Page 31 of Falling Back to You

“The blueprints for the bungalows,” Cyrus said with a straight face.

“This is just a bunch of squares. They’re not even symmetrical.” Cyrus was a big-picture type of guy who hired others to handle the details. And this loose-leaf paper with squares and circles wasn’t going to cut it.

“I agree with Oz,” Edison chimed in. “Where do we even start with this?” He squinted, turning the paper over in his hands in the hopes of making sense of it.

“You guys are the labor. I expect you to know what you’re doing.”

“We can’t do shit without a cohesive plan,” I said. “We can’t just start digging dirt up with no direction.” Normally I was a go-with-the-flow type of guy, but nothing pissed me off more than lack of preparation. I tossed my shovel in the dirt and rubbed my temples. “We need a team meeting. Fifteen minutes. Rally everyone up.” Stalking off to my car, I hoped to draft some alternate bungalow plans to pitch to the group.

Cyrus didn’t know shit about construction. He thought this shit would be easy as pie because he wasn’t gonna be doing much of the work. When he’d asked me to go in on this, I was mostly sold on the vibes—a chance to hang out with my best friend, get my hands dirty, and maybe convince Dial to fall back in love with me. But the reality was that Cy was less hands-on, Dial was avoiding me, and, based on the crude drawing Cyrus was offering as a design, my hands would never touch dirt.

In the kitchen I found the team gathered as requested. Dial hung off to the side behind the rest of the group. When I arrived this morning with donuts, she’d grunted a hello, and had been busy in the house ever since. I liked it better when she was bitching me out, because this silent treatment did a number on my brain.

Placing my sketch on the kitchen counter next to Cyrus’s elementary drawing, I said, “We’re taking a vote. Which plan do you like best for the guest bungalows? One is Cy’s, the other is mine. What we choose will be final.”

Fancy raised her hand. “Can I abstain?”

“No, we are all investors, so we each get a say.”

Cyrus immediately pointed to his plan, so if there was any doubt which one was his, it was now clear as two-paned glass. Fancy tapped mine. As expected, I selected mine, which anyone with sense could tell was the better layout of the two. Edison surveyed the room and picked Cy’s, not because he thought it was the best but because he assumed I already had Dial’s vote on lock.

The eyes in the room shifted to Dial. I prepared myself for her to cast a vote for Cyrus on account of preferring not to agree with me, but to my surprise, she offered up a compliment.

“Ozzie knows this stuff better than all of us. We should go with his plan. Because if we go with yours”—she shot a glance at Cy—“we’ll just have to dig it all up and implement Ozzie’s ideas in the end.”

I placed my hand over my heart. “Thank you. I know it pained you to verbalize that.”

“When have I ever been scared to tell the truth? Just because you were right on this one little thing, don’t think us being of the same mind is gonna be a habit.”

“I wouldn’t dare. I know no one can tell Dial Birch what to do.”

“Because I know what’s best for me,” she snapped.

Our bickering ran much deeper than some stupid plans. Dial was right: there was still so much left unspoken between us. Instead of having a genuine conversation, we’d just snipe at each other. At times it felt like foreplay. I’d tease her and she’d set me straight. But the harsh words were just fuel burning the bridge that separated us.

“Nope, it’s because you’re stubborn and you hate admitting when you’re wrong,” I said.

“Because I very rarely am.”

“You were wrong about me,” Fancy said.

“Was I?” Dial playfully tossed a balled-up piece of paper at her.

Cyrus pushed out an audible huff. “You fuckers cheated.”

“This vote was on the up-and-up. You’re just a sore loser,” I teased

“We all know you two communicate telepathically.” Cyrus fervently pointed toward me and Dial.

“No, we don’t,” Dial and I said in unison.

When the five of us were together, it was like we were kids again, squabbling over who moved after Red Light, Green Light. It was always Fancy because she could never keep still. The fact we were now adults attempting to manage a renovation usually requiring a twelve-man crew was laughable.

“Your plans sucked, Cy—get over it,” Dial said.

Cyrus tossed his hands in the air. “Maybe you’re right. We should just go ahead and make Ozzie the project manager, since he’s the expert at every damn thing.”

Dial flashed a knowing look in my direction before exiting the kitchen with a chuckle.