But I never get that far. Rusty and Melly are already walking toward the house, sweaty and grumpy and elbowing each other off the path as they walk. My first instinct is to tell them to knock it off, but then Melly meets my eyes and I don’t have to say anything; she knows. It’s show time.
It turns out that James would make one hell of a stay-at-home spouse. I say that with only the utmost respect because 1) I would not, and 2) a single bite of the dinner he made and I’m ready to marry him.
By six o’clock the food is out, Melly hasn’t looked away from her phone since I gave her the Wi-Fi password, and the Netflix logo fills the screen.
With Rusty already two beers deep in the La-Z-Boy, and Melly sitting ramrod straight at the edge of the sofa, James and I hover toward the back of the room. A vibrating, anticipatory silence fills the space and then their new upbeat theme music bursts free, opening credits run, and glossy, bright images of Rusty and Melly flutter happily across the seventy-five-inch TV.
We all hold our breaths.
But the editing is brilliant. It’s so surreal to see this thing that we worked so hard for come to life. The premiere episode is with the Larsen family, and even knowing what was going on behind the scenes, I’m still genuinely impressed. The camera follows Melly and Erin Larsen into the Larsens’ former dining room, and over cups of tea Melly asks all the right questions and listens attentively to the answers. Erin grew up an army brat who never lived in the same place for more than a few years. Now an adult with children of her own, Erin knows they’ve outgrown the small two-bedroom house but doesn’t want to leave. From there, we watch Melly present a design plan (which I drew up), and Rusty and the crew begin putting it all together.
And then the renovations start. This is exactly what Melly and Rusty do best: Melly appears to hunt for one-of-a-kind antiques that can be repurposed for unique design in the home. Rusty appears to dive into the carpentry and cuts himself within the first five minutes. Suddenly, Melly is there with the Band-Aids and a long-suffering sigh that dissolves into laughter, and you can’t help but like them.
“I really loved the way you did the girls’ rooms,” James whispers.
“Thanks,” I say with a smile. “I’d have liked a little more time, but I’m really happy with the way it came out.” He lifts a brow, and I explain, “Most of the furniture was built custom to fit the space, so I had to sketch it all. Takes me a little longer some days.”
“I was thinking about that. What if I could come up with something to help? Something you’d wear, with a place for your fingers to slip through like a glove, and a mechanism for the pencil? That way you can focus on the movements themselves, rather than having to think so much about the grip.” He pulls a folded piece of paper from his wallet, opens it, and lays it flat for me to see.
It’s a rough sketch of what he’s just described, with all sorts of equations and notes written to the side. “It would be more complicated than this,” he adds, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “I’d need to account for different weights—like whether it’s a stylus you’re using or a piece of charcoal, or whatever, and be able to make adjustments—but it’s doable.”
I blink at him, stunned into silence.
“Could something like that work?” he starts, and begins folding it back up. “We don’t—”
I put my hand on his arm to stop him. “Yes, the idea makes sense. I can see how it might work.” I bite the inside of my cheek to contain my smile, and feel the tight burn across the surface of my eyes, the rare sensation of tears forming. I wish we were anywhere but here, somewhere I could really thank him. “I—”
My phone vibrates on the table, and I have to restrain myself from throwing it through the TV. It’s from Robyn.
Check twitter
Home Sweet Home is trending at #6!
I open the app and swipe to the trending tab and we’re not at number six, we’re at number two.
“You’re trending,” I say, and turn to look at Melly where she’s now pacing the front of the room, her phone to her ear.
“We’re what?” she asks.
I turn my phone to show her and she rounds the couch. “Hashtag Home Sweet Home is at number two in the US!”
Melly drops into one of the chairs. “I can’t believe it.”
I scroll through both their accounts. Even the tweets that aren’t pure unadulterated love are resigned haters. “Look for yourself.”