by Emilia Finn
This space was not in my plans. But the five-foot-high vase, and the flowers that climb an additional two feet and spill over the sides, is enough to temporarily distract me from what is a loss of, I estimate, twelve square feet of living space.
“I know you’re thinking about the lost space,” Jake inserts as I move closer to inspect my flowers. “But I don’t want you to worry about it.”
“Oh. Well.” I purse my lips and waver between being awestruck at my new entrance, and somewhat miffed that he changed the plans, and when I show concern, his only response is for me not to worry about it. Like it’s no big deal. I scoff, “That fixed it. This is my home, Jake. And this is a lot of space we could have used.”
“But it’s also privacy.” He steps forward and opens a second set of doors, identical to the first, and reveals my living room—spacious and open-plan, a long, L-shaped couch toward the right, and a thick stone island counter to my left. Four pendant lights dangle over the counter, and in front of it, four leather stools with short backs and wide legs.
The new artwork on the walls—selected by who? I don’t know—and the TV mounted above a fireplace I will never use should be enough to keep my attention, but it’s the windows, floor-to-ceiling and taking up the entire wall, that drag me in and keep me captive. I move again, past a beautiful set of nesting coffee tables with marble tops that match my counter, and over a rug made of vibrant reds and pinks, creams and browns.
It’s round, when most everything else has sharper lines.
Moving past my plush new couch, and around a basket filled to the brim with toys I’m not sure Maximo will use—but whoever put those there did so with pure kindness and thought in their heart—we stop at the windows and stare for a moment across the town that is our new home.
“Look, Maximo.” I have to swallow the tears that gather in my throat; instead of breaking down in front of my project manager, I sniffle and point toward a park in the center of town. “We could play there. And look.” I point toward a lake. More park area. Trees. A wooden dock made purely for sunbakers to lounge on in the summer. “And we could swim there when the weather warms up.”
I press a kiss to Maximo’s temple, but my eyes stay on the town. “There’s a hill, bello. A big one we could drive up and look down from. And all around,” again, I swallow; grief, but relief too. Fear, and wonder. We’re finally here, finally in our home, but even with my son and Jake in this room with me, a pang of loneliness zings through my blood. “The forest,” I rasp. “It’s everywhere, huh? No way can we hear freeway traffic with all those trees in the way.”
“No freeway traffic around here.” Jake comes to stand by us at the window.
He’s a nice guy, I genuinely have no issue with him… but his words shatter the spell my son and I were floating in.
I turn away from the glass and take in the rest of what I was too distracted to notice. “You’ve taken a chunk out of my living room to provide that front foyer.”
“Yes,” he concedes. “But I’ve given you these windows to open up the space. And I have more to show you. Don’t kick me out yet. Not until we’re finished.”
“Are the windows tinted? Will anyone see us up here?”
“Yes, tinted. Nope, no one will see in.” He places a hand on the back of my elbow once more, though this time, he’s on Maximo’s side, and elicits a possessive growl from my sweet son.
Lifting his hand away, Jake watches Maximo for a single beat, then he goes back to keeping his hands to himself and gesturing around the room. “Porcelain tiles,” he glances down at the off-white flooring. “It’s more durable, in my opinion. And I think a better fit for a small child. But durability doesn’t have to come without aesthetics. See the veined markings?” He drops to one knee, and runs a hand over the tile. “I selected these myself, straight from the manufacturer’s warehouse. The same tile runs throughout the entire living space, the hall, and both bathrooms.”
“I still have two bathrooms?”
He pushes to his feet and chuckles. “You still have two bathrooms. Let me show you.” He motions toward the hall, but he sure as shit doesn’t touch me. “Two toilets, two showers, two tubs, though the one in the main bedroom’s en-suite comes with jets.” He points up as we walk into the hall. “Smoke alarms fitted throughout the entire hotel, as ordered. More than needed for code, but—”
“But you did it. Because I paid for them.”
