35

The Yellow Cottage

The wind was calm today, the sun gentler than usual. Mari couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful day as she threaded her way through the Joshua trees alongside the national park employee.

“We’re so glad you changed your mind about the position.” Harriet smiled. “It’s been surprisingly hard to fill. We wanted someone with experience with all the desert species we run across here in the park, but all the desert biologists we’ve talked to have been very hesitant to sign the one-year commitment.”

Mari smiled back. “We’re a nomadic bunch, it’s true.” She nodded toward the yellow cottage. “Do you mind if I take a look around? It’s been a while since I’ve seen the place.”

“Of course. I’ll be in the office whenever you’re ready to sign the paperwork. Take your time.”

She waited a second for the other woman to start walking away before she turned to face the cottage. A lizard darted across the porch steps, and she tried to ignore how washed out the place looked in the flat midday light. The last time she was here, it had been nearly sunset, and buttery light had poured out of the windows like a beacon. Now, the glass looked flat and translucent, neutrally gray except where it caught the light of the sun and beamed it harshly back at her.

Mari ignored the wisp of pessimism and marched toward the steps. It felt odd and fancy to be dressed in her best white shirt, no hard hat or safety vest in sight. Her slacks clung in places her cargo pants never did. One of the other employees must have commandeered the rocking chair since she was here last, because the porch was bare, and narrower than she had thought. The door was unlocked, and opened with only a slight creak. It was clean, though, the stale ghost of Pine-Sol stinging her nose.

The house was smaller than she remembered, too. It had a nook next to the kitchen with a table and chair, an armchair tucked in a corner that was really too small for it so it partially blocked the doorway. And then the bedroom, a bare mattress standing white and square in the middle of the room.

Two rooms and silence.

It was too much like the moment after Brad left Rajni’s apartment, when Mari tried to think of what was next for her, and came up blank. But this was her life now. It wasn’t perfect, no, but it was a good job, and more importantly, a place where she could build a community. It was the first place she’d ever had that could be just hers, and nothing inside its walls had to please anyone but herself.

She headed for the kitchen, determined to recapture some of the daydreams she’d had of pumpkin pancakes and zucchini bread. Crackling brown roast chickens and brownies that were gooey in a way that was nearly impossible to achieve in a solar oven.

All she found were a few mouse turds in one corner and a skim of dust across the plain Formica counters. The oven was missing one knob.

Mari stood alone in the center of the room, an odd emptiness growing under her skin.

This place had represented everything she finally dared to dream of, but now it seemed like the “before” picture in one of her HGTV shows. Before the family moved in with their cozy furniture and made it a home.

It hadn’t really been the solid walls and electrical plug-ins she’d been hoping for, after all. It had been the soul of a place where there was love, and people, and safety, and a house wasn’t any of those things. It was just a house.

It was more than what she had now, sure, but it wasn’t enough.

But what other choice did she have? Her friends were mostly unemployed now, surfing and living on bean burritos, passing time in their trucks and sending out résumés on free Starbucks Wi-Fi.

Mari reached into her purse, either to call Rajni or maybe to just take a second look at the dancing leprechaun GIF that Gideon had sent her for luck this morning. She wasn’t quite sure yet. But instead of her phone, a tiny square of paper nudged her fingers, and she drew it out. It was the price sticker for Jack’s new seat covers, the ones he’d bought special for their first date.

Her knees trembled and she sank down onto the armchair in the corner, hardly noticing when dust whooshed out from the cushion. Every time the thoughts rose in her head, she slapped them away, but she couldn’t stop remembering, not really. How bashful he’d been on that first date, with his too-fresh haircut and clean truck, and seat covers with the tags still on.

She’d stopped herself a thousand times, but she was weak in the moment and she let herself click her phone on and open her pictures. She had only a handful of Jack: working on his bike, climbing a lattice tower. One of his Good Mood Scowls where his eyes were twinkling a little even as he grumped at her for taking his picture. She even had one terribly awkward selfie of them on his bike on their last day off together, both of them with helmet hair, sweaty foreheads, and shy, ebullient smiles.

A pang twisted in her chest.

She’d never felt like this about anyone, not even during her most infatuated early days with Brad. That pull to be near Jack, and that settled feeling, like she could truly rest once they were side by side. Not to mention how bold she became in bed, his shyness somehow bringing out her wild side . . . Mari flushed and glanced toward the bedroom, but the bare mattress quelled the heat rising in her veins.

She clicked off her screen, because it was pitiful to pine like this. He hadn’t wanted her enough to try, and that hurt. The memory squirmed in her belly. Maybe she wasn’t special enough to be worth fighting for. Or maybe she’d been wrong to tell him he couldn’t interfere in how she did her job. She didn’t want to believe those things about herself anymore, but the empty spot where Jack used to be screamed for an explanation. As hard as she tried to tell herself this was his fault, that didn’t feel true, either.

What felt true was that things shouldn’t have ended between them so fast, and she didn’t quite know how they had.

Mari flipped her phone over in her hand, feeling its smooth edges. Once, just once, she’d believed that what she wanted was hers for the asking. She’d made the call, and she got everything she’d asked for. But a permanent job and a cute little yellow cottage weren’t actually what she’d wanted after all.

She wanted a home. And this wasn’t it.

Maybe if they’d hired Rajni or Hotaka for the botanist position, she’d have felt better, but she doubted it. What she wanted was Jack, peeking shyly around the corner into the bedroom, and grousing about the wiring to hide how much he liked the place. But Jack built things for a living, and this was a national park, set aside from the relentless growth and development of the rest of the world.

Tears clamped her ribs tight over her lungs, and she hiccupped but didn’t cry. She’d told herself she deserved better, that she wouldn’t chase a man. That if he wanted to talk to her badly enough, he’d find her number. But none of those things mattered as much as holding him again. Making sure he knew that when she told him to get out that night, she’d never meant for it to be for good.

She’d wanted him to fight for her, but he’d actually shown her more respect by doing as she’d asked when she demanded he give her space. She’d been hurt and expected him to somehow mind-read that she needed space, but also needed reassurance that she meant as much to him as he did to her. She’d been wrong, and the thought of him out there somewhere, lonely and hurting, was harder to swallow than her pride.

His number was still in her phone, but no semi-awkward phone call could cover everything that had happened since they’d been apart. Or the total insanity of trying to snatch a future together when they were both unemployed and qualified only for the kinds of jobs that moved to a new place every few months. Plus, Jack was the actions-speak-louder-than-words type. Which meant if she wanted to see whether what they had could be repaired, she needed to do it in person.

Mari grabbed her car keys.