Page 6 of If I Didn’t Have You

“We’re going to give it a fresh coat of paint. Maybe even take down a wall.”

“A wall? Woman, what in the hell are you talking about?”

I spun around the room, looking at the space, trying to decide what I wanted to do. “This wall,” I said, walking over to the one that broke up the space between the living room and the kitchen.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, grinding his teeth in that way he always did when he was exasperated with me. “Woman, that’s a load-bearing wall. You can’t just rip it out.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” I smiled sweetly.

“But— There are things on the other side of that wall. The refrigerator is over there! Where the hell are you gonna put it? Just have it float around in the middle of the room?”

“Well, that brings me to point number two. I’ve been thinking about the arrangement of the kitchen, and for years, I really haven’t liked it.”

His eyes grew wide as I smiled at him. Slowly, he started shaking his head. “You can’t be serious. You want to redo the whole fucking kitchen?”

I shot him my best innocent-looking frown. “Is it too difficult for you? Should I hire a contractor?”

His eyes narrowed to slits as he glowered at me. “It’s not too difficult.”

“Because if it is, I’m sure someone in town would be better suited to handle the project. Doesn’t Randy work as a contractor on the side?”

“Randy? He’s still a kid!”

“He’s the same age as Liam and Bailey,” I pointed out. “Surely, his skills are up to par. I think he even went to school and got a degree and everything.”

Tearing his fingers through his salt and pepper hair, he shook his head in frustration. I tried not to smile. Really, I did, but this was just too much fun. For years, I’d been the good wife, always doing what was asked of me. Well, that time was over. Now, he was going to feel every ounce of my resentment that had built up over the years.

“Now, listen here, woman. I am more than capable of redoing this house. I don’t need some kid to come in here with his fancy degree and charge us an arm and a leg to do a few repairs!”

I cocked my head at him. “Then why are you complaining?”

“Because the whole fucking thing is ridiculous! You want to take a perfectly good house and change it! I built this house with my father⁠—”

“And it has always been your house,” I interrupted. “We’ve done everything the way you wanted.”

He stomped over to the drapes hanging over the window. “Oh yeah? Do you really think I chose these?”

“They’re your mother’s.”

“Seriously?” he frowned.

“Do I look like the type of woman who would choose something like that?”

Then he pointed to the ugly chair in the corner. “Okay, but that⁠—”

“Was also your mother’s. Technically, she bought it and then gave it to us because she decided she didn’t like it. And if I recall correctly, which you know I do, you said we had to keep it because your mother would be insulted.”

“The—”

“The pictures are also hers.”

“You went shopping with her,” he grumbled.

“Yes, and you know your mother. She didn’t let me pick out a single thing.”

His brows pulled down in a frown. “Wait, so you’re telling me we’ve been living this whole time with my mother’s decorations?”

“Did you really think I wanted a mustard yellow chair or a shag rug?”