. Whatever kind of house you want.”

“What do you mean, whatIwant?” Because what I want is…well, we’re sitting in it.

“We could get something here in Oberon—something bigger or newer. Or we could buy land outside of town somewhere, and have something designed for us. Or we could move away altogether, if- if that’s what you want.”

“Would you stop that?” I glare at her. “Why do you keep talking aboutme—about whatIwant to do, or whereIwant to live? What about us? What aboutyou? What is ityouwant?”

Scout falls silent and I take the opportunity to pull her close. “Just talk to me, Jen,” I murmur. “Tell me what this is about—really.”

Scout gazes vexedly at me. “What it’s about, Nick; or what it’s supposed to be about, isyourChristmas gift. Your gift. That’s why I’m asking. What I want isn’t important in that regard. Right?”

I shake my head. “Actually, I’m pretty sure it is. Because if there’s one thing I never asked Santa to bring me, it’s an unhappy wife.”

“Cute.”

“And ignoring your wishes seems like a great way to ensure that that’s what I’ll end up with. So let’s cut to the chase. Bottom line this for me. What’s this all about?”

Scout pulls away. She crosses her arms and glares at me. “Fine then. Since you asked, no. Selling the house would not be my first choice.”

“Okay. Then why?—”

“Becauseyou’remy first choice.”

“But…”

“I love this house—of course I do. But I love you more. And you’re always going to see it as my house. Or my stepmother’s house. Never our house. And that’s no way to live. I want more for you than that. And I want more for Kate, as well. I want usto live in a house where no one is thinking dumb shit like whose house it really is. Oh, and just for the record? I wasn’t looking to find an unhappy husband in my stocking either.”

“Well, sure. How would he fit?”

“Nick!”

“Okay, fine. And thank you—at least that makes some sense now. But, don’t you think you might be overthinking this? I also tend to think of the Cavanaugh’s house as Lucy’s house, you know? Maybe it’s sexist, but…”

“It’s not the same,” Scout insists stubbornly, although I’m pretty sure it is. “I just spent two miserable days in alternate Oberon. This house belonged to me in that reality too. But you weren’t in it. And if I wasn’t clear before that about where my priorities lay—with you or with the house—I definitely am now.”

“Good. I’m sure about that, too,” I say as I pull her back into my arms. “And I didn’t even have to take a side trip to Woo-wooville for clarity. I love this house—I really do. And I also love you more than it. So, if you want to sell the house, we should definitely consider it. But if the only reason you feel that way is because you think it will makemehappy? Then I suggest you think again.”

“Okay, but?—”

“No. Stop with the buts already. If you would rather live somewhere else—in a barn, or a bus, or a sailboat, or what have you—then great. Tell me now and we’ll do it. We might wanna teach the cats to swim before we move them onto a boat, but otherwise, we’re good. But if you’re asking me what I want, or what I think would be best for us as a family? Then that’s a no-brainer. I think we should stay right where we are.”

“But—”

“Stop, I said! Let me finish. I guess I have thought of this as your house primarily. Because that’s how we started. That’s what it always was. But I have a lot of really great memories here now,too. And that’s made a huge difference. But that’s still not the most important part.”

“Okay. What is?”

“The whole truth is that while I’ll probably always think of it as ‘your house’ to some extent, what I mostly think of it as is ‘our home’ and that’s altogether different.”

“Oh, Nick,” Scout says as she throws her arms around me—which is starting to become a habit, one I would not mind getting used to. “That’s all I ever wanted.” Although she’s crying again, too. Which is less ideal. Definitely not the reaction I was hoping for.

“I hope those are happy tears?” I say.

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