He gives a nervous laugh and opens a door to his right. “I did. As ordered. Bathroom. More windows, but they’re also tinted and no one can see in. Toilet, basin, and waterfall showerhead, which matches the showerhead in the main. Freestanding claw-foot tub, standard amenities, but we’ve also added—”
“A stepstool,” I finish for him, studying the wooden addition. “Thank you.”
Jake blushes a little, only to end it with a shrug. “I had leftover bits of wood. It was no big deal.”
I study my contractor for a moment. His broad shoulders. His rounded face. Then with a smile that says I tried, but there’s nothing there, I turn and head back into the hall.
“Who framed these?” I run the tips of my fingers across the white, square picture frames surrounding blueprints of what I assume is this very hotel. A series hangs on the wall, a row of six.
“These were the originals,” Jake answers instead. “Three of the original structure, and three of the new. I thought it would be cool to see them side by side, ya know? Plus, what else are you going to do with them? Toss them into the filing cabinet and forget about ‘em?”
“They’re beautiful.” I slide my fingertips along the lines of one of the older drawings. “What is this space?”
“Basement.” He stops at my side—not the one Maximo’s on—and studies the blueprints just as I do. “It’s still there. We haven’t really touched it yet, since you didn’t instruct us either way.”
I nod in acknowledgment. “What’s down there?”
“Nothing much. Mostly just bits and pieces that have been moved over the years; broken down fridges, hot water heaters, and the like. The floor is still dirt, so—”
I let my gaze jump to the side of Jake’s face. “Dirt?”
“Uh-huh. Back in the day, many basements were considered unused space, so having the dirt down there wasn’t a big deal. Lots of folks now are pouring concrete over the dirt and finishing it up, since wasted space is, well, a waste. But for your purposes, you can do whatever you want. The moisture is under control, and there are air vents that were included in the original design, so it’s not stale and rotted down there. The beams are a couple feet thick…” He stops for a moment and snickers. “Whoever designed this place preferred over-engineering than under.”
“What does that mean?” I ask. “To over-engineer?”
“It means the guy preferred to use too much than not enough. The beams were thicker than needed, just in case a freak tornado happened to pass through this town at some point over the following century.”
“Heh.” I fake a snigger and cuddle Maximo closer. “And if it does?”
“Then the Oriane will remain standing—well, the basement, anyway—while the crazy weather phenomenon bulldozes the rest of town. You don’t have to worry about it.”
He steps away from the drawings and continues along the hall. “If you would like concrete poured in the basement, we can pencil you in and get it done. But unless you have plans for down there, my personal opinion is that you don’t need to spend the money right now.”
“Alright.” I appreciate his honesty, I suppose. Better than him taking my cash and running. “We’ll keep it in mind, but not worry about it for now.”
“Good plan.”
He stops at a doorway that should be solid oak soaked in fire-retardant chemicals—as should all the doors, all the walls, any and everything in this hotel that would normally burn in a fire—but this particular door also has rainbow letters fixed to the front.
“These are temporarily stuck on,” Jake exp
lains. “I thought it would be a nice touch, but I didn’t want to assume and mess up your aesthetics.”
“Look, Maximo.” My smile grows wide, my heart racing as I read the name on the door. “It says your name, bello. M. A. X . I . M. O.”
“I’m glad you like them.” Jake waits for us to marvel over the colorful letters. For me to point each one out, to sound the letter out, and then to hope and pray today might be the day my son speaks again.
But he doesn’t, of course. Not even the excitement of a new home is enough to tempt him to speak.
So I maintain my smile, though it’s no longer as wide, no longer as genuine, and look to Jake. “We’re ready to go in.”
He steps forward, making sure to give Maximo a wide berth, and then opening the door, he reveals a bedroom that makes me gasp.
Calcio. Calcio. Calcio.
Which, in this country, I suppose is called soccer.
