Chapter_14

Jordan fiddled with the knobs on the stereo receiver. He wore his Family Friend jersey, which made Rosie feel a little sad. She kissed him on the cheek.

“You smell good,” Jordan said. “Is that my cologne? How can I help?”

“Dinner’s kind of on a glide path. Maybe you could make some cocktails? With the nice bourbon?”

“On it.” The bar cart wobbled when Jordan moved the liquor bottles around. All their furniture wobbled. He held the cocktail shaker high over his shoulder and shook it with his signature dramatic vigor, which, even after a year, startled Rosie. He handed her a frosted coupe glass filled to the brim. “I call this a Goodbye, Manhattan,” he said. “Bourbon, vermouth, orange bitters.”

“Clever,” Rosie said.

At the sound of a knock on the door, she felt a wave of panic, even though everything was done. She had roasted the chicken from the general store and made a salad from the general store’s produce. “Ready?” she said.

“Ready? For what?”

“I don’t know, our guests.”

Jordan smiled at her and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m ready.”

She moved to open the door, but Dylan had already pushed it open.

“Hey, folks!” Jordan said brightly.

Rosie quickly realized she had overdressed. Lark wore the same oversized knit sweater and dye-streaked jeans she’d been wearing earlier, while Rosie was in a silk floral dress that she saved for dinner dates in the city. She wondered if it was too late to change into jeans.

“Smells great,” Dylan said, stepping inside. “Where can I hang this?” She held out her jacket. She also hadn’t changed. She wore cuffed, worn-in jeans and a plain white T-shirt. “That’s a nice dress, Rosie.”

“I’ll take that,” Rosie said, her cheeks burning. The jacket was waxy and stiff. It was quilted on the inside and still warm. She hung it in the entryway closet and noticed, as if for the first time, that their hangers were all wire and plastic.

Dylan removed her boots and set them by the door. Even without the boots, she was tall. Her socks were a mustard color and looked tailor-made for her feet. Rosie didn’t know socks could fit so well. She became painfully aware of the perfume she’d put on. Was it too much? She tried to keep a distance from both of them.

“Ooh,” Lark said, leaning in to smell her. “I love vetiver.”

“That’s mine,” Jordan said. “I got it from one of those subscription scent boxes.”

Lark tilted her head. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“It’s just this perfume start-up,” Rosie said. “It’s pretty stupid.”

“Stupid?” Jordan said. “I thought you liked it. Every month you try to guess the scent.”

Lark held out a woven basket. “We brought you these.”

“You shouldn’t have, thank you,” Rosie said, looking inside. “What... am I looking at exactly?”

“Mushrooms,” Lark said. “Dylan brought them back from her walk in the woods this morning. Dylan, can you remind us who these all are?”

Dylan put a large hand on Lark’s shoulder. “So, we have chanterelles, king trumpet, and hen of the woods.” She stroked a feathery-looking mushroom in the basket.

“Are these, like, shroom shrooms?” Jordan asked, peering at them.

“No,” Dylan said.

“How do you know they’re the right ones?” Jordan picked one up and held it to the overhead light.

“The right ones?”

“Yeah. I mean, don’t lots of mushrooms look alike? I just don’t want anyone to end up in the hospital! Are you, like, a qualified mushroom forager?”

“Jordan,” Rosie said, though she’d had the same thought.

“Yes,” Dylan said. “I just renewed my foraging license.”

“Oh, cool! OK,” Jordan said. “I didn’t even know that was a thing.”

“It’s not. That was a joke,” Dylan said. “But there’s no pressure to eat them. We can take them back home with us.”

To Rosie’s horror, Jordan raised his voice and said, “Hey, family friend, how do you tell if a mushroom is poisonous?”

All four of them stood in silence as the family friend replied.

Hey, man. You should avoid mushrooms that have white gills and mushrooms that have a ring around the stem. Definitely don’t eat a mushroom with a red cap. If you’ve eaten a mushroom that you think might be poisonous, call nine-one-one. If you want me to call nine-one-one, no prob. Just say, “Hey, family friend, call me an ambulance.”

“Huh.” Jordan peered back into the basket. “All good, thanks!” he said to the ceiling.

Dylan and Lark glanced at each other.

“These are perfect, thank you,” Rosie said. “We’re definitely going to eat them,” she added, though she wasn’t sure they would. “How about a bourbon cocktail? It’s Jordan’s recipe.”

