Harper is two seconds away from throwing her protein shake into her project manager’s flat, doughy face when she feels her phone vibrate in her pocket. She pulls it out to see Kim’s name flash across the screen, and underneath that, a picture of Kim making a truly horrendous expression, taken for this specific purpose. Harper exhales and just manages to keep from laughing. It’s a good reminder that she loves Kim and enjoys being able to pay her rent on time too much to throw any of her chocolate shake at Greg. She needs her job: it pays very well, and she’s been doing this kind of work for too long to find anything else.
           
She takes the call outside the meeting room, with a superfluous smile at everyone who turns to watch her step out. To Kim, she murmurs, “Please tell me this conversation will take longer than two minutes.”
           
“Uh… it might be closer to five?” The smile is distinct in Kim’s voice, which makes Harper’s that much more genuine. “I think I found us a house.”
           
“You think, huh?” Harper really should have expected this. Kim has a knack for finding what she thinks they both need. “Why do you think that?”
           
“Because--” Kim draws the word out, sing-song in her rich voice. There is the hum of a microwave underneath it, meaning she is in the breakroom. Harper can practically see it—Kim leaned up against the counter, heating up one of those god-awful hundred-calorie meals she dedicates her lunches to. “It’s got all the stuff we’re looking for: two-car garage, formal dining room, three bedrooms. And it’s for sale by the owners. They’re asking less than three-hundred thousand.”
           
Harper draws in a deep breath, folding her arms across her stomach and letting it out slow. That is way below their budget. That is also way faster than she thought they would find a house. She tries not to get her hopes up. They hadn’t really started searching in earnest until last month—and by that, she means Kim has done most of the house-hunting. Harper just hasn’t had any time to be of much help.
           
At this point, Kim has taken her to view six houses, and none of them have worked for her. Some of them came close to what she wants, but Harper just can’t see herself living in any of them. Hunter, her younger brother and confidant, mocks her for being so picky about the home she will be living in, but she doesn’t feel comfortable talking to Kim about it, despite believing that house-hunting should be a joint effort. Harper is concerned that she may come off as not being ready to take this next step in their relationship, but she is more than willing—she is so ready to devote the rest of her life to Kim. But, she also wants the perfect home for them, and nothing is measuring up.
           
She keeps thinking back on her childhood home, to the small two-bedroom house that sat near a freeway. There hadn’t been much space for her, Hunter, and their mother, but it had been close to their school and fostered a lot of her memories. It was home from when she was twelve to until she left for college, and after Hunter went into the military. Their mother had done her damnedest to make it a home—Harper and Hunter’s childhood is filled with daily chores and monthly deep cleanings to keep the place spotless and as clutter free as possible. Nothing that Kim has brought Harper to has looked much like her childhood home, and she supposes she could count that as a sign of her personal success that their budget allows her to look at anything better than what her mother had back then.
           
“There’s gotta be something wrong with it.” She almost doesn’t recognize its her voice until Kim replies.
           
“Wow--” she breathes, sounding just this side of amazed. “Are you psychic? I wasn’t aware I was living with a psychic! Think you could predict my future next?”
           
Harper’s mouth trembles as she tries and fails to keep a straight face. “Less than three-hundred thousand for a three-bedroom? There has to be something wrong with it. Where are we, Indiana?”
           
“Well, Dorothy, it sure ain’t Kansas! The open house closes at five.”
           
She doesn’t hesitate this time. “I can be out of here by four.”
 
***
           
They park Kim’s dinky little hatchback at the curb, just a few houses up from where the open house is, and walk hand-in-hand. The neighborhood is picturesque—filled with two-story single-family houses in earth tones and a rainbow of painted doors. This is the kind of neighborhood where the only gangs are of children and teens on colorful bikes who ride late into the evening and hang out on the playground equipment. Their parents would gather on each other’s porches, chuckling softly at inside jokes created during last week’s PTA meeting at the school just down the road.
           
Kim leans over and murmurs in her ear, “Imagine how they’d welcome us to the neighborhood if we moved in.”
           
