The F List

In March, the kitchen was torn down the studs and redone. A pool was added between the home and guest house, along with secure fencing and surveillance along the perimeter of the property. I sat down with my parents and told them the plan, minus the details of our location.

In April, we began shipping our life. We ignored the furniture, but mailed the clothing, private items, and art to the new home. I sold our extra vehicles and quietly discontinued our local memberships. I set up compensation packages for Edwin, Dion, and Michelle and prepared termination paperwork. I sat with Cash in a bare and minimalistic house and brainstormed about our future.

“Tell me we aren’t crazy.” I laid on my back on the couch, my head in his lap, and watched the fan above me slowly turning.

“We aren’t crazy.” He traced a design along my stomach. “I think this is the first un-crazy thing we’ve done.”

“Are you going to miss it all?” I tilted my head back so I could see him.

He smiled down at me. “Maybe a little. But I would also love the idea of walking into a grocery store and not having a mob of people come up to me.”

“I want to go an entire day without looking at my phone.” I settled back into place.

“I want to grow a beard. A huge one. One long enough to twirl.”

I laughed. “I want to stop shaving my legs. And under my arms. And bathing.”

“Okay, yes. This is crazy. Abandon the plan.” He tickled me, and I shrieked and kicked his hand away.

“Alright, I’ll bathe,” I conceded. “But I’m definitely stopping waxing, blowouts, and makeup. Like, maybe mascara on date night, but otherwise no.”

“I like that idea.” He brushed my hair off my forehead. “You’re beautiful without makeup.”

“I also want to fart in public,” I decided, and he laughed. “No, I’m serious!” I picked up a couch pillow and swung it toward him. “There’s no way we can fart in public now. It’d be a disaster. But in a month…” I gave a happy sigh. “I could let out a giant loud fart, and someone would shoot me a horrified look, and that would be it. No further repercussions.”

“You know…” he said slowly. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you fart.”

“I rarely do it.” I lifted up one butt check and tried. Nothing happened. “I’ll come find you next time I feel one coming on,” I promised.

“You don’t have to do that.”

I grinned.

“Do you think we’re going to be bored?”

“I don’t know.” I traced my fingers over the back of his hand. “I think renovating is a pretty full-time job. And we’ll have to fill up the house with furniture, since we’re keeping all this here. And then we’ll get horses. And pigs.”

“One pig,” he interrupted. “You said one pig.”

“I know, but I’m worried it will be lonely. So two pigs. Just so he has a friend.”

“And Wesley wants a rabbit.”

“Right. Plus…” I moved his hand under the hem of my shirt, so it was flat against my stomach. “I hear babies are a big distraction.”

He caressed the small bump that was getting harder and harder to hide. “A very big distraction,” he said quietly, and there was an emotional catch in his voice that warmed every inch of me.

“So, we won’t be bored.” I looked up at him, and he lowered his mouth to mine and gently kissed my lips.

“No,” he agreed. “We won’t.”

One month later, inside the gates of our new home and with Wesley sandwiched between us on the couch, we took a deep breath and reached for our phones.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Ready.” I nodded.

It took less than three minutes, and then we were gone.