“That’s cool you make your own bourbon,” Dylan said. “I bet Lark could get into that. We make our own mead, but we’ve never tried whiskey.”

Rosie was glad Jordan let the misunderstanding float, undisturbed, while he fixed their drinks.

“That’s a nice little ax,” Dylan said. She picked up the ax and studied it, its head in one palm, her other hand gripping the striped blue-and-green handle.

“Cool, right?” Jordan said.

“How do you keep it so clean?” She flipped it over in her palm. “Do you use gun oil? Mine is so busted. I should probably condition it more than I do.”

“Ah, well, I actually got it as a gift,” Jordan said, stirring the drinks. “So, not much use yet. Actually, the ax is part of the story of how Rosie and I got together.”

“They don’t want to hear about that,” Rosie said.

Jordan looked up at her. “Why not? It’s really cute!”

“I don’t know,” Rosie said. “Is it? I feel like I come off as drunk and unhinged.”

“Well now we definitely need to hear it,” Dylan said.

Rosie sighed. “OK, well, about a year ago, I fell into an Instagram black hole. You know how that is.” Dylan and Lark gave no indication that they knew what Rosie meant. Jordan handed them their drinks.

“And for some reason, I was served this ad for camping gear. I really had no need for camping gear at that time,” Rosie continued, “but I was very captivated by the ad because—”

“This part is important!” Jordan said.

“I thought the person in the ad was attractive,” Rosie said. “So... yeah, that’s how we met.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jordan said, laughing. “You’re missing a few steps.” He screwed the cap onto the bottle of bitters. “First of all, that was me in the ad. Granted, that was the first time I’d ever held an ax. Some guys who run that company literally just stopped me in the street one day and asked if I was a model. Anyway, the ad goes live, and I get a DM from this incredibly attractive girl at, like, two in the morning.”

“It was probably more like nine,” Rosie said.

“It was two in the morning,” Jordan said. “We can look it up.”

“Let’s not,” Rosie said.

“She’s like, Hi, I think you were in an Instagram ad that I was just served, I see you’re based in New York, I know this is completely crazy, but I think you’re the hottest person I’ve ever seen—”

“I did not write that!” Rosie said. She took a sip of her drink. “I said you were handsome.”

“OK,” Jordan said. “Anyway, she asked me out on our first date.”

“Wow!” Lark said. “The directness is beautiful!”

Maybe Lark was being facetious, but Rosie detected no irony.

“Sit, sit,” Jordan said, clearly energized by the story. He disappeared into the kitchen. They took their seats at the table, and Rosie tried to usher the conversation away from her. Jordan emerged from the kitchen with the carved chicken. “Voilà,” he said, giving the impression that he had prepared it.

“Looks amazing,” Dylan said.

“It’s from the general store,” Rosie said. “Does one of your friends have a farm? I think maybe I once saw her stocking the cooler with chickens. Tattoos, a buzz cut...”

“That’s Hank,” Dylan said. Rosie watched the subtle play of her biceps as she opened the napkin and set it on her lap. “Him.”

“Him,” Rosie repeated. “Sorry.” She dropped her fork, and in her attempt to catch it, she knocked over her glass of water.

“We sometimes do trades,” Dylan said, passing her a napkin. “I built his coops, and Lark knits blankets for his chickens.”

“It’s a gift to know where your food comes from,” Lark added.

Dylan’s pocket buzzed, and she pulled out a black flip phone. “Sorry,” she said, silencing it. She got up and slipped the phone into her jacket pocket. “I meant to leave that at home.”

“I haven’t seen one of those since high school,” Jordan said.

Rosie felt embarrassed for having talked so much about Instagram. “How do you live without a smartphone?”

“I feel lighter without it, honestly,” Dylan said. She returned to the table and bumped it slightly as she took her seat, revealing its wobble. She shook it again and bent to examine its joints.

“So, foraging for mushrooms,” Rosie said, assembling a bite. “Is that a big hobby of yours?”

“Yep,” Dylan said, straightening, her hands working beneath the table. “Although I guess you could say that walking is more the hobby. But when I’m lucky I bring a little something home.”

“You mean if I’m lucky,” Lark said, tucking a strand of Dylan’s hair behind her ear.

“What do you do?” Jordan asked. He reached across the table to grab a wing. No one had commented yet on the chicken, and Rosie wondered if it was dry or undersalted.

“What do you mean?” Dylan said.

Jordan caught Rosie’s eye. “I mean for work.”

