“That’s the gist of it,” I say. “He’s, uh, never quite gotten his life back together.”
Margot’s eyes hold mine for a fleeting moment then she looks back down at the chair. Her voice is soft when she speaks. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s alright,” I mutter.
Thankfully, she doesn’t press for more information.
Once we’re done with the dining set, we move onto the kitchen then the living room then Sophia’s room. Margot seems determined to make Sophia’s room perfect. She spends a little extra time smoothing out the bedding and fluffing the curtains.
“Your niece is going to love this room,” Margot says, propping the little stuffed penguin up against the pillow.
“I hope so.”
Margot flashes a reassuring smile and looks around. “So, what’s next?”
“All that’s left is the master bedroom.”
Admittedly, this part feels a little weird. I harbor zero feelings towards Rachel, good or bad. We’ve been out of touch for two years now. If anything, we feel like strangers. But setting up her bedroom is a stark reminder of the fact that we are not, in fact, strangers. She’s my ex-wife. It was a strange situation that got us into that mess, and here we are, in yet another strange situation.
Luckily, Margot provides a welcome distraction, giving me a play-by-play of the messages she’s received since I updated her dating profile. It takes us another two hours to build the dresser, nightstand, and bed. Once we’re finished, we place the mattress on top, and Margot wanders out of the room.
She pops her head back in a minute later and asks, “Where’s the bedding for this room? All I found are a couple of pillows.”
“I didn’t buy any bedding.”
Saying it out loud makes me feel like an asshole. So does looking around the room and seeing how incomplete it is, especially compared to Sophia’s room.
I scratch the five o’clock shadow on my cheek, asking, “Should I have? Bought bedding and stuff for her, I mean.”
Margot looks around then back at me. “I’m sure she’d like to pick out her own stuff. I think it’s fine.”
Still pondering, I nod. Margot’s probably right. She usually is.
Crossing the room, she tosses the pillows on the bed, kicks off her shoes, and plops down onto the mattress.
“What time is it?” she asks.
I glance at my phone. “Three-thirty. Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you up so late.”
“It’s okay, I needed the distraction after that shitty date. I’ll head home in a minute.” Her eyelids close in a slow, sleepy blink.
“Margot, it’s late and you’re tired. Just crash here tonight. You can have the bed, and I’ll take the couch.”
A quiet “okay” drifts past her lips and her eyes close again. I just said I’d sleep on the couch, but that means clearing a path of boxes and debris first. I’ll do it in a minute, I decide, sliding onto the bed beside Margot. She shifts a little, making sure I have room. More accurately, she makes sure there’s a large swath of space between us.
Exhaustion hits hard as soon as my head touches the pillow. I could easily fall asleep right here.
Margot seems to have beaten me to the punch though. I’m certain she’s drifted off until she randomly says, “My old math teacher messaged me on Sip.”
I glance over at her. Her eyes are still closed, but there’s a hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. A strand of dark hair rests over her glasses, and I get a weird impulse to brush it away.
“That’s awkward,” I say instead.
“He was just saying hello and asking what I was doing these days. I don’t think he was trying to hit on me or anything. Sadly, that was the most pleasant conversation I’ve had so far on that app.”
“Do me a favor and don’t date your old math teacher, okay?”
Margot laughs, sending a little ripple through the mattress. She rolls her head to the side and opens her eyes to look at me.