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“Damn.” He huffed. “When did you start sayin’fuck?”
“Probably when I was in labor,” I shot back. “Why the hell are we at my house?”
“We’re atmyhouse,” he replied, his expression completely blank. “You need help bringing our boy inside?”
“No, I got him.” I rolled up the window and got out of the car, leaving it running. “What do you meanyourhouse?”
“My house. I own it.”
“You bought my house?” I hissed incredulously.
“No.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “My dad bought this house from the nice little family that bought it from yours. They realized during their first Oregon winter that maybe they shouldn’t have left California. I bought it from him.”
“This ismyhouse,” I repeated stubbornly, pointing at the cement under our feet. “I lived here my whole life and youboughtit? Why would you do that?”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” he replied flatly. “You comin’ in or what? It’s gonna rain in about thirty seconds.”
He started for the door while I stood there sputtering in disbelief. What in the hell was going on? Why would he buy my childhood home? I shut off the car just as the rain started sprinkling and by the time I got Rhett out of his seat, I had to throw his blanket over him to keep him from getting wet. Michael watched us from the front porch.
“Do you have somewhere I could lay him down?” I asked as I climbed the stairs.
The third one didn’t creak like it should’ve. I grit my teeth.
“Yeah, come on in,” he said, swinging the front door open. “I’ve got a couch in the office you can put him on.”
“The office?” I looked around in confusion as we stepped inside.
Everything was different. The kitchen wall had been knocked out so that it flowed right into the family room, and the formal living room had been completely walled off. Michael walked that direction and opened the door.
“I’ll get him a pillow,” he said, leaving me standing there, gaping like a fish.
If I hadn’t seen the outside, I would’ve had no idea that it was the same house I’d spent so many years in. The walls were painted a light gray and at the far end of the dining room an entire wall had been converted into a massive floor to ceiling bookshelf. The only familiar thing was the staircase, right in the center of it all, but the banister was completely new.
“You gonna lay him down?” Michael asked as he came back.
“What did you do?” I asked as I laid Rhett on the couch. He didn’t stir.
“What? With the house?” Michael asked easily, walking back out of the room. “Demolished most of it.”
“I can see that,” I replied, following him. “You took out a wall.”
“Took out more than one. You want a beer?”
“No, I don’t want a beer.”
“You don’t drink beer?”
“Yes, I drink it. No, I don’t want one.”
“Alright.”
I followed him into the kitchen and looked around wide-eyed. All new appliances. New countertops. Updated cabinets. A fuckingwindowwhere there hadn’t been before. I was reeling.
“You must make a lot of money,” I stuttered, turning in a circle.
“I do okay,” Michael replied. “My pop helped with most of it. He’s been flippin’ houses since before I was born.”
“You’re going to flip it?” I asked, pausing to look at him.