“I mostly build furniture and small odds and ends for the house,” Dylan said. “Tools and things. Bows and arrows occasionally. I’ve been really into chairs lately.”

“Whoa,” Jordan said, his eyebrows raised.

“I’d love to see some of your work,” Rosie said.

“Dylan made that basket,” Lark said, gesturing to the mushroom basket, which Rosie now noticed was intricately woven and had a pale wooden handle.

“I’ve always wanted to learn to do that,” Rosie said, unsure exactly what she meant by “that.” Woodworking? Basket weaving? How to forage wild mushrooms?

Jordan looked at her quizzically. “Do you have a shop?” he asked.

“A woodshop?” Dylan said. “A small one, yeah. I prefer the warmer months though, so I can work outside.” She refilled her water glass.

“No, like a store,” Jordan said.

“Oh. Not really.”

“So you wholesale?”

“You know, I don’t,” Dylan said. “I’ve thought about it. But I get most of my clients through word of mouth, so I haven’t needed to.”

“Gotcha, gotcha,” Jordan said slowly. Rosie could see him silently puzzling out Dylan’s business model and profit margins. She hoped he would stop asking questions. He cleared his throat. “So how much do you charge for, like, a table?” Rosie pinched his thigh.

“Ow! What? I’m just curious!”

“It depends on the table,” Dylan said.

“What about a table like this?”

“Jordan,” Rosie said.

“It’s OK,” Dylan said. “I wouldn’t make a table like this. But you’re right, the woodworking doesn’t bring in quite enough to pay the bills. I also take care of a two-year-old for part of the week.”

“Aha,” Jordan said, satisfied. “So you’re a babysitter.”

Rosie closed her eyes.

“And what about you, Lark?” Jordan asked.

“I’m a fiber artist. I sell original knitting patterns, but my real passion is making yarns and experimenting with pigment. I’m also a student of herbalism.”

“Herbalism! That’s cool,” Jordan said. “So you have, like, different aesthetic brands.” He pointed his fork at them. “I bet if you two teamed up, people would love it. A little collab.”

“That’s an interesting idea,” Lark said.

“Were you born with the name Lark?”

Rosie froze mid-bite.

“It’s just, you don’t really hear that name every day, and it really suits you,” Jordan said. “I thought maybe you picked it or something.”

Rosie stared at her plate. She had attended several Rainbow Futures training sessions dedicated entirely to the pitfall of asking potential contributors for their legal names. You could never assume someone was cisgender. She wished she had conveyed that lesson to Jordan.

“No one is born with a name,” Lark said thoughtfully. Rosie tried to detect if she was offended. “But yes, my parents did choose my name for me, and I do like it. What about you, Jordan?”

“Yep, I was born a Jordan. My dad was a big Michael Jordan fan, and, actually, Jordan was my maternal great-great-grandfather’s name, so Bridey—my mom—was good with it. Now my dad’s more into outdoorsy type sports. Spelunking, heli-skiing, diving, rock climbing, that kind of thing.”

“Oh,” Lark said. “I meant, how do you spend your time?”

“Oh. I work in tech. I’m the guy who ruins everyone’s fun.”

“He’s a lawyer,” Rosie said.

“Most recently I was at Family Friend, you know, that gadget we set up in your place? We made those.”

“Is that the thing that asked us if we wanted to buy floss picks?” Lark asked Dylan.

Rosie flushed.

“Yes!” Jordan said.

“When you say you made them... you mean, you and Rosie?” Dylan asked.

“No!” Jordan laughed. “No. My company. Although I should probably stop saying ‘we.’ I got laid off a month ago. It’s not ideal, but I’m trying to see this time as a sort of off-site retreat. I always wanted to do something more altruistic anyway, and probably would have left if they hadn’t let me go.” This was news to Rosie. “Lately I’ve been invested in a new start-up with a buddy of mine,” he continued. “Healthtech. Kind of like DoorDash meets Hims.” Rosie hoped he wouldn’t elaborate; she could tell the word “start-up” had not excited Dylan or Lark.

“How about you, Rosie?” Dylan turned to her.

“Me?” Rosie glanced at Jordan, wondering if the abrupt end of his pitch had hurt his feelings. “Oh, this and that. I had a job too, for a little while. I worked for Rainbow Futures?” She posed it as a question, hoping she wouldn’t have to explain further, but Dylan and Lark looked at her blankly. “It’s an LGBTQIA+ rights nonprofit. If you’ve been to Union Square, you’ve probably avoided one of our canvassers. I mean, not that you seem like the type to be rude, it’s just that most people do. Although I canvassed for a long time and had some good experiences. One time, an old man whose granddaughter was trans signed his entire estate over to Rainbow Futures.” Rosie couldn’t remember the start of her sentence or why a story about herself had turned into a story about a dying man with a transgender granddaughter. She searched their faces for signs of boredom or judgment.

