Page 28 of The Fix-Up

The visual helped.

So did medication.

It wasn’t a secret I had ADHD, and it was nothing I was embarrassed about. Which made the curl of discomfort in my stomach all the more surprising. Why did I care what Gilbert Dalton thought of me? He glanced at me, his eyes more curious than anything, and I opened my mouth, ready to defend myself.

“It’s smart. Good idea.”

That took the wind out of my sails. “Oh, thanks.”

I snatched the note about the grocery list from the wall and crumpled it up. It always felt satisfying to throw one of these away. A mini hit of dopamine, I guess.

I scanned the SOON box, passed over GET OIL CHANGE and HAIRCUT and FINISH MOM’S SLIPPER. Reaching across Gil, I pulled off the note that said GET V DAY CARDS FOR O’S CLASS and stuck it in the TODAY box.

Gil turned toward the kitchen. “Am I allowed to store food in here?”

I marched to the cabinet on the right of the stove, a cabinet I didn’t use much because the middle shelf was missing one of those pegs that kept it level. If the items weren’t balanced just so, they’d all fall out when the cabinet opened. He could have that one.

“Only because I don’t want to attract the coyotes with food outside.”

He froze at the word coyote. “Thanks.”

I quickly pulled out the paper goods I had stored in it. “Is that enough room or do you require half the cabinets?”

“That’s fine.”

“Great.” I grabbed a sticky notepad—I kept them everywhere to make sure I could write things down as I remembered them—and wrote GIL. I stuck it on the cabinet.

He scowled. “Gilbert.”

“Close enough.” I popped the lid back on the pen. “Let’s go see the rest of the house.”

As we passed the window looking out on to his tent, Gil asked, “There aren’t really coyotes out there, are there?”

“Oh, no. I mean, probably not.” I bustled out of the kitchen without looking back. That way he couldn’t seem my fiendish grin.

We trooped through the living room and to the hallway where the bedrooms were.

“Is this a sliding glass door in the middle of the house?” Gil asked.

“What? You don’t have one of these in your house?” I patted the door, which we always kept open.

A hundred years ago, this house had only two rooms. Over the years, each generation had added onto it without any real concern for aesthetics. This was a house built for practical purposes.

“The dining room and this formal living room were added on in a renovation in the sixties. They never bothered to take out the sliding glass door when they did it.”

“Huh.”

“Gives it character, don’t you think?”

I liked to think of it as a Franken-house, parts pieced together with screws and nails. Not pretty, but it did the job. There was a certain charm in it, quirky though it might be. Somepart of me felt a little like this house. I often felt like a Franken-woman, pieced together from all my dumb life choices.

Sunny said I needed to give myself grace. I bet Sunny’s man picker was working just fine, though.

“There are four bedrooms. Oliver has the smallest one, there. Mine is next to his.” I paused and slid him a sideways glance. “It has a very sturdy lock on it, too.”

“Don’t lock it on my account,” he muttered.

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