Making Things Work

Flash Fiction

Making Things Work

“It isn’t going to work.”

This came upon us early in our marriage. John and I got married in our early twenties. He lived with his mother in the house his father built. His father had passed away when he was quite young.

His mother was a twin! His mother and her sister spent a lot of time together; she lived down south, us in Massachusetts. John and I started our life together in a small apartment (of sorts) over my parent’s garage three towns away.

Well, her sister’s husband passed away a year after John and I married. And now, the twins wanted to be together. The Massachusetts house in summer, and the South Carolina house in winter. Consequently, we started using the apartment in the summer and John’s mother’s house in the winter.

The “It isn’t going to work,” came from John. We both worked, me very close to both houses, him forty minutes to his job from our apartment, longer from his mother’s house… which was now our winter house.

We made it through the first two years of double homes, and really, it did work. Yes, John had a longer drive to and from, but he suddenly found the drive a great time to make plans, solve problems, everything needing brain work suddenly became easier. And it got him a lovely promotion!

The third year was rough. His mother passed away. One of the last things she said to me was “Take care of my boy.” I promised I would. We started staying in the house his father built all year long. And a year later we found ourselves waiting for our first child to be born. When she finally came, we named her after his mother.

She has never forgiven us for naming her Gertrude…