Dylan cleared her throat. “Why gay rights?”

“Sorry?”

“I mean, what is it about the gay community that speaks to you?”

“Oh,” Rosie said. Was it possible she’d never been asked this question before? She felt fully on display. “I guess I just... it’s a cause that feels... really important. Of course it extends beyond just ‘gay’ and beyond just ‘rights.’ We really are advocating for all members of the spectrum.”

“Are you a part of that spectrum?” Dylan asked.

Rosie looked up at her. “Oh, no,” she said, moving the food around on her plate. “I mean, of course I’m an ally.”

She remembered that night in the Alps, the feeling of Zoe’s breath on her face, and another impulse to elaborate overwhelmed her. She’d learned over the years that this story did not help her find common ground with queer people, but she was emboldened by her cocktail. “Actually,” she said, “that’s not totally true. I had a relationship with a woman. We farmed in the Alps together in Italy for a summer.”

Jordan looked up at her. “You what?”

“That’s cool,” Dylan said. “Like a dairy farm, or what?”

“Yes, exactly,” Rosie said. “We made ricotta. There were cows and goats. I actually helped a cow give birth. The farmers named the calf Rosie, even though it was a boy.”

“Beautiful,” Lark said emotionally. “What an incredible honor.”

Jordan was quiet. He drained his cocktail and made himself another, and for the rest of the dinner he traded his usual dinner-guest stories—how he’d once seen Jimmy Fallon eating a hot dog, or how he once gave Noguchi a winning scratch-off ticket as a birthday present—for a muteness that Rosie knew was barbed.

It was as she was refilling Lark’s glass of water that Rosie felt a warm drop of blood fall from her nostril to the rim of her dinner plate. “Oh,” she said, bringing her napkin to her nose. “That’s weird.” She held the bridge of her nose, allowing the napkin to stem the bleed.

“Are you pregnant?” Lark asked.

Jordan looked up at Lark. Dylan pulled a red handkerchief from her back pocket and handed it to Rosie.

“What?” Rosie said.

“It’s sometimes an early sign,” Lark said.

Rosie felt her pulse at her throat. “No, no,” she said. “Absolutely not. I’m on birth control. Actually, I used to get these all the time. It’s been a while.” Her voice was muffled by the handkerchief. She associated nosebleeds with her mother, who had reported getting them when she was pregnant with Rosie. It wasn’t enough that I was carrying you. You had to give me a nosebleed in the middle of a faculty meeting. Rosie wondered if it was possible she was pregnant. Had she forgotten to take a pill? She held the handkerchief at her nostril for a few seconds, wishing Jordan would reenter the conversation so that the attention would be diverted away from her.

“I have a question,” Lark said suddenly. Rosie brought her knuckle to her nostril and checked it for blood. There was none. She crumpled the handkerchief and stuffed it into her dress pocket.

“You are a dog,” Lark said, “and your owner has a treat for you. What do you do?”

“I don’t get it,” Jordan said shortly. “Eat it?”

“But go deeper. For example, do you beg for the treat, perform for it, or wait for it to be offered? Do you enjoy it when you get it?”

“I think I’d sit for it, then I’d eat it and... wag my tail,” Jordan said.

Dylan drank from her beer. “OK,” she said. “If my owner gave me a treat, I’d trot it over to the dog pawnshop and see if I could trade it in for a nice leather collar.”

“You don’t like food?” Jordan said.

“It’s not about food, it’s about exploring my options,” Dylan said. “I never like to settle for the first thing.”

“I would break it into as many pieces as possible and share it with the other animals in the house,” Lark said.

“I... I actually don’t know what I would do,” Rosie said, feeling distressed. Did she not know herself? She tried to picture herself as a dog receiving a treat, but all she could feel was Jordan’s lingering annoyance over her declaration about her Alps romance.

“I know,” Jordan said. “You’d beg for the treat, enjoy part of it, and then try to return it, because you saw a better treat on Instagram.” He smiled at her with his lips pressed together.

“What?” Rosie said.

Jordan shrugged and brought a spoonful of gravy to his plate. “I don’t think I get the game,” he said.

