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There are ten in total. All different shapes and sizes. There’s a mid-century piece that looks like a spaceship and cost about as much as a NASA shuttle. There’s a basic loveseat that would look great in a Midwestern house in the ‘80s. That one’s vintage and smells terrible. There’s a tuxedo sofa, boxy, very clean, and upholstered in neon pink. Blue couches, green couches. Too many damn couches, all jammed into our moderately small living room.
“They’re beautiful. I can’t imagine picking a favorite.”
“I’m sure you’ll try. Did you see the rest of my collection?”
His lips press tight. “There’s more?”
“Oh, darling. Come right this way.” I shuffle through the maze of couches, awkwardly climbing over them like a little kid playing floor-is-lava, before gracelessly landing on my feet near him. I brush my hair from my face, give him a bright smile, and lead him into the sitting room.
More couches. Six in here. Plus three coffee tables and two china cabinets. Everything’s a different style and nothing matches.
“Let me guess,” he says as he shuffles into the room, contorting to make it past the sleeper sofa with the bed half pulled out. “You met Dante.”
“He was so very helpful. The dear provided me with this wonderful credit card.” I hold it up and let the light gleam off its surface. “Apparently, there’s no limit.”
“No, there isn’t. I’m glad you’re pleased.”
“More than pleased.” I clap my hand together sharply. “Come right this way, dear, we aren’t done.”
He follows me upstairs. We go from room to room, inspecting my handiwork. Multiple beds, dressers, a few very nice desks that were really hard to get upstairs and earned the mover guys really fat tips, rugs strewn about, the master bedroom packed with footstools, ottomans, a Victorian fainting couch (which I’m probably going to keep), and more than a few brightly colored statues of dogs, cats, and lions.
Gian’s quiet during the tour. I babble on, telling him about my adventures, and how spending lavish amounts of money really opens doors and expedites processes. I’ve never done anything like that before—although I was provided for by my father, I never hadthiskind of cash to throw around—and it was honestly kind of fun. I hate the waste but I couldn’t help myself.
It’s not every day I get a chance at such an outlandish punishment.
“I’m glad my money opened so many doors for you,” he murmurs, not looking pleased.
“Oh,somany. You wouldn’t believe it.” I shimmy around a blue nightstand with a bright pink cat landline phone sitting on top. “Well, what do you think of our treasures? I think this place is going to be very homey now, don’t you? So warm and inviting.”
He rubs his face and I can tell he’s fighting a smile. “I get it. You made your point.”
“Do you get it?” I stop when there’s a good layer of random furniture between us and stand up on a fuzzy footstool which I don’t remember buying just so I can see him over the ocean of stuff. “Are you sure you get it?”
“You didn’t like the stuff I bought.”
“Close,” I say, pointing at him. “But missing the crucial bit.”
“Which is what?” He swirls his wine glass.
“You didn’t consult me at all.” I say it softly. His head tilts to the side, listening carefully. “This is all about me having some agency in my life, right? I married you because at the end of a year, I get freedom to make my own decisions. But during the next year, that doesn’t mean you get to do anything you want without asking me first, especially when it comes to sharing a life together.”
He runs a hand down the back of a big fluffy porcelain dog with a barrel on its chest. “I assume that includes what we furnish this place with?”
“It includes everything that affects both of us. I know all this is kind of ridiculous and I’m aware I went really overboard—” I clamp down on another apology because he doesn’t deserve one and I don’t owe him anything. “But you should have talked to me first.”
He moves around a floor lamp with teal tassels and climbs over an old vintage console table before steadying himself on a hat stand. We’re close, barely a foot apart, with only a big, ugly beanbag chair between him and me.
“You’re right,” he says, which is honestly a surprise. I expected him to argue more. “We’re a partnership now, and I’m not used to running my decisions past another person. When something needs doing, I do it. But now I need to check with you first. That’ll take some getting used to.”
“I appreciate you saying that.”
He buries another smile. “I can’t believe you filled this house with junk.”
“I know,” I say, laughing at the audacity. “Seriously, look at all this crap. What the hell are we going to do with it?”
His eyebrows raise. “Youare going to get rid of it all. Or at least most of it.”
“Okay, yeah, that’s fair.”