Harper’s gaze skips over freshly mown lawns and white picket fences. The implied amount of work that would go into upkeep is damn near overwhelming on its own. “If it’s not with a pie, I will be incredibly disappointed.”
           
“I say apple.”
           
“Oh, rhubarb for sure.”
           
A trio of children on bicycles comes careening out of the driveway of a house, momentarily blocking their path. The children are vibrant and loud, and Kim laughs softly as one of them pops a wobbling wheelie for only a few seconds, thudding harmlessly back to the ground. Harper feels the sharp edge of anxiety sluice through her at the phantom pain of skinned knees.

The house they visit is smaller and older than the others, all on one level. It had been painted what might have been a charming light blue, but of which has now faded into a suggestion of the color. Out in front is a good climbing tree. The roots push up through the browning grass, heavy and dark and permanent. Harper looks to Kim and sees the nostalgia flash in her eyes. Kim was the kind of child who relished in climbing trees and sprinting through fields of wildflowers. Harper just sees that it blocks the view from the living room. But the house does have a two-car garage, and even then, the street is wide enough and the house far enough away from the others that they can have multiple people park on the curb and not bother the neighbors.

“I like it.” Kim declares, giving Harper’s hand a squeeze.

Harper cuts her a look from the side, her brow arched. “You say that every time we see one of these.”  

Kim smiles back. “C’mon Harp, you haven’t even been inside yet.”

“Neither have you!” She allows herself to be tugged forward, following Kim up the driveway.

“There were like thirty pictures of the whole house on the listing site. I’ve practically done a virtual tour already.”

They pass another couple, who have the advert in hand, smiles thoughtful as they talk about what they want to paint the dining room, and of course they’ll have to tear up the carpet in the living room—there has got to be some beautiful hardwood floors underneath.

Harper stares after them. “They’re optimistic.”

“For less than three-hundred thousand I would be optimistic too.”

The soft, penny-round face of an elderly woman greets them as they walk through the front door, followed closely by the scent of freshly baked cookies. The Hamiltons, Kim had told Harper earlier over the phone, described themselves as an elderly couple who had finished out their time in the house, and were moving into a newly-constructed condominium in a senior citizen neighborhood in Rhode Island. Mrs. Hamilton is smaller than the two of them, with a white cloud of hair and clear, dark eyes.

She offers the cookies on a large china plate. “Hello dears! My, aren’t you a cute couple!”

“We try,” Kim jokes, and Mrs. Hamilton tips her head back, peals of laughter ringing through the air.

Kim grabs them two cookies as Mrs. Hamilton begins to babble about her home, heading immediately into the living room. “Walter—my husband—knows more about the specifics of it all better than I do, but he had to step out today so it’s just me. It’s a little older than the other houses, with it’s fair share of quirks, but we’re perfectly willing to get those fixed up and tidy if you’re willing to go a little higher on the price. Over the years, we’ve added a lot of storage—I just couldn’t function without organized closets and pantries.”

Upon viewing the living room for the first time, Harper feels her anxiety skyrocket. There are picture frames everywhere—on the coffee table, sitting in bookshelves, lining the walls—featuring the smiling faces of people with names that Harper can’t even begin to guess at. A tight, uncomfortable feeling spreads from her head to her chest, and she is reluctant to move further into the room. While Kim and Mrs. Hamilton talk, Harper maneuvers around furniture with light steps, weaving between the paisley fabric sofa and a mismatched end table to look at a vase of dried flowers. Beside it sits a round silver frame of the Hamilton family in black-and-white, their smiles genuine. She feels like an intruder—like there won’t ever be enough room for her here.  

It takes her a long time to turn her gaze away from the picture, looking to Kim’s lean back as she and Mrs. Hamilton head toward the kitchen. She clenches her hands into fists, breathes through her nose, and smells the cookies. But underneath that is something unfamiliar and just a little unsettling. What she is smelling right now, isn’t something she would know about, but there’s a whole group of people—people who don’t know her—that would recognize this scent for what it is.
“It’s nice; cozy, even. What do you think, Harp?”

