“I guess it ended up in some other room,” he said.
“I need it. All the answers to our house’s secret soul are in it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I just feel like… I don’t know. This urgency to read through it. Were there photos?”
“Probably.”
“What if the McGhees stole it?” I asked. As illogical as it sounded, it seemed like the right answer because it had erupted from my mouth in such a convincing, rational tone.
“They didn’t steal it! It will turn up again once we get settled in,” he said.
“Want to help me find it now?” I asked. “Where’s the last place you saw it?”
“No. Maybe later.” He realized he was still holding the old calendar, and he handed it back to me. “That’s a pretty interesting find,” he said, yawning. “I’m going to keep unpacking.”
I sighed. I’d have to look for the packet later on my own. “Did you notice that it’s Teddy’s birthday today?” I asked.
“Weird.” He yawned again. This one didn’t even seem real.
“We should do something to celebrate. Let’s get a little cake and eat it.”
Tom laughed a little. “Yeah, why not. Hey, I was thinking, I’m going to use that big room at the top of the stairs—the one with the kitty-corner door—for my writing studio if that doesn’t interfere with the way you were thinking we’d arrange everything. It’s really important that I have a specific writing studio, like a legitimate writer. You know, a designated space for serious work.”
“That’s fine.” As long as the room with the nursery ended up being our master bedroom, it didn’t matter to me which of our other bedrooms he used as his studio.
“So long as you really mean it. I don’t want to get all settled in and then have to change things,” Tom said. “I need a room with good light. The setting is really important.”
“You won’t have to change anything. Why are you worrying so much about this?” I asked as I carefully checked the calendar dates again. If this calendar was this fascinating, I couldn’t even imagine how mesmerized I’d be when I found that packet.
“Because this is what I do now. I’m a writer. I need to be able to focus,” he said. I looked up from the calendar to see if he was kidding around. His voice sounded so whiny I thought maybe he was joking. I could tell by the vein sticking out of his temple that he was serious.
“Okay,” I said. “There’s nothing to get worked up about.”
He shook his head, took a deep breath, and then exhaled dramatically. “Put that calendar down and listen to me.”
I set it down. “I’m listening.”
“Let me try this again. I’m not getting worked up. See, I’m smiling.” He pointed to a maniacal grimace that had taken over his face. “See? I’m calm! I’m relaxed. So, Court, did you or did you not want that room with the little room connected to it to be the master bedroom?”
“You mean the one that’s got, like, a nursery attached? So now that’s the one you want for your studio?”
“No. No, Courtney. Listen. I said the room with the corner door is the one I want for my studio.”
“Pick any room you like,” I said. “We can always change our minds later once we’re more settled in.” After all, setting up his writing studio meant putting a rickety Target desk he’d had since college in the corner of a room and setting a laptop computer on top of it.
“Quit saying you’re going to change your mind once I get settled in!”
“I’m not saying it to upset you. I’m telling you that I’m flexible. What’s the matter with you?”
“You’re trying to be difficult about this,” he said.
“I am not!”
“Well then, you’re being a bitch.”
“Really? You’re going to talk to me like that?” He’d never used this word to attack me before. It felt a little surreal.