“You’re in the ballpark,” Jack says. “We’re planning to list just under that, at one-two-fifty.”
“Is Margo going to live in our house?” Penny asks, bouncing in her chair.
“But you know how this market is,” Curt quickly interjects, ignoring his daughter. “Theresa, our agent, expects it’ll go formuchhigher.”
Jack throws his husband a pointed look, then refocuses on me. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t give it a try,” he says. “I would love to know we were selling to a family as deserving as you guys. I mean, we’ve put so much work into this place, it’s going to be really tough letting it go.”
“Well, if we end up here, maybe you wouldn’t have to, at least not fully,” I say, palms sweaty against the linen napkin in my lap. “We could finish the basement and build a whole guest suite down there for you.”
Ian presses a hand into my thigh—not a gesture of affection; he’s telling me to rein it in. But he knew this was what he signed up for. And this is not the time to puss out.
I laugh and lean away from the table. “I’m sorry if I’m getting ahead of myself.”
Jack smiles. “That’s okay, it’s a tempting idea.”
“I like that idea!” Penny adds.
“Let’s leave the negotiating to the agents,” Curt says with a wink. “Don’t wanna ruin a fun evening with business.”
“Exactly,” says Ian. He gives my leg a final pat before removing his hand, apparently convinced that’s the end of my pitch.
But I can’t stop now. We’re at their dinner table, for chrissake! When will we ever have an opportunity like this again? Sure, we could write some interesting perks into an offer—let them design their own guest suite, commit to letting them use it any time they want. But in the end, the only thing that ever really matters is the money. Whatever it takes, I cannot let this place wind up in a bidding war.
I clear my throat. “No, no, absolutely, you’re right, Curt,” I say. “I’m sorry to have brought it up. I think I’ve just been so preoccupied with the adoption research, and the thought of still beingstuck in that apartment for the home study has really started to freak me out.”
“Margo, we don’t need to get into that,” Ian says, the pressure of his hand back on my thigh.
“I just want to explain myself,” I say, smiling at him reassuringly, then turning my attention back to our hosts. “What I mean to say is the house hunt has just started to feel even more urgent. And then, only this morning, a colleague was telling me how her cousin recently bought off market, from some friends. Since they put the deal together themselves, they didn’t have to use agents, and they saved a ton on the commission. Your home is just so stunning, I guess I’ve started to wonder if maybe there was any possibility that we could make something like that workhere, for all of us—a win-win, you know?” I pause to cringe at myself. “If I’m being inappropriate, I’m so sorry!”
Ian is squeezing now, almost hard enough that it hurts. Curt and Jack look at each other, wordlessly, over one of the vases of hydrangeas.
“That’s an interesting proposition,” Jack says finally. “I think you’ve just caught us a little off guard.”
Curt chuckles uncomfortably. “Why don’t we take a break for dessert?” He pushes away from the table. “Jack, can you help?”
Once they’re inside, Ian leans in. “Margo, that is enough,” he says through clenched teeth.
I ignore him, keeping my eyes on Penny, still seated across from me. “So, have you told all your friends about London by now?” I ask cheerily.
She perks up. “Yeah, they’re going to have a party for me at gymnastics!”
As she unpacks the details—pizza, a tumbling contest, siblings are invited, too—her dads return with a chocolate torte, a pile of raspberries in the center. “Penny, would you like to help Papa?” Curt asks. She nods and climbs down from her chair.
As he plates each piece, Penny passes them around. But I’ve lostmy appetite. We’re barely even talking now. Are they just going to pretend I never brought it up? I need to get us back on track.
“Mmmm,” I say, forcing myself to eat my slice. “Curt, you’re a serious talent. This reminds me of something the pastry chef at Causa just put on the menu.” She would die before serving something so pedestrian, but I’m desperate to change the vibe.
“That’s right!” Jack says, looking grateful for a benign topic. “Curt, I forgot to tell you, Causa is one of Margo’s clients.”
“Wow,” Curt says, “that’s a tough reservation.”
“We’ll all have to go before you move!” I say. “Penny, too, of course, since she has such grown-up taste. My treat.”
Jack and Curt exchange a look that I can’t quite read. But I think that might’ve worked. I think they’re coming back around.
“That sounds great,” says Jack.
But the silence descends again. We all keep eating, forks scraping against plates, the only sound piercing the excruciating nothingness.