Green and blue walls, and round rugs that look like soccer balls. A massive, cubed bookshelf lines one wall, with books already stacked inside, and beside those, boxes of LEGO. A selection of hats line the top, and across the room on the bed, a brand-new ball sits just in front of the pillows.
When he squirms to be let down, I place Maximo on his feet and swallow my cry when he dashes across the room to his new palla. He already has one—hell, he already has half a dozen—but this one is shiny and new.
He turns it over and freezes at the scribblings on the opposite side.
“It’s signed by Cristiano Ronaldo,” Jake boasts. “The best soccer player in the world.”
“Do you…” I swipe a hand beneath my eye and study Jake the Builder. “Do you like the game?”
A furious blush fills his cheeks. “No, but that’s what Google told me when I asked.”
“So you just went out and had the guy sign a ball?”
“I ordered it online,” he counters. “It was really quite simple. His people sent the ball, I took it to the gas station down the street and had it inflated—carefully,” he adds. “I didn’t want to rub the autograph off. Now here we are. Your son is happy, and I made my boss happy.”
“You did. Thank you.”
“Do you want to go to the bedroom?”
And the magic is shattered.
“I beg your parden?”
“I mean, do you want to see… Are you ready to… The, uh… main bedroom.” He backs out of my son’s room in a hurry and chokes on his own spit. “I mean to say you haven’t seen—”
“Sure. Let’s continue the tour.” Shaking my head, I look back to Maximo and grin as he hugs the ball to his side and walks the length of the bookshelf to see what treasures hide inside. “Are you coming, Maximo?”
Because Jake has already tossed himself into the hall—and possibly traffic, to battle his furious blush—Maximo shakes his head and makes a soft clicking sound in the back of his throat.
He’s communicating with me. It’s not how most do it, but it works for us, and it’s better than complete indifference.
“Alright. Mommy is going to look at the rest of our apartment. So you wait here, and I’ll come back in a few minutes.”
Again, he makes that sound in his throat, but his eyes remain on the bookshelf.
I step out of the room and study my son, but before I get far, I rush back in again and press a noisy kiss to the top of his moppy hair. It’s midnight-black, like his father’s, and several inches long, because he doesn’t want to sit in a hairdresser’s chair. He doesn’t mind the length, or the fact it gets in his eyes. But he does mind being forced into a situation with strangers, and so, I leave it alone.
“I love you, bello. I won’t go far, I promise. You’ll be able to hear me if you need me. Just listen for my voice, or my heels on the tile.”
He nods and strokes my neck for a single beat, then he’s back with the books, the LEGO, the toys and exciting treasures.
I turn away and meet Jake in the hall. “I’m ready.”
“Okay.” Exhaling, heavy and anxious, he leads me toward the top of the hall, past two more bedrooms. One will be my office, and the other, a spare, or a temporary gym until I come up with a solution otherwise.
“Maybe we should turn the unfinished basement into a gym,” I suggest when Jake places his hand on the final doorhandle.
He stops before opening the door and furrows his brows in thought.
“We have that space,” I continue. “And all upscale hotels have a gym for residents to use while they stay. You said there’s loads of room down there, right? And vents.”
“Old vents,” he hedges. “They’ll probably need to be redone. But still…”
“And extra strong beams to hang things from. And all that space would be as big as the floorplan to my apartment, right?”
He nods. Slowly, thoughtfully. “Pretty much.”
“Lots of wasted area.”
“Very expensive plan for something that won’t make you income,” he counters. “A room to rent makes you income. A ballroom for hire makes you income. A gym that people use for free makes you nothing, unless you consider allowing the general public in and charging them entry. But I assure you, Ms. Mazzi, this town already has some pretty decent gyms. I’m not sure you’d make back your investment.”
“I do not intend to charge entry, nor do I think I would like to open it to the public. This would be a perk for Oriane guests. Plus, I would like to have access to a gym where my son can visit. I can’t join a regular gym and expect to have regular workouts. So my options are limited too. Set it up in the basement, spend the money, and consider it an investment in my own health.” I smile for Jake, and look toward the doorhandle. “Let’s table it for now, but I’d appreciate a quote for the concrete, please. I’ll price some equipment, and then I’ll make my decisions after that.”
