Chapter_20

The nights were cold. The windows rattled in their casings. There was only one heating vent in their bedroom, so Jordan used the family friend to order a fleet of loud space heaters that blasted hot air in the direction of their faces. They wore two pairs of socks to bed. The only contractor who agreed to come by had quoted them a half-million dollars to fix the house.

Rosie held Jordan’s clammy palm under the covers. “This was a mistake,” he said, all inflection drained from his voice.

“We’ll get a second opinion.” Rosie rubbed his chest. “We’re going to figure it out. Maybe Hank can give me more hours. We’ll save and...”

Jordan took out his phone. “Look where we could be living.” He showed her a Zillow listing for a five-bedroom McMansion in Fairfield, Connecticut, with a kitchen that looked roughly the size of a football stadium.

She turned to him. “You’ve been looking at listings? In Fairfield?”

“Not really. Bridey sent it.”

Rosie raised her eyebrows.

“Not for us! My brother just put an offer.”

“It probably costs a million dollars to keep that house warm.”

“At least it has the ability to get warm,” Jordan said. “I’d pay any amount of money to be warm right now. And is it just me, or is that brown spot on the ceiling getting bigger?”

Rosie followed his gaze to a wet-looking area of the ceiling in the shape of a snail. “It looks the same,” she said.

Jordan’s teeth chattered.

“Come on, don’t you think it’s a little cozy?”

“It’s, like, inside my bones. And it’s just the beginning of winter,” Jordan said. “Feel my nose.” He brought her index finger to his nose, which was ice-cold.

“Maybe we can get Lark to knit you a nose warmer.”

“What are we doing here?”

“We’re building our lives. We’re learning from the creative people that surround us—”

“I’m creative,” Jordan said. “I’m helping create a business that’s going to set us up for life. What’s their legacy going to be? Sweaters?”

“Don’t be competitive.”

“I just want to spend my money on us and our future family, not on a house that’s a lost cause.”

“Your money? I’m making money, too,” Rosie said. She waited for Jordan to point out that he had already made more money working part-time for GoldenDrop for a month than she had working full-time for Hank since November.

“Look.” Jordan put his palms on his eyes. “I’m laying the groundwork with Noguchi to make real money. I have huge earning potential.”

Rosie took his hand. “Maybe we don’t need so much. The renovations will be expensive, yes. But after that? How much could we actually need?”

“You might not want to think about money,” Jordan said, “but somebody has to. So now I have to be the boring guy who doesn’t want to live month-to-month because I’m the one with actual financial responsibilities.”

“You’re acting like I don’t work,” Rosie said. “I’ve always worked hard. You’ve never taken my work seriously.”

Jordan scrunched his eyes closed. “I think we made the decision to buy the house under a lot of pressure, and I would not do it again if given the chance.”

“Jordan,” Rosie said. “Don’t you see the potential here? Don’t you see how special this all is? It’s just frustrating because we’re at the beginning of the journey together. Of course it’s going to be hard at first. But look at what Dylan and Lark have built.”

“You idolize them!” Jordan was whispering, as though someone might overhear them.

“I don’t idolize them.” The lie emerged from Rosie’s lips like an object, plain and three-dimensional.

“You do. And honestly, I get it. They chop their own firewood. They make their own blankets. They dye their own dishcloths. They forage their own mushrooms and pick their own wild blueberries and know how to use a circular saw, and raise guinea hens, and fix plumbing, and they probably fuck on cumulus clouds each night. And they appear to magic money from—what, breathing? Building furniture in secret? Have you ever seen her actually make anything?”

“She made that guinea hen coop,” Rosie said. “And the picnic table.”

“I’m just stressed.” Jordan hissed the word. “They belong here. This is, like, their natural habitat. My natural habitat is standing in front of a dosa truck with a bunch of other guys in Patagonia vests. And I’m pretty sure your natural habitat is back in the city, too.”

“This is our natural habitat. We own this house. We live here together. All of this belongs to us!”

“If anything, this house owns us,” Jordan said. “I just...”

“You just what?”

“I just wish you would admit that you want us to be more like them.”

“I mean, do I think they’re cool? Yes.” Rosie was trying to sound nonchalant, as though their coolness had only just occurred to her. “And they are really handy. What they’ve done with the outbuilding is crazy.”

“Well, I can think of something they can’t do.” His hand found hers again, and soon he was on top of her. “They may be able to tap maple trees, they may be able to differentiate hen of the woods from toxic fungus. But can they do this?” He took her hand and slipped it into his boxers. She was surprised he was hard so soon after describing his own dread and emasculation. But she was happy he had rounded a corner.

“Well, you better be careful with that,” she whispered back. “Since we don’t have a condom...”

Jordan tightened his grip on her. “But I want to make a baby.”

He had never mentioned wanting a baby in this context before. It had only ever been about risking the chance of getting Rosie pregnant. “But we can’t,” she said, rehashing an old line. She searched for something new to say. “I’ve only just met you... at the lumberyard.”

“You’ve wanted this from the moment you saw me,” Jordan said. “Don’t lie.”

“It’s true.” Rosie was remembering Dylan now: leaning against the door frame earlier that afternoon, the hammer hanging along her thigh. She removed Jordan from the memory: in this version, he’d gone upstairs to look for something—a measuring tape, maybe—which was when Dylan made her move. You’ve wanted this from the moment you saw me, she said to Rosie, pushing her against the refrigerator.

Rosie clasped her hands behind his neck and closed her eyes. Dylan’s neck. Dylan’s pulse. Dylan’s mouth on her neck. Dylan bringing her hand—

“What happened?” Jordan said.

“What do you mean?”

He leaned on an elbow and rested his cheek in his palm. “Was it not good for you? I felt like I was talking to myself at the end there.”

“Oh,” Rosie said. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Jordan said, though his tone indicated she should be a little sorry. “It’s just—I just want to make sure you’re still enjoying our thing, you know?”

“Well, it’s your thing,” Rosie said.

He turned to face her. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s not that I don’t like it. I mean, I like doing it for you. But, you know, maybe we could try other things. I have my own fantasies.”

Jordan stared at her.

“What?” Rosie asked finally.

“I just—” He laughed. “I just can’t believe it. We are living your fantasy. Every day that we’re here, we’re living your fantasy. We’re here because you saw an advertisement on Instagram for a carrot peeler that made you think your life was bad. I was then prepared to empty my entire savings for a house that you thought would make you feel the way you thought those people in that carrot peeler ad felt. Those people, who were paid models, posing with a carrot peeler. And when I couldn’t do that, I encouraged my mother to buy the place. So do not talk to me about whose fantasy we’re catering to.”

“That is really not fair,” Rosie said.

“Then tell me which part I got wrong.”

“We moved here because I was miserable at work and had no meaningful friendships. I thought that maybe if I moved somewhere else—maybe I could find a different way to feel. Like if I had two seconds to think, without noise, maybe I could figure out what I’m good at. Maybe I could understand myself, and make friends, and just be a different person.”

“But you are perfect the way you are,” Jordan said. “You’re smart, and you’re beautiful, and—”

“And I have no one, Jordan. Not really.”

“You have me.”

She turned over and switched off the light, her tears freezing against the pillow. “I’m so tired,” she said. “Can we sleep?”

He pulled her close to him. “Yes,” he said in the dark, “of course.”