Page 13 of Rock Paper Scissors
It revealed a small velvet box—the kind that might containjewelry—and was turquoise; my favorite color. I think I was half expecting earrings, but when I opened the lid, I found a key.
“If you could live in any house on this street, which one would you choose?” you asked.
I stared up at the old, detached, double-fronted Victorian house we were standing outside. Its redbrick walls were overgrown with what looked like a mix of wisteria branches and ivy. Some of the glass in the bay windows was smashed, others were boarded up. It was the definition of a fixer-upper—broken but beautiful—and I couldn’t help noticing theSOLDsign outside.
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“Almost always.”
I felt like a kid who had been given the key to a chocolate factory.
The front door was the same turquoise color as the velvet box and had been recently painted, unlike any other part of the building. When the key opened the door, I cried—I couldn’t believe that we owned an actual house, having struggled to pay the rent for ashittytiny studio flat for so long.
The scene inside was just as derelict as the view from the street. The whole place smelled of damp, there were missing floorboards, peeling wallpaper, and ancient fixtures and fittings covered in dust and cobwebs. Loose wires hung from holes in the ceiling where I presumed lights must once have been, and there was graffiti on some of the walls. But I was already in love. I wandered around the large, bright rooms, all of which were empty but filled with possibilities and potential.
“Did you decorate it yourself?” I asked and you laughed.
“No, I thought maybe you could. I know it needs a bit of work—”
“A bit?”
“But we never would have been able to afford it otherwise.”
“I love it.”
“Do you?” you asked.
“Yes. All I got you was a pair of socks.”
“Well, that’s ruined the surprise…”
“At least my gift was made of cotton.”
“Which year is bricks? We could wait until then…”
My anxiety rose to the surface and spoiled our fun. “Can we really afford it?”
You smiled to cover yourliehesitation, but I still saw it. You’ve always liked to measure out your answers before giving them, never offering too much or too little.
“Yes, it’s been a very good year. I’ve been a bit too busy to enjoy it, but I think it’s time we started living the life we always dreamed of. Don’t you? I thought we could take our time renovating… do some of the work ourselves. Turn it into our very own growlery and make this our forever home.” I made a mental note to look up the word “growlery.” “If you think the ground floor is good, you should see upstairs,” you said.
My hands felt their way up the old wooden banister, and my feet were cautious—careful not to twist an ankle on any of the broken steps in the gloom. There were more cobwebs, dust, and dirt covering almost every surface, but I could already see how beautiful things might be one day. And I’ve never been scared of hard work.
I followed you along the landing, until we reached a large bedroom. I gasped out loud when I saw the beautifully made-up bed—it was the only furniture in the house—and there was a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket on the floor.
“The sheets are a hundred percent Egyptian cotton. See, I didn’t forget. Happy anniversary, Mrs. Wright,” you said, wrapping your arms around me.
“What about the other bedrooms?” I asked.
“Well, I think we should get to work on filling them, don’t you?”
We’ve been here for three days, only leaving to go for walks and to get food. Thank you for a wonderful weekend, a very happy anniversary, and for being the love of my life. I plan to spend all my spare time renovating this house and decorating every room until it’s the forever home we both dreamed of. It’s hard to imagine feeling luckier than I do right now.
All my love,
Your wife
xx
