

Jordan’s ten years with Colette had been a cacophony of ‘no’s’.
“No, don’t come to bed after ten. It wakes me up and I can’t fall back asleep. Don’t get in my bed without a shower. Don’t get in my bed wet. No naps, either. You know what? The couch is fine for you, isn’t it?”
“No more tattoos. They’re trashy.”
“No, we’re not getting a bigger truck because no, you’re not getting a camper. I don’t want a camper outside my house. That’s trashy.”
“No, I hate that music. I hate that music, too. I just hate music. All music.”
“No, we’re not getting a dog. No, not a cat, either. A chicken? Are you fucking kidding me? Where the hell are we gonna put a goddamn chicken?!?”
“No work clothes in the house. No tools, either. I hate your clothes—you dress like a homeless man.”
“No campfires. Ew, I can smell it on you for days.”
“No kippers in the house. Ew, no kippers at work either. No kippers ever. I can smell them before you even eat them, and it makes me want to vomit.”
So when he came to her with this idea, he had little faith that she would say yes.
The boys were in the living room with a cartoon, and Colette was at the dining room table with her laptop. Jordan sat down.