Kim’s voice punches through her frantic thoughts and Harper focuses on her, blinking slowly. Kim’s smile widens as Harper glances around the room once more, tries to block out the sudden anxiety coloring her gaze. All she can think about are the dozens of eyes pointed at her from every picture frame she notices. She isn’t even remotely comfortable, but offers agreement anyway. She’s scared Kim will think she isn’t trying. It’s hard—wandering around someone else’s home, trying to fit herself into the crevices of another’s space—but Harper can’t ignore the everything of it all. Mrs. Hamilton leads them back to the dainty kitchen and Harper slips her hand back into Kim’s.

“Oh, God,” she murmurs, and stops at the threshold.

Kim laughs, but doesn’t move any further until Harper is over her initial shock. “It isn’t that bad, Harp!”

The bright yellow of the kitchen walls is damn near blinding. The awful, abrasive shade should have been considered offensive. It’s clear that someone had been aiming for some sort of country-kitchen aesthetic, and went just north of it. But apparently that means roosters everywhere. Harper eyes a ceramic cookie jar like it might rear to life and peck at her arm as Kim and Mrs. Hamilton talk about how much storage there is, especially with the addition of the pantry. In this very kitchen, the Hamiltons have hosted a large number of friendly get-togethers, oversized birthday parties, and crowded family reunions.

Harper finds herself standing in front of the gas stove, adjacent to the double sink. The poor thing looks to be on its last legs, the dingy white surface gleaming from a recent cleaning. A crack runs down the center of the stovetop, thin and barely noticeable. Harper presses the tip of her finger on it and traces its length, wondering what it takes to create such a sizeable crack, to render it with such a permanent scar.

Kim presses a hand to the small of her back, bright-eyed and optimistic. “Imagine being able to cook for Poker Nights instead of ordering out!”

Harper levels a look at Kim, pulling her hand away from the crack. “Who’s gon’ cook?”

“Don’t say that! You cook!” Kim laughs, and it’s a breezy little thing that makes Harper think she really can cook. She can’t of course, Kim is just nice like that, but Mrs. Hamilton’s gaze is too fond for Harper to say so.

The dining room is next, just through an archway on the other side of the kitchen. There is a view of the patio and backyard through a sliding glass door, and the walls are covered in a dated floral paper. The wood floor has scuffs from years of scraping chairs. A mysterious dark stain peeks out from beneath the oversized frame of a painting. Pulling away from Kim, caught up in conversation with Mrs. Hamilton, Harper goes to stand before the painting. The stain isn’t very noticeable, but it tugs at her. This space is lived in and well-used. It’s big enough for a family, for meal times to be pleasant and conversation to flow slowly. This is a place that Harper has never been before, but where a whole slew of people have sat and ate and laughed and lived. The tight feeling from before returns—what could make a stain this large? When did it happen? There’s a story there, an inside joke between the people who sat around the dining room table then. It’s a story she won’t ever know about, and will erase with her presence if she stays here.  

“The wallpaper can be taken down, Harp.”

Kim’s fingers are warm and dry when they wrap back around hers, and it feels like she can take a deep breath again—though the tightness doesn’t dissipate. Harper nods slowly, looking up at the smile that greets her. She tries to return it, to flash her teeth in acknowledgement and encouragement that this is going a lot better than it actually is, but she doesn’t think it works. Kim doesn’t say anything, turning away as Mrs. Hamilton leads them on.

On the other side of the house are the bedrooms and bathroom. The Hamiltons’ have stuffed the rooms with their entire lives—the beds covered in handmade quilts, thick black lines on doorways marking someone’s height, a gallery of family portraits lining the walls of the hallway. One of the children’s bedrooms is painted such a intense shade of pink it makes Harper see dots in her vision, and Kim jokes that it could be the home office. The master bedroom’s en suite is only big enough for a vanity sink, toilet and shower, but the bedroom itself does have glossy wood floors and a view of the backyard that Kim stares out at for a long time.

Harper can’t help but think of it all—the pictures, the stains, the scratches, the marks—as cobwebs, clinging to her hair and dusting across her face. She stops herself from swiping at her cheeks because of the phantom feeling. Kim doesn’t let go of her hand.

