“I’m not going,” he said.
I thought about every fake emergency Vanessa had invented to borrow my husband.
“Actually,” I said, “I think you should go.”
He looked confused.
“Trust me.”
The next afternoon, Irvin went to the barbecue alone.
Thirty minutes later, I arrived carrying a large gift box.
Vanessa looked annoyed.
“What are you doing here?”
“I brought you a gift.”
Inside were a hammer, screwdrivers, batteries, lightbulbs, a jar opener, a home-repair manual, and a list of local handymen.
“Now you don’t need my husband every time something breaks.”
The neighbors laughed nervously.
Vanessa tried to brush it off.
“I was joking.”
“No, you weren’t. You sat
in my kitchen and told me you planned to take my husband.”
The laughter stopped.
Irvin walked over and put his arm around me.
“Claire’s right. Stop calling me for things around your house.”
We went home.
I thought that was the end.
It wasn’t.
Soon, complaints began appearing. Then an official letter arrived saying my home bakery had to stop operating because the converted garage had never received final approval for commercial use.
