Chapter_11

She was lanky and muscular, with a sharp, square jaw. Seeing Rosie and Jordan, she held up a hand and smiled at them, revealing a small gap between her front teeth. She looked like she would be very good at playing rugby or drums. “Are you here to see the view?” Jordan shouted through Rosie’s open window.

“No,” she said, her eyes fixed on Rosie, even though Jordan had asked the question. “I’m Dylan. I think we emailed. That’s my partner, Lark.” She indicated the truck with her chin. The passenger door opened, and a small woman with dark curly hair hopped out. Rosie absorbed the scene, remembering their kiss at the general store.

“Sorry we’re a little early,” Dylan said, leaning against the bed of her truck. She spoke in an unhurried way, leaning forward to scratch the head of the dog, who first investigated Jordan as he stepped out of the car, then Rosie. His snout was cold and wet in the cave of her hand. Then he sniffed the scraggly weeds around the foundation and disappeared behind the house. Rosie found it hard to look directly at Dylan. Her work pants were spattered with pale paint. She wore black boots and a navy fisherman’s sweater. Her hair was parted in the center. She’d pushed it behind her ears, revealing the full breadth of her wide, freckled face. Rosie wondered where the child on the produce scale fit in.

“Justin! Place!” Dylan called, pulling a heavy green cloth from the truck bed. She shook it out with an athletic grace and spread it across the grass. The dog trotted to the cloth and lay down, his tongue hanging from his mouth.

“What a funny name for a dog,” Jordan said. He sneezed. “Sorry, I’m allergic.”

Rosie turned to him. “Do you want to take a pill?”

“I’m good,” Jordan said.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Dylan said. She shifted, and the sunlight fell briefly across her face, revealing the intricate hazel of her eyes. “We wanted to see the place in the light of day and hoped you might be home. No service where we were, so we couldn’t call.”

“We were going to clean it up for you,” Rosie said. “It’s a little rougher than we’d like.” She wondered if Dylan recognized her from the general store.

“That’s all right,” Dylan said. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

The other woman—Lark—wore a quilted olive-colored jacket and began tying back her hair. She had a delicate face that reminded Rosie of a deer.

Rosie introduced herself, and then, feeling uncertain, added, “My pronouns are she/her. And this—”

“Jordan,” he said. “And I’ll answer to anything.” He stuck out his hand.

Lark did not offer her pronouns, and neither did Dylan, and Rosie felt retroactively embarrassed for having announced hers.

“You may not love the place at first,” Jordan said, “but just give it a chance. It’s got great bones and some really cool upgrades. As you can see, the door was just painted, so be careful around that. We have a respirator, if you need it.”

Rosie wished he hadn’t mentioned the respirator. Dylan and Lark regarded the door but didn’t say anything about the paint job. Jordan pushed it open. Rosie instinctively held her breath as they all stepped inside. She turned to start the tour, but Dylan and Lark had already found their way to the horrible kitchen. Dylan tried the faucet, then pulled a tool from her back pocket and, moments later, turned the knob easily. Muddy water shot from the pipe.

“Sorry about that,” Rosie said, glancing at Jordan. “I’m sure we could call someone.”

Dylan ran her finger under the water, then bent to inspect the inside of the sink cabinet.

“So yeah, unfortunately, as you can see, it’s a little rough, and there’s no dishwasher,” Jordan said. “But hey, this is the country, right? Plus, if you needed any help with stuff, I’m right next door.” He smiled anxiously.

Lark methodically inspected each window. Her gaze was fixed on the corner of the west-facing window, where a ray of sun rendered a spiderweb in full detail. A fat black spider clung to the center of the web, sucking on a fly.

“Oh god,” Rosie said. “We’ll give the place another clean, and I’m sure we can call an exterminator.”

“Oh, please don’t do that,” Lark said, her face full of alarm. “We cohabitate.” She continued to watch the spider, with what Rosie now understood to be admiration.

“They’re incredible architects,” Lark said. “Did you know their webs are like an externalization of their minds? If you destroy them, they lose their memories and can’t function.”

“I feel that way about my phone sometimes,” Jordan said. He chuckled nervously.

“I didn’t know that,” Rosie said. She briefly regretted all the cobwebs she’d vacuumed up over the course of her life.

Jordan kissed her on the cheek. “All sorts of things you don’t know about me.”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Rosie said.

Dylan stood by the chimney and stared at the ceiling. She pulled a chair beneath a small wooden panel. The chair gave her enough height to lift the panel and stick her head through the hole. She stood on her toes and removed a key chain from her belt loop, then clicked on a tiny flashlight, which she held up to the attic space. Her sweater lifted above her hips, revealing the elastic line of her underwear. Rosie averted her eyes.

“Anyone living up there?” Jordan said. He winked at Rosie.

Dylan hopped off the chair and knelt in front of the chimney. She reached a hand inside and felt around.

Jordan looked at Rosie, who shrugged at him. He cleared his throat. “What are you looking for?”

“Just checking to see if it’s lined,” Dylan said. She stood and wiped her hand on her work pants.

“What does that mean—lined?” Rosie directed the question at Jordan.

“Well,” Jordan said, “the chimney flue is probably—I actually... I don’t actually know.” He smiled weakly. “Yeah, I’d like to know, too.”

“It just means there’s a ceramic or aluminum tube that runs all the way up and prevents creosote from catching fire in your chimney.”

