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We direct them where to go, and it’s mostly boxes. I didn’t move into Sam’s with a ton of stuff since she was already mostly furnished, and any furniture I had in storage is being moved into Lincoln’s garage for the time being.
He takes the box up to Jonah’s room, and I glance around at what he did to it without telling me.
“Are you serious?” I say, and I walk in. “This is amazing!” The room is now outfitted with a bunk bed, and the top bunk has a Minions bedding set while the bottom bunk has Minecraft. The room is decked out in a combination of both the yellow creatures and green creepers, and Jonah is going to flip when he sees this place.
I mean, just the bunk will be enough to keep him happy a while…as if that bottom bunk is ever going to get used.
We head to our room, too—which just so happens to be clear across the house from Jonah’s, for his privacy. Or ours. Whatever.
And I can’t believe that this is mine.
I’ve been up here. I’ve even slept in this bed.
But at Sam’s place, I always felt like a guest. It was home for a few months, and she was more than welcoming, but this feels different.
This feels like forever.
At least…I hope it’ll be forever.
He takes me downstairs to his office, and the room across from it has been transformed into a recording studio for our podcast. And then he takes me to the room next to the recording studio that formerly housed a treadmill and some weights but is now sitting empty.
“What’s this for?” I ask.
“It’s your office. I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I present to you this blank canvas.”
Tears brim in my eyes. “That’s so sweet.” But it also pulses a revelation inside me.
For the first time in my life…I’m unemployed.
I have the podcast, but there aren’t any guarantees that we’ll be able to successfully monetize it in the way I’m envisioning. I still want to give money to charity through what we’re doing, and I want that to always be the focus. But I need to pay myself, too. I have a son to take care of, and soon another baby…
“I can tell what you’re thinking,” he says softly.
“What am I thinking?”
“That you’re not sure what you want to do with it because you’re not sure what you want to do.”
I nod as he calls me out. “Exactly. I want to interview players and go to games and try local restaurants and all that, but I also still need a paycheck.”
He looks a little uncomfortable for a beat, and then he asks. “Do you?”
My brows dip.
“Look, Jo. What’s mine is yours, okay? Now and forever. All of it.”
“I’m not going to just mooch off you,” I protest.
“That’s not what I’m suggesting. I’m saying what’s mine is yours.”
I purse my lips. I don’t really see that big a difference between what he’s saying and what I’m saying. “I want to feel like I’m contributing. It’s important to me.”
“Then you draw a paycheck from the podcast. Simple as that.” He shrugs.
“But then that’s less for charity,” I point out. I realize I can’t have it both ways.
“Then we set it up when we monetize it so certain sponsors are yours and the rest go to charity. We’ll figure it out, okay? It’s not something I want you to have to worry about ever again.”
I’m not sure what it’ll look like. I blow out a breath.