“Your call.” He finally opens my bedroom door and steps back to allow me room to enter.
My heart gives a painful one-two thud. My eyes water. And my hands shake. But these are all good emotions. Good nerves.
Because I’m met with a giant, four-poster bed with soft, billowing curtains of white, and at the head, dozens of throw pillows tossed on haphazardly, like whoever did the design tried to come up with a chic way of presenting them, only to eventually give up on life and toss them anywhere before they walked away.
The covers are a soft pink with sharp hues of red and purple, so I imagine if I dragged my new living room rug up here, I’d find they match. The tiles in the hall stop at my bedroom doorway, where plush carpet begins. Not white, but not brown. More of a creamy color that still looks crisp and clean, but will hide imperfections as our home becomes a little more lived-in.
It’s funny that I was obsessively hands-on when it came to the Oriane rebuild—the dishes, the sheets, the silverware, and the light fixtures. But up here in our new home, I simply gave Jake a feel. I gave him a general idea, and this is what he presents.
“It’s so beautiful.” I move forward and trail my fingers over the frame of my new bed—the carvings in the wood match those in my new staircase—and then the curtains that surround it… soft as silk and fantastical in appearance, though not something I will keep.
The glass walls continue all the way along this side of the building, so while Maximo’s room has a standard bedroom window, since he’s on the other side of the hall, my room has an entire wall of them.
“Tinted,” Jake murmurs. “But they also come with block-out shades, so the streetlights outside won’t keep you awake at night.”
He makes his way across my room and stops at a remote on my bedside table. He picks it up, points it at the windows, and then grins when shades emerge from up top and slowly make their way down to plunge my bedroom into darkness.
My heart hammers for a moment, and my palms turn sweaty. But the shades remain down for less than a minute before Jake hits another button and has them lifting once more.
“Dark as midnight,” he gloats. “And they can be set on a timer
so they open at, say, eight o’clock in the morning to wake you up.”
“Eight?” I laugh and step toward a door on the opposite side of my room. “Tell me you have no children, Jake, without telling me you have no children.”
Thoughtful, he sets the remote back in place and studies me with a distinct V between his brows. “Huh?”
“People who have children do not stay in bed until eight in the morning. Some of us don’t even get to stay in bed until six.” I open the door and reveal a walk-in closet. Shelves and racks, shoe storage, and a vanity table. “Ohhhhh. Pretty.”
“Er… okay.” Following me, he waits in the doorway as I walk a lap of my space.
My closet is almost the size of my son’s entire bedroom, and no doubt, my bathroom will be the same. I’m excited to see my jet tub, as I have grand plans to soak in it tonight—once we collect our things from where we’ve been staying since officially arriving in town a couple weeks ago—but I stop a few feet before the door when something catches my eye. An imperfection in the ceiling.
I study the square and tilt my head in an attempt to understand. But I have nothing. No clue. “What’s that?”
Jake smirks, smug and proud. “That’s a surprise, just for you.”
A single, sharp brow slings high in question. “Hmm?”
“And a way to beg forgiveness for stealing a little of your living room space for the foyer.”
“I’m not really one for surprises,” I admit. “So could you tell me now before I overthink it?”
Sniggering, he steps into the room and reaches up. He’s tall enough, he can reach, but even in heels, I wouldn’t be able to. Depending on what I find up here, I’ll either close it up again and never look, or I’ll have Jake add a string so I can grab on.
Flipping a latch and tugging down, Jake pulls a massive square of the ceiling open so I jump back with a surprised squeak. The square is an easy four feet by four feet, and when he drops the latch all the way down, a wooden ladder slides out and slowly descends until it touches my carpet.
“Ladies first?” Jake steps back and gestures toward the darkness. “I’m really excited about this.”