Rosie was unsure whether Dylan was trying to boast her knowledge or diminish it. “And is it?” she asked. “Lined?”

“No,” Dylan said. “But that’s an easy fix.”

Rosie found that unlikely.

“One really cool feature you may not have noticed,” Jordan said, “is that the place is outfitted with a family friend.”

“Family friend?” Lark asked.

“You know, Family Friend devices. Like smart speakers. They can tell you what the weather is, help you make shopping lists, turn off the lights, stuff like that. It’s a smart home.”

Dylan looked at him blankly. “Never heard of that.”

“Really?” Jordan said. “They’re pretty popular. Once you start using them it’s kind of hard to stop.”

It was true. Rosie and Jordan had come to rely on theirs, and it was hard to imagine going back to making their own shopping lists.

“Anyway,” Rosie said, “you probably want a little space to talk it over.” She was shocked they hadn’t cut the tour short.

Dylan and Lark looked at each other. “I don’t think so,” Dylan said, pushing her hair out of her face. “We’ll take it. I’m sure you have a lot of people interested, but if it helps, we could pay the first six months up front.”

Jordan blinked at her. “Are you—are you sure?”

“We love it,” Lark said.

“Well, we’d be happy to have renters who appreciate the space,” Jordan said. “Right, Rosie?”

“Of course, yes,” Rosie said. She cleared her throat, trying to hide her shock.

“We do have a lot of interest,” Jordan said, “but we’re getting a good vibe from you guys—”

“Or however you identify—” Rosie said.

“—so if you want it, it’s yours.” He glanced at Rosie, and they followed Dylan and Lark back outside, where the sun lit up the yard.

“Would it be OK with you,” Dylan said, “if we made some improvements? Painted? Hung some shelves? Stuff like that?”

“Of course,” Rosie said. “We’d want you to make the place feel like yours.”

“And we’ll clear all this junk out,” Jordan said, eyeing the garbage pile.

“Leave it, if you don’t mind,” Dylan said. “There’s some good stuff in there. We’ll take care of the rest.”

Rosie stared at the pile, desperate to know what Dylan saw in it.

Dylan stuck out her hand. Her grip was tight and brief. “Thanks again,” she said. Lark stood by her side, smiling at them, the sun directly in her face.

“Oh, and we can strip this down to its original wood, no problem,” Dylan said. She ran her hand along the door that Jordan had painted. They got into the truck, and Dylan rolled down the driver’s-side window. “Tomorrow OK?” She pushed Justin’s face out of the way.

“Tomorrow?” Jordan said.

“To move in?”

“Oh!” Jordan said. “Well, the first of the month isn’t for another week and a half.”

“We’ll pay the extra rent.”

“That should work,” Rosie said. “Right, Jordan?”

“I... I don’t see why not,” he said. Rosie gave Dylan and Lark a thumbs-up that she immediately regretted.

“Cool,” Dylan said. She lowered the back window. Justin stuck his head out and looked back at Rosie and Jordan as the truck rolled down the dirt path. Was it possible for dogs to smile?

Rosie didn’t dare say anything until they were out of sight. “I...”

“What did I tell you,” Jordan said, squeezing Rosie’s shoulder.

Rosie shook her head in disbelief. “I cannot believe that just happened.”

“You would have to literally pay me thousands of dollars a month to even pee in there. I mean, do you think they’re like... fugitives?”

“Honestly? Totally possible,” Rosie said.

“It is weird that they want to keep all that trash. What are they going to do with it? And Justin. What a ridiculous name.”

“It’s not so far from Jordan.”

“For a dog, I mean. Anyway, whatever. I think they really liked the family friend situation.”

“Do you think so?”

“Should we celebrate? They’re wrong about the door.” He stopped walking suddenly. “Do you think they’re con artists?”

Rosie laughed, looping an arm through his. “Ah, yes, it’s the perfect scheme: invest your time and effort into a rental property,” she said, walking with him toward the house. “And eventually... live a beautiful life in the country with your hot girlfriend and well-behaved dog!”

“The girlfriend is hot,” Jordan agreed. “Do you think she was born with the name Lark? Seems fake.”

Rosie had meant Dylan, but she didn’t correct him. “Didn’t Callie leave us a bottle of champagne somewhere?”

“Callie?”

“Our broker.”

“It’s funny how in lesbian couples there’s always a more masculine one,” Jordan said. He opened the fridge and pulled out the bottle of champagne the broker had left for them.

“I feel like that’s just a stereotype,” Rosie said, though she struggled to think of an example where this was not true.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” Jordan said, aiming the bottle away from them and pushing his thumb against the cork. “But don’t you think Lark is a little... out of Dylan’s league? I don’t really get it.”

It took no effort to find Lark beautiful, Rosie thought. But the idea that Dylan wasn’t attractive baffled her. Could Jordan really not see it? She scanned her memory of Dylan. Tall. Broad. Gap toothed. Prominent cheekbones. Freckles. Rosie had been able to see every vein in her forearms. And her eyes—it wasn’t so much their color as it was the way she looked out of them. “Maybe her hotness is not for you to get,” she said.

Jordan raised his eyebrows. “Actually,” he said, “I am the arbiter of hotness.”

Rosie rolled her eyes. He poured her a glass of champagne. “What should we toast to?” he said, handing her the glass.

But Rosie’s thoughts hadn’t moved from Dylan. She felt full of a pleasant, electric charge. “I’m thinking,” she said.