Page 18 of You've Got Hate Mail
“There are noends of this dealin this house. We help each other in all ways that we’re able, and we’re able to help watch Lav so you can do what you need to do—on- and off-property.”
She’s said it a hundred times if she’s said it once, especially while I was dealing with all of the legal bullshit my in-laws threw at me after Ava died.
But I still don’t like handing over my responsibilities to other people.
And Lav’s a big responsibility that I feel like I’m fucking up half the time and that I’m raising in ways that my wife wouldn’t have approved of the other half of the time.
Laughter spills out from the house.
Ginny and a late-middle-aged woman that I haven’t met, which means she must be Elizabeth, are with Lav. They’re on the floor and leaning over the square coffee table in the middle of the sitting room. Likely drawing or coloring. Arts and crafts are the only low-key activities that Lav will sit still for. Usually she’s a bundle of chaotic energy, running here and there and being impossible to keep up with.
Beyond the sitting room, I spot Cricket in the hallway, holding a mug and staring at the wall that the ladies affectionately callthe wall of shame.
All of the past residents who have come and gone here, whether they stayed for a night or for months, because of their own moments of internet virality.
I twitch.
What Mabel and Pip do here is good, and I generally don’t have opinions about the residents, but I don’t like Cricket.
Not because she punched me. I get it. Dude walking into your bathroom when you think you’re alone?
Yeah.
I give a lot of grace for any reaction to that, and I know it wasn’t her fault I wasn’t told she’d be there, just like it wasn’t my fault I walked in on her.
Bedroom was fully made up, no luggage or other obvious signs of occupancy.
It’s not uncommon for Pip to forget to turn off the bathroom fan after she uses the cottage, so even hearing that motor running didn’t feel out of place.
But Cricket has this—this—thisvibe.
And I don’t like it.
I look back at Mabel and find her watching me.
She’s dropped her hand and is sipping her wine, not giving anything away behind her glasses.
Never a good sign.
“What?” I say on a sigh.
“There’s another consideration that might make you feel better about us watching Lav.”
I dislike this even more than I initially did. “Go on.”
“That spare bedroom I use for work?”
“Yeah?” She’s a costume designer and sells custom creations to select clientele, and that’s all I’ll say about that.
“I moved my projects to the attic.”
That has my attention. “You closing up shop?”
“No. We needed my usual workspace for a bedroom when Elizabeth arrived.”
I do quick math.
Six bedrooms total, which includes the one Mabel generally uses for her sewing machine and worktable and her fabrics.
