The crisp September breeze aired out the apartment, wafting away the dust and fresh paint fumes.
“Hey, Geary.”
I surveyed the bowls, glasses and wadded-up balls of newspaper strewn all over the kitchen floor, then gave up unpacking in favor of following his voice.
“Yeah?” I wandered down the hall in bare feet, boxer shorts, and one of his gray T-shirts.
He was sitting on the floor of the screened-in porch, reading the morning paper amid stacks of unopened brown boxes. “You know what would go great out here? A hammock.”
I leaned against the doorway and looked out at the lush green lawns and pastel chalk scribblings on the neighbors’ sidewalk. “Shouldn’t you be unpacking?”
He nodded and filled in a crossword puzzle answer.
I sat down next to him, stretching out in the early autumn heat. He pulled me into his lap and I relaxed into him. “This place is really great. Unbelievable. How did you find it?”
“I have many hidden talents.”
“I’m serious. This is about eighteen times bigger than my studio in Santa Monica and it’s like, pennies a day.”
“Welcome back to the Midwest.”
He truly had demonstrated considerable prowess as an apartment-hunter, securing us the upper story of a duplex in Minneapolis’ uptown district, close to the university and within walking distance of Lake Calhoun. The empty white rooms and sealed cardboard cartons held endless promise and possibility.
Currently, our furnishings consisted of what Flynn had brought from his old apartment: a bed, a big-screen TV, a ratty brown armchair, and a coffee table he described as “the Platonic ideal of flat,” which he had made himself with a log, a wood plane and infinite patience.
“Aren’t you excited to start redecorating?” I asked hopefully.
He shook his head. “Don’t even talk to me about decorating. I’m still recovering from your outrageous wardrobe demands. All those boxes marked ‘Clothes, misc.’ What the hell is the ‘misc.’? Bricks? Lead?”
I considered this. “There might have been a few shoes and books in there.”
“Steel-toed boots? Hardcover encyclopedias? It’s lucky for you I’m so manly and muscle-bound.”
“I’m high-maintenance, but I’m worth it,” I assured him, rubbing the base of his neck.
By the time the doorbell rang, we’d gotten ourselves into something of a compromising position. I groaned and started to extricate myself from his arms.
He tightened his hold on me and murmured into my mouth, “Ignore the barbarians at the gate.”
I laughed and deepened the kiss before pulling away. “We can’t. They’re very persistent barbarians.”
Sure enough, we could hear Skye at the other end of the apartment, knocking and yelling, “Hey! Are you home or what?”
Flynn got to his feet and pulled me up after him. I straightened my shirt, brushed off my shorts, and headed for the front door.
Life and noise flooded in.
“I love this place,” Leah said, handing me a tower of bakery boxes and kissing my cheek. “Great neighborhood. And did you see the shoe store down the street?”
“Hey, guys. Rex spent all morning making you something, so he’s a little excited.” Stan trooped in with the kids, and true to form, Rex was cranked up to eleven.
“Faith! Flynn! Faith! Flynn! Is this your new house? Do you guys have a bathtub? Does it have claw feet?” Rex tugged on Stan’s hand. “I drew you something for the wall.” He handed me a fingerpainting emblazoned with bold streaks of primary colors and gold glitter.
Skye breezed in with Lars on one arm and Sally on the other. “…So the whole thing really made me think about life and death and what it all means, you know?”
“Oh me, too,” Sally agreed. Both of them spared me a glance and a “hi,” then went back to their discussion.
“I mean, when you hit me with your car, I just started to have some second thoughts about stuff.” My sister lifted one hand to heaven and the other to her heart.
“Absolutely.” Sally bobbed her head up and down.
“And I think, when I die, I want my tombstone to say ‘Skye Geary: Often imitated, never duplicated’.” Lars and I locked gazes and nodded a stoic greeting.
Bringing up the rear was Hans Gruber, with tail wagging and paws clicking on the stairs.
“We brought the family mascot,” Leah explained. “I hope that’s okay. If you want, we can leave him in the car.”
“No, he’s fine,” Flynn said. “Maybe he can sniff out the box with all the cooking gear in it.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry this place is such a wreck,” I said, nodding at the chaos on all sides.
Everyone streamed into the dining room, leaving Flynn and me holding the door and Rex’s painting. He squeezed my hand and grinned at me. “Aren’t you glad we have all this extra room?”
“Yeah. God, this place is going to be Grand Central Station.” I kissed him again, curling my toes against the smooth cool floor tiles.
He slung an arm around my shoulder and together we joined the horde gathering in the dining room. Leah handed Rachel to Sally, then sliced the coffee cake and doled out cookies while Hans Gruber sniffed joyfully at all the boxes and crumpled newspaper. Skye, hanging off a blissed-out Lars, debated the merits of pink versus peach blusher with Sally, who was gingerly trying to maintain her grip on Rachel without breaking a nail. Rex spun around in staggering circles while Stan explained how gravity worked.
“Do you like my picture?” Rex asked me as he tumbled to the ground in a giggling heap.
“I do. In fact, I’m going to put it up right now.” I headed to the kitchen and hunted around until I found the tape. The walls in the hallway were empty and white, except for a single framed print we had hung up last night upon arrival. An old sepia photograph of the Piazza del Duomo in Florence, with the belltower and the arched dome patterned with light against the morning sky. Our little joke.
I taped Rex’s modernist, mixed media piece up next to it. Although perhaps less subtle and classic, the fingerpainting balanced the photograph nicely. The red and blue streaks and the sprinkled glitter offset the muted gray and the careful straight lines. I took a step back and looked at the newest addition to our home.
And then I went back to my family.