Page 123 of Yes No Maybe

Meanwhile, I lean on my VW, taking in my chaotic yard with warm delight. Who knew that the best feature of owning the little house would be the family that came with it?Hardwood floors, fireplace, family—it should’ve been listed amongst the amenities.

Like he’s reading my mind, Jack slips his arm around me, smiling as he tugs me close as if saying,“This is good, right?”

I grin back to say,“Yes, very good.”

“Since we’re living together now,” Jack says, “how ‘bout you let me handle your renovation?”

“You want to take on my renovation?”

“Absofuckinglutely.” He nods toward my students, currently playing a makeshift football game with a water bottle on the street. “Focus on them. They need you right now. You need them, too, I think. I’m here, and I live for this shit. I’ll even upgrade for you.”

“I don’t want an arcade, Jack.”

“You will once you see it.” I scoff, and he says, “Fine. No arcade. I’ll only do what I know you’ll love. This way, you can worry about whatever you do—inspiring the next generation, shaping young minds, saving the world, whatever—and I’ll take care of the tough stuff like haggling with plumbers and replacing windows. It’ll be fun for me, and it’ll take stress off of you. Win, win.”

I don’t even have to think about it. “Yes.”

He looks surprised at my quick answer. “Yes?”

“Yes. The little house matters to you, too. I trust you to take care of her. You’re all the home I need, anyway.”

He draws me closer. His brown eyes circle me, studying me. I love it when he looks at me like my face is the only one he ever needs to see. “Damn, I couldn’t have written that better. I’m going to make you so fucking happy.”

I don’t doubt it, but laughter is my only response as he attacks my neck with delicate kisses.

Epilogue

Rowan

Summer, three years later…

Checkingmyselfinthemirror, I half-heartedly approve the emerald green dress with scalloped sleeves and a light collar. It will have to do. My wardrobe goal is simple—to look friendly. Surely, the four outfits I tried first accomplished that. It’s nerves making me so indecisive. A universal truth about teachers (and anyone, really) is that we all have first-day jitters.

I return the discarded dresses to the walk-in closet and tidy the unfinished books on Jack’s bedside table. Edgar Allan Poe and Harper Lee trail behind me, meowing curiously—they know something’s up.

I give the bedroom a final once-over. So much has changed since I first moved in. Jack insisted on upgrades—recessed lighting, a walk-in closet, and, of course, a gorgeous, extra-large shower. But the main difference to my cozy bedroom retreat is that Jack and I share it. That, and everything else.

The changes in the rest of the house are much more drastic.

Edgar and Harper skirt around my feet as we take the short hallway next to Sara’s old room, which will either be a nursery or another guest room, depending on where life takes us. I step into what used to be my living room and take a soothing breath. It’s a massive study now—a book lover’s dream. Jack writes on a desk in the corner by the fireplace. Scattered cushy chairs invite all-day reading. Small tables are equipped with study lights, notebooks, and, of course, good pens. I do my homework around the kitchen banquette—I had to keep it—and refuel on snacks and drinks from the small kitchen. Like a cool, cozy library, every free space in between is filled with books.

The little house no longer has a converted garage or screened-in porch. Instead, Jack built what we affectionately call the book tunnel—a long, wide hallway of floor-to-ceiling books broken up only by window seats for reading. The tunnel links our two houses into one—a plan I never thought would work. But Jack had a vision—and few things show true commitment than literally joining properties.

Well, that and getting married, which we did last fall.

A stranger to the neighborhood wouldn’t know it had been two separate homes looking at it from the street as the tell-tale signs are gone. No divisive hedges. No separate driveway. Even the bricks have been whitewashed to match. We merged houses like we did our lives—relatively seamlessly—at least once we were together.

Jack crosses the living room, fiddling with remotes and gaming systems. “Honey, what do you think? Mario Kart or Luigi’s Mansion? Or, wait, would Super Mario Galaxy be better?”

My head spins. “You’re playing video games?”

“No, I’m setting something up as an icebreaker.”

“What if he doesn’t like Mario?”

Jack’s eyebrow shoots up. “Rowan,everyoneloves Mario. If he doesn’t, we should worry.”

I ease the remotes from his hands and slip my arms around him. “Don’t worry. He’ll love you. Let’s try to relax, huh?”

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