Chapter 21 - The House With the Blue Door
The house had a blue front door.
Caleb hated it immediately.
“It looks like toothpaste.”
June disagreed.
“It looks like the ocean.”
Oliver examined the paint with the seriousness of a building inspector.
“It needs another coat.”
Adrian looked at me.
“We have assembled a demanding advisory board.”
The house itself was imperfect.
The kitchen was smaller than the listing photographs suggested.
One bedroom had terrible wallpaper covered in tiny sailboats.
The backyard fence leaned slightly near the lemon tree.
But the office above the garage had windows on two sides.
The school was a twelve-minute walk away.
June could have a room upstairs without sharing a wall with the twins.
There was enough space without feeling like Adrian’s money had swallowed my life.
That mattered.
The agent kept directing questions toward Adrian.
“How soon would you like to close, Mr. Whitmore?”
He gestured toward me.
“We haven’t decided whether we’re buying anything.”
When she discussed financing, she again looked at him.
I answered.
“We’d be contributing separately.”
Her expression flickered.
I noticed.
So did Adrian.
In the car afterward, he asked, “Do you want another agent?”
I laughed.
“Yes.”
“Done.”
“No.”
He looked confused.
“I’ll call another agent.”
His smile appeared slowly.
“Right.”
Learning.
Still.
We saw five more houses.
None felt right.
Then the blue-door house dropped its price.
We returned.
This time with a different agent.
We brought a contractor.
An inspector.
My accountant.
Adrian’s financial adviser.
Possibly more adults than necessary.
But I had signed a house document once without understanding everything happening around me.
I would never do that again.
The ownership structure took longer than the inspection.
We would both contribute.
Not equally in dollars.
Equitably in ownership according to the agreement we negotiated.
Separate assets remained separate.
My business remained mine.
Adrian’s company interests remained his.
If we separated, there were clear terms.
Not romantic.
I found it deeply romantic.
One evening, Grant came to pick up the boys while documents covered my kitchen table.
He noticed the listing.
“You’re moving?”
“Maybe.”
“With Adrian?”
“Maybe.”
His face became still.
Here it comes, I thought.
Instead, he asked, “Same school?”
“Yes.”
“How far from me?”
“About fifteen minutes.”
He nodded.
“That’s manageable.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re looking at me strangely.”
“I expected a speech.”
“About what?”
“The boys.”
He took Oliver’s backpack.
“You’re their mother.”
“That never stopped you before.”
He winced.
“Fair.”
Caleb ran into the room.
“Dad! The new house might have a tree we can climb!”
Grant looked at me.
“Does it?”
“After an arborist checks it.”
Caleb groaned.
“Mom checks everything.”
Grant surprised me.
“Good.”
Caleb looked betrayed.
“You’re supposed to be fun Dad.”
“I am fun Dad.”
“You said arborist.”
“I contain multitudes.”
I laughed so hard I had to sit down.
Three days later, we made an offer.
The seller countered.
We countered again.
Then silence.
For twenty-four hours, I tried not to imagine furniture.
At hour twenty-five, our agent called.
“They accepted.”
I screamed.
Actually screamed.
Tasha came running into my office.
“What happened?”
“We got the house.”
She hugged me.
Dennis appeared behind her.
“Did someone say house?”
“Yes.”
“Does it have parking?”
I laughed harder.
Apparently Oliver’s priorities had infected everyone.
That evening, we told the children.
June asked which room was hers.
Caleb asked when they could climb the tree.
Oliver wanted the inspection report.
Then Adrian looked at me.
“What do you think?”
Everyone waited.
Years earlier, Grant had refinanced our house without telling me.
Later, he had hidden money behind paperwork I did not understand.
A home had become a symbol of what could be taken.
Now every page had been read.
Every number discussed.
Every decision mine as much as anyone’s.
“I think,” I said slowly, “we’re going home.”
We moved in six weeks later.
Grant brought the boys’ bicycles.
Diane brought food.
Mrs. Alvarez brought a plant she claimed was impossible to kill.
Dennis brought a toolbox.
Allison brought champagne.
June carried a box labeled BOOKS AND IMPORTANT ROCKS.
At sunset, I stood inside the blue door.
Adrian approached behind me.
“Still looks like toothpaste?”
“Maybe expensive toothpaste.”
He laughed.
The children were shouting upstairs.
Someone dropped something heavy.
Dennis yelled that nobody should touch the breaker panel.
It was loud.
Messy.
Unfinished.
Perfect.
Then my phone rang.
Maya.
I answered smiling.
The smile disappeared before she finished her first sentence.
“Lauren, Nolan Pierce has filed a civil lawsuit against you personally.”
I closed my eyes.
May you like
Of course he had.
Apparently peace had found our new address too.