Rosie wouldn’t let Dylan and Lark help with the dishes. She sent them home with a container of leftovers. As she cleared the table, she knocked into it with her hip and was surprised to find that it didn’t wobble. “I think Dylan fixed the table,” she said, but Jordan didn’t respond.

The house had gotten chilly, and the warm water from the sink felt good on her hands. She scrubbed their plates. Jordan rinsed and dried them with a monogrammed dish towel.

“So, a romance in the Alps...” he said.

Rosie focused on the dishes but could feel his gaze on her. “I guess so,” she said. She started stacking the dishes in a cabinet. “Are you upset?”

“I’m—confused? I have some questions. I’m a little upset, yeah.”

“It’s really not a big—”

“Why didn’t you tell me about that? We’ve talked about our exes a million times, and this never came up. I mean, if you like women, don’t you think that’s something I should know?”

“This is why I didn’t tell you,” Rosie said. “I didn’t want you to read into it.”

Jordan stared at her. “Is this why you wanted to go to the Alps for our honeymoon? To relive your wild summer?”

“Of course not,” Rosie said. She patted his chest. “I was only thinking of you on our honeymoon. I wanted to show you this beautiful place that had meant so much to me. I never mentioned Zoe because she’s not really an ex. We never dated. She just—she turned around to face me one night while we were sleeping, and I wished she had kissed me. That’s all.”

“What? So you never even hooked up?”

“No.”

“But you said... at dinner—you called it a relationship.”

“Look, it’s kind of hard to explain,” Rosie said. “I’m sorry it came out like this. I didn’t know it would be so hurtful. Can you please leave it alone?”

“It was just a surprise. I thought I knew everything about you. This was like... something you were keeping from me. And then I had to learn it in front of those two. They must think I’m an idiot. I thought it was just a couple of weeks that you did that farming thing.”

“Of course they don’t think you’re an idiot.” Rosie passed him a rinsed glass and kissed him on his cheek. “It was nothing. You’re right, it was just a couple of weeks.”

“Why did you say it was for a whole summer?”

“I don’t know,” Rosie said. “I guess I wanted them to think I had some experience in their... you know...”

“I don’t know.”

“Their realm! I was trying to connect with them, and I guess give them the impression that we’re—I’m—not completely different from them. So I exaggerated the Zoe thing and the amount of time I was there. I’m sorry I did that.”

They were silent for a moment as Jordan dried the last glass. “I guess I’ve played up things too sometimes, at work,” he said. “I just love you so much exactly as you are. You don’t ever have to exaggerate, because the reality is perfect.”

Rosie felt hot with shame, and woven into the shame was an annoyance that Jordan thought he was the one she’d been trying to impress. “Thanks,” she said, placing a hand on his chest. He kissed her and pulled her close.

“Anyway, what does Dylan mean she doesn’t have to promote her work? And why is she always saying your name?”

“Saying my name?” Rosie feigned ignorance.

“Yes. ‘What about you, Rosie? That’s a nice dress, Rosie.’ And the other one! A ‘student of herbalism’? Sells her knitting patterns to fund her artisanal yarn hobby? How do they even feed their dog?”

“I don’t know.” Rosie laughed. “They seem pretty resourceful. Maybe they just don’t need much. And they can make everything themselves.”

“One can’t simply make health insurance.”

“I don’t know. They seem nice. And creative. I don’t think we need to be so suspicious of their livelihood. There’s just a different way of life up here. The cost of living is lower. Maybe they’re just old-fashioned.”

“In elementary school we had to make a diorama of a colonial village, and do you know what we built into the display? Stores. Wig stores, shoe stores, candle stores. Even if they were cosplaying tenants from the 1700s, they would sell their goods somewhere.”

“OK,” Rosie said. She dried her hands. “You’re right, I don’t really understand how they afford rent. But they’re nice people, they brought us hand-foraged mushrooms in a handwoven basket, and they paid their rent up front, so can you please relax?”

“OK,” Jordan said. “For you, I will relax.” He finished drying the last plate and added it to the stack on the shelf.

Hey, guys?the family friend chimed in. Sorry to cut in. I’ve got a working list here, before you head to bed:Dog Treats for Large Dog Single Ingredient Freeze-Dried,Leather Dog Collar Genuine Leather Wide Neck Small Dog,Rapid Pregnancy Test 8 Pack Ease Your Mind.

“No,” Jordan and Rosie said together.

Understood, the family friend said. Just say the word.