Page 26 of Claiming What Is Mine

Mer bobs her head in understanding as she continues to investigate. “Makes sense. It’s all so different than I was expecting.”

I strain my neck in mock surprise. “What did you think? That the place was going to be nothing but lawn furniture and beer bottles?”

“No, not exactly. I might have anticipated at least one beanbag chair, but…I mean…travertine tile in the entry? Crown molding? And look at that big, open kitchen. Are those cabinets cherry? It’s all so…so nice.” Meredith wanders through the kitchen, running her hand along the finished surfaces.

I’m almost speechless. “Well, look at you. I don’t which to react to first, your utter amazement that I live in a nice home, or how impressed I am that you know so much about home improvement. Did you and—what’s his name—Jeff, fix up your house, or something?”

“I wish. More like countless nights at home alone, binge watching episodes of ‘Fixer Upper.’ Jeff and I never quite made it to the whole, buy-a-place-of-our-own, thing. I really wanted to, but I suppose the way it all ended up, it’s for the best that we never did. We rented a house for a year or so, but I got tired of mowing the lawn, and having to do all the other maintenance stuff by myself.”

“By yourself? Where was he?” I ask, placing my hand on the small of her back as I guide her through the kitchen highlighting my handy work.

Meredith glances at me. A tiny frown tightens the space between her eyes before she gives her attention back to the renovations. “Oh, I love the subway tile backsplash. What color green is that? You wouldn’t think it works, but with the gray countertops it really does. What are they, anyway?”

“The counters? They’re slate. But don’t change the subject. What was the deal with your husband? Err, ex-husband?”

“Slate, huh?” she asks, continuing to avoid my eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that used on counters. It sounds like it would be very masculine, but looking at it now, it’s nice.”

I clear my throat. “And the ex?”

Meredith sighs and drops her head, leaning against the counter. “We had different priorities, that’s all.” She turns her attention back to me as she climbs up on a barstool on the other side of the kitchen island.

“Not so fast. How do you mean?”

Meredith continues to avoid looking me in the eyes when she answers. “He wanted a babysitter and a punching bag. I got tired of being the first and wasn’t interested in becoming the second.”

The timer on the stove beeps, reminding me about the garlic bread. “Shit…the food is ready, if you’re hungry, that is.” I grab an oven mitt and retrieve the toasted garlic bread. “But I want to hear more about this douche. Like, his current address, and if he has any roommates I should be aware of before stopping by. The look on Meredith’s face says she isn’t ready to talk about it, so when she changes the subject again, I drop the issue.

“Lasagna and garlic bread? I am impressed. And I promise not to go looking for the Stouffer’s box.”

I scoff. “That’s just the start, Doll. There’s freshly tossed salad in the fridge, and if you have any room left, a surprise dessert to boot.”

Meredith rubs her hands together. “Then, what are we waiting for?”

I swipe a lighter from the junk drawer next to the stove and take Meredith by the hand. “This way, if you please.” In the dining room, I pull out her chair, allowing her to sit while I light the candles standing proudly in their crystal holders on the table—all of them, approximately four hours old. “I will return momentarily with your salad, madam,” I say in my best, bad French accent.

The meal is good. So good, lasagna just made it onto the list of things I can totally cook the shit out of.

Meredith, for her part, could never be trusted to tell the truth about what she thinks of food. She’s the kind of woman who would eat a small amount of shoe leather and then proclaim herself not very hungry, if she thought it might save someone’s feelings. Thankfully, her asking for seconds and wiping her plate clean with the last bite of garlic bread is recognition enough for me.

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