“We want to take as little furniture as possible to the condo—there isn’t enough space for everything.” Mrs. Hamilton waddles up the hall, Kim and Harper behind her. “Walter wanted to buy all new stuff, get rid of we have here, but the kids fought him tooth and nail over it. They were awfully sentimental about the whole ordeal.”

“Isn’t this… their childhood home?”

Harper pauses as Kim squeezes her hand. She finds her voice again, and manages in a stronger tone, “I’m sure you’ve got memories here that you don’t want to leave.”

Mrs. Hamilton smiles, a fond, soft look that catches Harper right in the gut. “Of course we do, that’s what photo albums are for! We’re too old to be worry about what’s behind us!” She turns on her heel. “Now, let me show you where the laundry is—we had it put into the garage, because having it in the kitchen just didn’t feel sanitary…”
 
***
 
“Hey, Hunter.” Harper leans forward on the counter, feels the cold of the granite seep through the fabric of her shirt. Hunter grunts in acknowledgement from his side of the Skype call, gaze focused off screen at whatever he’s messing with—she thinks it’s one of those old-timey alarm clocks but she can’t be sure. “Do you remember the old house?”

He pauses, glancing briefly at the screen over the edge of his glasses. “Why you asking?”

She runs her finger through the ring of water left by her glass, shrugging. “Kim and I went to look at this place a few days ago. It kind of reminded me of home…”

“Musta been a shit place.” He laughs at his own joke, a short crackling sound.

She frowns, the corner of her mouth pulling downward as she watches him. “C’mon, don’t say that. The place we looked at was nice, but I… I just couldn’t see us living there. It didn’t feel like there was enough… space.”

He hums low in his throat. “Like I said—Musta been shit.”

She rolls her eyes, but speaks carefully. “Anyway, it reminded me of home, you know?”

“You gon’ call that piece of shit we lived in home?” He puts down whatever the thing is to look at her full on. Harper finds it kind of intimidating, but doesn’t back down.

“Yeah!” She folds her arms and leans forward, voice low. “I mean, yes, it could have done with a few repairs—”

“A few? Harper, if we didn’t leave when we did, the roof would’ve caved in on us!”

She frowns. “That ain’t true.”

“It was a rotted-out, overpriced, piece of garbage.” Hunter cuts a hand through the air, like he can snap the conversation off right there.

She presses harder, staring him down through the screen. “Okay, fine, it was a little broken down, but it was home, right?”

“Nah, it was a shelter.” He shrugs as she stares at him. “It was a roof over our heads and warm place to sleep at night. I mean, what did Ma do as soon as you and I were gone?” When Harper doesn’t answer immediately, he does it for her, returning his attention back to his own work. “She sold it, and got herself a nice little apartment closer to work. Which was for the best, really.”

Harper scrapes her teeth over her bottom lip, and tears a piece of skin off. The pain is startling, bright against the backdrop of her muddy thoughts. It takes a moment to find something to say, and even when she speaks, it isn’t much. “For the best huh?”

“Yeah. She’s happy now.”

Harper eyes him. “I felt like that had more to do with you finally deciding to get your shit together and do something with your life.”

“Shut up!” A grin stretches over his mouth as he looks away. “I’m glad you didn’t buy a place that reminded you of that shithole. Ain’t nothing good happen there anyway.”

“That’s not true!”

He raises a brow. “Look at your life now and think about how shitty it was back then. Shit, after we got rid of that house, everything started looking real bright and cheery!” He shrugs once more as she tracks back over every major moment in her life since she left for college and moved out her mother’s house—a place that was too small and dark and constantly damp. He’s… not wrong. “Look, you and Kim are happy right now, with what you got, right? Just find something that works with that.”

“That’s what I’m tryna do.” She frowns, watching the hunch of his shoulders. It’s the same words she’s been telling herself since the conversation of not resigning the lease, and going to the bank to get the loan. She just needs to find space. Space enough for her, and Kim, and all the things they could possibly want to do.

“I just want a house of my own,” she sighs, quietly. “Is that too much to ask for?”

