Page 29 of Resilient Rhythms
I’ve never been so happy to be a homeowner. Even if the deed is in Mckenna’s name.
EIGHT
MCKENNA
“I didn’t realizeyou were living here through renovations,” I say, announcing my arrival to Mav’s new place.
“I don’t mind the mess. Besides, the upstairs doesn’t require as much work and I hardly ever eat at home so…” He shrugs. “Just, watch your step.” He points to the lip of a stair.
Behind him, I note the toolboxes, the scattered nails, and the endless dust.
“Pizza and Cokes are out back.” He gestures toward the back of the house.
“Okay.” I follow him through the brownstone, which is, unsurprisingly, an identical layout to the band’s place next door.
When I step onto the back deck, I grin at the Adirondack chairs and the small table with a pizza box and a six-pack of Coke cans.
“This is perfect,” I say, dropping into a chair. “I’ve been studying all week and just want to relax and feel the sunshine.” I close my eyes, turning my face skyward.
“How’s the studying going?” Mav takes the seat beside mine.
“Either wonderful or terrible. The fact that I can’t tell is alarming.”
“I’m sure you’re retaining more information than you think.”
“God, I hope so. I don’t want to have to take the Massachusetts bar exam again.”
Mav cracks the tops of two Cokes and passes me one. “You’re gonna pass, Mckenna.”
I clink my can against his and take a sip, not bothering to respond. Deep down, I pray like hell that I’ll pass on the first try but…a lot of people don’t. Instead, I change the subject. “What are you thinking?” I tilt my head toward the screen door to indicate his renovations.
“Well, I’m doing the kitchen first.” Mav reaches below the little table to grasp a binder.
Surprise rolls through me that we’re really meeting to discuss his renovation project and his invitation to come by for pizza wasn’t just a ploy to get me in his space.
That, and he’s organized enough to have a binder.
I like this version of Mav. He’s still playful and charming but with a more serious edge that shows his maturity and commitment to the future.
I shift closer to him and he walks me through his thoughts for the kitchen design. I point out a few of my personal preferences—like installing a pot-filler faucet over the stove and a garbage disposal in the kitchen sink. I also suggest adding a small sink at the other end of his kitchen island since it’s nearly ten feet long. We move onto colors and before I know it, over an hour has passed.
My stomach grumbles, loudly, and Mav smirks.
“I better feed you,” he remarks, popping the lid on the pizza box. “It’s cold now.”
I shrug, reaching for a slice. “I like cold pizza.”
“Me too.” He takes a slice and bites into it.
I curl my feet underneath me and relax in my chair, munching on the lukewarm pizza and feeling more at ease than I have in weeks. Months.
“This is peaceful,” I remark after a few minutes of silence.
Mav glances at me. “Do you ever sit outside at your place?”
I shake my head. “I should though.”
“It’s quiet. Sometimes, I used to write lyrics on the back deck.”
