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Home Improvements
Ben came into the kitchen with a box under his arm. “This was on the porch.”
Lucy opened it on the counter. A card sat on top.
Dear Matt,
For the kitchen—love, Paula
Left-handed knives and a vegetable peeler. A jar opener with a weighted grip. A cutting board with rubber feet and a corner clamp. All wrapped like birthday gifts.
She tested the cutting board on the counter. It didn’t slip.
Danny picked up the card. “This is from my mom?”
“Yep.”
“Did you put her up to this?”
“I called her when they were putting the kitchen together. She handled the rest.”
“Tissue paper and everything. She was having fun.”
Lucy put the jar opener in the cabinet beside the stove, within arm’s reach of the lower counter. The peeler went in the drawer next to the sink.
“If I buy these, they sit in a drawer. If they’re from your mother, he’ll use them tomorrow. I get my sanity, Matt gets a box of kitchen gifts from his aunt. Everybody’s happy.”
“Smart,” Ben said.
“I married a Hartfield. You learn.”
“Speaking of Hartfields,” Danny said, “He’s going to lose his mind when he finds out I rearranged his spice rack.”
“You rearranged it by height. He had it alphabetical.”
“Alphabetical is psychotic. Who looks for cumin under C?”
“Matt does.”
“Matt’s wrong.”
“I’d pay money to watch that argument,” Ben said.
“You’ll get it for free in two weeks. Also. I have to give back his car.”
“Tragic,” Lucy said.
“It’s been two years. That’s basically common law.”
“That’s not how cars work.”
“It should be. I kept it running. I changed the oil. I fixed that weird rattle in the dash.”
“The rattle Matt specifically told you not to touch?”
“I improved it. The rattle’s gone and now the AC makes a clicking noise. Net positive.”
“You broke his AC,” Ben said.
“I relocated the problem. That’s engineering.”
“He’s going to check the car before he checks the house,” Lucy said.
“He’s going to check the car before he says hello,” Ben said.
“The car runs great. And if he finds the AC thing, I’ll just tell him it was like that when I got it.”
“You mean when he finds out,” she said.
Upstairs, Lucy worked through Matt’s side of the closet. Ben and Danny hauled what she gave them downstairs.
His old pants went into a separate bag. None of them fit anymore.
“Think he’ll come up here much?” Danny said.
“Not without the stair lift he won’t install.”
“He turned it down again?” Ben said.
“The OT brought it up last week. Matt told them the stairs were fine.”
“On crutches?” Danny said.
“On spite.” Lucy pulled a jacket off its hanger. “He’d rather crawl up here than install something useful.”
“He won’t crawl,” Ben said.
“Not with that shoulder.” She pointed at the top shelf. “Ben, can you deal with those? I so want to throw them out but he made me promise.”
“His taste, his problem.”
Ben reached up and pulled the stack down. Danny held a duffel open.
Halfway through the pile, Ben stopped.
He was holding a hoodie. Old, faded. Dark blue, the firehouse crest cracked and barely legible.
Lucy recognized it. She’d washed it enough times, back when Ben was at their place three nights a week, leaving his stuff around.
Ben’s hoodie. Left behind years ago.
Matt kept it.
She watched Ben for a second. “You taking it back?”
Ben didn’t answer right away. He turned it over once more, then folded it and put it in the bag.
“Nah,” he said. “It’s his now.”
Lucy hung the button-downs in the new closet, spacing them the way Matt kept them. Jeans on the middle shelf. Hoodies on top.
Ben’s old hoodie went in with the rest.
The closet was stocked. The bed was made. The sliding doors worked. The bathroom opened straight through without a threshold.
Just an ordinary room now. Their new bedroom.
She sat on the edge of their bed. Matt’s side was still empty.
Two years.
She was ready for him to be home.
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