"Jeff! Stop playing Angry Birds on your phone!" Annie scolded in a controlled whisper, trying not to attract the attention of their realtor, who was currently going on about how the windows in the living room were perfect for capturing sunlight.
Jeff sighed, not bothering to correct her and obligingly tucked his phone into his jeans pocket before interrupting the realtor's ramblings. "Hey, do you think you can give us a second? I would like to discuss this over with the ol' ball and chain here," he said, gesturing toward Annie with a wink.
Flustered under the full attention of Jeff's megawatt smile, the realtor clutched her papers to her chest and subconsciously patted her hair. "Yes, yes. Of course. I'll just be in the next room."
Yep, still got it, Jeff thought to himself before turning to his less-than-amused wife. "What's wrong, Annie?"
"This is the eighth house we've gone to, and all you do is keep looking at your phone. Don't you care where we live? Don't you care where our child lives?" She put her hand on the gentle curve of her baby bump.
"Low blow, Annie. Of course I care."
"Well, you're not showing it by being glued to your phone the whole time."
When Jeff and Annie found out they were pregnant, they realized that their one bedroom apartment was simply not going to be big enough for the newest addition. And ever since, they'd been on the hunt for another place to live. Annie had assumed that the man who had once taken so much pride in his handcrafted, Italian bathroom faucets would have a little more enthusiasm in picking out the perfect house. But whenever she'd shove a listing in front of him, he'd simply say, "Nice" or some other generic comment.
Annie continued, "You're supposed to notice how the fourth house didn't have a large enough closet to fit all your clothes in. Or that the sixth one didn't have a kitchen island where we can make dinner with our kids on. Or how the first one didn't have a guestroom for when someone in the study group needs a place to crash. But instead, you're just tapping away on your phone, trying to look all 'cool' like you were in college." Tears started streaming down Annie's face, and she swiped at them angrily. "I'm only crying because of the hormones!"
Jeff gently cupped her face between his large hands, refusing to let her pull away from her and forcing her to gaze upward into his eyes. "Annie…" he started, his tone soothing and understanding, "I've been tapping away on my phone because I'm trying to research the schools and daycare centers in the area. I'm not going to take the realtor's word for it because, let's face it, she'll say anything to sell us a house. And I did notice that fourth house had tiny closets, that the sixth had a cramped kitchen, and the first only has two bedrooms. But it doesn't matter." Annie tried to interrupt, but Jeff placed a finger over her lips to stop her. "It doesn't matter if our kid takes his first steps on hardwood floors or carpet, if we mark his height on white walls or beige, or if we only have room for a trampoline in the backyard or a playground set. The only thing I care about is that we can build memories in any home, Annie. And any place that can house those memories is perfect."
Annie nodded, this time crying because of genuine emotion rather than raging pregnancy hormones, and buried her face into her husband's chest. Jeff pressed a tender kiss upon her head and then tucked her under his chin, holding her close and not caring that her tears would probably stain his shirt.
Yep, he still got it.