Hunter furrows his brow. “You’ll find something, sis. You got plenty of time.”
 
***

Harper feels her stomach tremble, and fights to keep her hands steady as she carries her laptop into the bedroom. In the soft glow of lamplight, Kim looks sleepy and serene, sitting criss-cross in the middle of their queen-sized bed as she braids her hair into two, long tails. It is earlier than their usual bedtime, but since they went to visit the house nearly a week ago, she and Kim have been swamped with projects at work. Harper has already wrapped her hair for the night, with every intention of being asleep soon. She just needs to show Kim this one thing—just to prove that she really does want the same things for their future as Kim does.

She stops in the doorway to the bedroom, and takes a moment to just watch Kim. Lately, she’s been feeling the elasticity of their relationship, how they have known each other for so long and so well, that it isn’t hard for them to snap back to each other, despite being pulled apart. She sometimes has this irrational fear that eventually, Kim will realize Harper isn’t made of rubber—that she is heavy concrete, and she has barely any stretch. But it hasn’t happened yet, and she has to believe that it won’t happen at all.

Kim’s gaze finally lifts and when she spots Harper in the doorway, her smile is slow and gooey. It smothers any anxiety Harper had. “Hey~ Coming to bed?”

“Mmm, yeah, in a sec.” Harper sidles up to the foot of the bed and sets the laptop down, but doesn’t show Kim the screen yet. “I wanted to talk to you about that house we visited. With the Hamiltons.”

Kim arches a brow, her hands dropping into her lap. “Oh? I thought you didn’t like it.”

Harper folds her arms across her abdomen. “I didn’t. I just… I want to know your thoughts about it—the house.”

Kim’s mouth stretches down in the corners and Harper stays quiet as she thinks. Eventually, she says, “Well, I thought it was a little small for what we wanted—Like, it did have a two-car garage and three bedrooms, but those rooms could definitely be bigger. And there were a lot of issues with the house. They did offer to have the more troubling problems fixed, but only if we offered way over asking. Even then, it seemed like we’d be dealing with a lot even after we bought the place.”

Harper nods along. “Those are all things I thought too.”

“You know what they say, great minds think alike.” Harper rolls her eyes as Kim laughs, leaning over the edge of the bed to search for her phone cord. “So, why are you asking me about it now?”

“Well--” Harper drops her gaze to the laptop, and her mouth stretches wide in a grin. The idea had came to her while she was at work, during yet another dull meeting with her project manager. The Hamiltons were moving into a newly built condo, taking only what they needed from their old house. Kim was always watching those television shows about couples who bought disgusting houses and remodeled them for profit. This is definitely on the higher end of their budget, but she is willing to splurge to find a home she and Kim will be happy living in for a very long time. New construction fits a lot of their wants and needs perfectly.

It only took her an hour or so to find something that satisfies her and Kim’s wish list. A remodel—a damn near full-gut if the before-and-after pictures on the realtor’s site are to be believed. The construction took nearly three months to complete, and everything is essentially brand-new. It is a two-story, three-bedroom house, painted a soothing blue-gray with a vibrant red door, a dark roof, and smooth, long driveway leading up to a garage. The pictures of the interior feature a wide-open floor plan, clean ivory walls, and dark laminate floors throughout. The kitchen is all-white, with a colorful backsplash, streaked marble countertops, and stainless-steel appliances. The master’s ensuite has a double-vanity and separate shower and bathtub. There is a beautiful crabapple tree out front, sturdy enough for climbing.

She spins the laptop around, and pushes it across to Kim. There are butterflies in her stomach—she is excited, anticipating Kim’s reaction to what she has done. Kim is always the one who comes to her, who initiates some kind of plan that Harper nearly almost always agrees to. But, it’s Harper’s turn now.

Kim’s eyes are bright and wide as she stares at the screen, clicking through the photos and reading descriptions. “Harp, this is beautiful…”

Harper feels her pulse flutter in her throat, leaning forward on the bed to capture Kim’s attention. She grins when Kim finally looks up. “I think I found us a home.

---