Page 89 of As You Ice It

“It’s not really very … me.”

“I can see that,” Naomi says, sounding amused.

Her house is also a rental, but it already bursts with life and personality in the short time she’s lived there. Meanwhile, I’ve somehow managed to live here almost two years without changing anything. It came furnished with very model home-esque pieces and framed art prints and stock photos. Clean, functional, and it could belong to anyone.

This feels deeply embarrassing as Naomi’s curious eyes drink in every nondescript detail visible from the front hall. I want to defend myself, but what would I say? Telling her I’m never home only emphasizes how impossibly busy my schedule is. It would sound even worse if I tell her it’s because I never settle down anywhere.

This is the third team I’ve played for since college. Harvest Hollow and the Appies have felt the most like home of anywhere I’ve been, but I never assumed I’d stay.

Suddenly, I remember the certainty in Naomi’s voice as she said she wanted to end up back on Oakley Island at some point. I’ve never felt that passionate about living anywhere, and I think it shows.

Oh, hey—maybe it’s not time for an existential crisis in my entryway.

“You know, I’d be happy to help,” Naomi says. “I’m no decorator, but it’s fun to make a house look more like the person who lives there.”

“It’s just a rental,” I say, and then want to take those words back at the quick flash of hurt flashing over her face.

I don’t know if it’s because she’s also in a rental and I’ve somehow insulted her, or if it’s because I made it sound like I don’t have long-term plans to stick around.

Whatever bothered her about my words, now she’s hugging Jordan and introducing him to Liam while I stand off to the side in the crowded entryway.

“Come on in,” Mike says, ushering them further inside like this is his house.

“Yes,” Jordan echoes with a smirk. “Make yourselves right at home. And who is this handsome and hairy gentleman?”

“This is Panda,” Liam says. “Panda, sit.”

I’m impressed by the way the dog immediately flops back on his haunches next to Liam. Panda practically vibrates with energy, waiting for a command.

“Okay,” Liam says. “Good boy. Go say hi.”

Immediately, the dog lunges forward with his version of a smile, shoving his head toward Jordan and then Mike for scratches.

“What am I, chopped liver?” I ask after a moment, raising my eyebrows at the dog. In the past week, I’ve spent more than my fair share of time throwing balls for Panda in Naomi’s backyard and finding his favorite spots to be scratched.

Now that Liam knows about us—or now that we know Liam already knew about us—there’s less making out in cars and more kissing on the couch after Liam’s in bed. It also means more time with the dog, who has grown on us all.

Panda might come to me last, but I swear his butt wiggles just a little harder for me when he wags his tail. I never had a dog growing up, and my schedule now wouldn’t have allowed it. I'm glad I get to vicariously because there’s something so solid and comforting about Panda. He’ll be good for Liam.

As he presses his head into my hand, demanding more scratches, I think he’ll be good for me, too. Especially tonight with the off-kilter way I’m feeling.

“Debbie made dinner. So, let’s eat, and then I’ve got everything set up in the kitchen for haircuts,” Mike says, still playing host.

I can see Naomi bending to whisper something to Liam, probably explaining who Debbie is. She told Liam about Mike’s condition, and he seems to be taking it in stride.

Jordan was actually the one who made dinner. We’ve discovered his love of cooking—especially if I’m the one footing the bill for ingredients. I even bought a fancy set of pans and knives after hearing him talk about them. It makes him very happy, and it makes Mike and me very happy as well, since we’re beneficiaries of his newfound culinary interest.

“As long as you don’t quit on me to become a chef,” I told him, and he only laughed, which didn’t reassure me. I’m not sure how I’d do this without Jordan.

How would this work if Naomi and I got married? The thought has crossed my mind before, but never with the urgency it does now. Hearing the voices bouncing off the walls in the kitchen, watching as everyone loads up their plates and sits around the table, I’m getting a very real glimpse at what this might look like. It’s … a little weird.

There’s Jordan, with his hemp necklaces and earthy patchouli smell, cracking jokes and now cooking for us while keeping Mike stabilized.

Mike, who might be existing in any decade at any given time. Jovial but in and out of touch with reality as the rest of us do improv to whatever he says.

Naomi, with her wit and quick comebacks.

Liam, with his litany of facts and passion for so many things.

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