THE HOUSE ON THE HILL | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER
You and your husband are house hunting together! :) It sucks! :)
Word Count: 3.2k
Warning/Includes: Husband!Matthew, Dad!Matthew, HusbandYouCan’tStopBickeringWith!Matthew all with a happy ending.
Inflection points are real. When you open one of those cheesy books like Before You Tie the Knot and What to Expect When You’re Expecting, they all mention it. Cohabitation and marriage and children, they’re decisions in your life that take you down a completely different direction from which there is no coming back. And on top of this insurmountable and self-inflicted change is the subtle implication that these are the last decisions you will ever make on your own. Which…sucks, which is different, which takes some adjusting, but it’s never been this hard. It has never been so hard for you and Matthew to band together, put your pride aside, and work as a team to make everybody happy. But this isn’t about something small like marriage or children. This is about a house.
This is serious.
When Matthew said that he was willing to pack up everything and move from California to your home state, you were so happy that you could’ve vomited. Your entire body vibrated with excitement and gratitude and peace. You tore his clothes off right then and there, you were so happy. You were so happy that you were going home and that your daughter would grow up riding down the same streets, that she would never know what LA traffic was like and even more so happy that Matthew didn’t suggest Vegas. You love him, you hate the desert.
And it is with this excitement that you crawled into bed that same night and started scrolling on Zillow. Nuzzled into Matthew’s side, giggling, giddy. Your eyes landed on a house and you clicked it, asking, “What about this one?”
And at the same time, you exclaim, “It’s so cute!” Matthew scrunches his face, saying, “It’s terrible.”
You turn to look at each other, very slowly, making eye contact with just the tiniest bit of fear. But, that was just the first house. You both assumed that it would get easier. That there would be some homes you could heart and save for later. But that never happened.
It just got harder.
Because for whatever reason, four walls isn’t enough for Matthew. No, it’s got to be just like his little lodge with all the nooks and crannies and secret trap doors and stupid spiral stairs that you have slipped on at least three times in the past month. It’s not that you don’t love it here but it is abundantly clear that Bachelor Matthew bought this and it is perfect for Bachelor Matthew, maybe Married Matthew and his Married Wife, but now there’s toys everywhere and a play pen that takes up the entire living room and you do not find it as charming as when you first visited. Nor do you want another house just like it.
You like victorian houses. You like the creepy attics and the creaky floors, stained glass windows and narrow, wooden stairs. You find one on Zillow and you’re so excited to show Matthew, but instead of smiling or hell, even just pretending to show interest, he taps the screen and scoffs, “Four bedrooms?”
And you nearly slap him across the head but married people aren’t supposed to do that. So instead you suck in a slow breath and exhale, “Yes…four bedrooms. What’s wrong with that?”
“So, our room, Rory’s room, guest room and room for…what, one other kid?”
“Who…who is the other kid?”
“Our other kid. Our other kids. Where are they gonna sleep?”
You stutter, shake your head to rescramble your brain, “How many kids are you trying to have, Matthew?”
“Well, I was raised mormon so anywhere between ten to twenty is ideal,” he smirks.
“You being funny? You trying to be funny right now?”
“At least with five bedrooms, we could throw in bunk beds.”
You turn to leave and Matthew grabs your hand, pulling you back into him, “Wait, wait, wait, okay, okay, okay. I think…five bedrooms. Minimum.”
“Oh, are you sure that will be enough for our multiple litters?”
“[y/n],” he laughs.
“Matthew, this house is gorgeous. It’s old and well kept. It’s in a great area, the primary bedroom is stunning, they already have a nursery staged, and you haven’t bothered to look because…because, what? Because we might have ten million children? I mean, we won’t. But what the fuck?”
“It’s not speaking to me. We agreed the house should speak to both of us.”
“Oh, okay, well, let me translate. This house is saying…” you pick up your phone and wave it in his face, “Good luck with those other kids, Matthew. I wonder who you’ll have them with.”
“Oh, that’s funny,” he says as you storm off. “That’s hilarious.”
When he approaches later with a house of his own to show you, you’re patting Rory to sleep on your chest and it kind of annoys you when she wakes up to the sound of Matthew’s voice.
“Look at this one, babe,” he takes a seat beside you. “Five beds, five and a half baths, look,” and you sit quiet, let him scroll through, a subtle nod to the patience he lacks. But, still, quiet, your face says it all and he asks, “Why are you making that face?”
“It’s…” you glance at him. “Boring…”
“What? Boring? It looks like a castle.”
“On the outside…the inside is completely modern. And where…” you tap the screen, “Is it? Oh, no, I don’t want to live at the country club. My daughter will not get mowed down in the street because she was on the back of some corporate heir’s golf cart.”
Matthew tilts his head at you, his jaw dropped in genuine confusion.
“It happens!” you whisper.
“Babe…”
“It’s not speaking to me, Matthew, I’m sorry? What about you, Rory, huh? Is it speaking to you?” And your baby girl babbles, smiling, reaching out for Matthew and it makes him forget that you’re insane for a little bit. “I don’t think it’s speaking to her.”
Matthew takes her into his arms and holds her close, her head instantly falling on his shoulder. “This is about that tiny victorian house, isn’t it?” he asks you.
“Well…” you stand up. “It certainly wasn’t boring…not like you would know.”
“Okay, yeah, that’s fair…” he nods. “So…you do? Like this house, or…no?”
You roll your eyes and walk off, turning the baby’s sound machine on as you exit the room.
Immediately mediation is necessary. So the two of you decide to hire a realtor and poor Maci, there’s only so much she can do.
“Do you know what zipcode you’d prefer?”
“I personally love the downtown area or the northwest area?” you chime in. “Near the children’s museums and aquatic centers, y’know?”
Maci glances at Matthew but you’re quick to assure her, “Oh, he doesn’t know where anything is here. He’s western.”
And for some reason, that just sets him off? He furrows his eyebrows at you and says, “Well yeah…but I’ve been here plenty of times before.”
“Oh? You’ve visited? Did you grow up here?” you tilt your head at him. “Oh? No? Okay.”
Poor Maci, it was so uncomfortable. At this point, it’s her and Rory looking at each other to cut the tension. And she jots down all these must haves that the two of you fire at rapid speed. Like, for Matthew, it’s a three car garage and at this, you mutter, “Jesus…”
And he goes, “What could possibly be wrong with a three car garage?”
“Nothing! Nothing! We just…only have two, but whatever,” you shrug.
Like, you’d prefer an all brick house and at this Matthew scoffs.
“Oh, you want the wind to blow it down?” you snip.
“Ah yes, the only possible housing options…brick, plastic and straw.”
“There’s nothing wrong with an all brick house. It looks better.”
“So you say.”
“So it is,” you snap, tilt your head at him.
“I’m gonna take Rory outside for a bit,” he stands from his chair.
“Oh, good. Try to find a third car while you’re out there,” and the door shuts behind him.
Maci lets out a tense breath and you smile shyly at her, “So…yeah, brick. Let’s go with brick.”
By the time you get back to your hotel, Rory’s tired and full enough to fall right asleep in her pack and play and it’s perfectly quiet because Matthew hasn’t said a word to you.
“So,” you grumble. “You’re just…not gonna talk to me…forever? You don’t like me anymore?”
“You embarrassed the hell out of me in front of that lady.”
“Ditto.”
“Okay, well, I need you to be okay with me disagreeing with you sometimes. It doesn’t mean I don’t like you. I love you!”
And he says this with so much conviction that you feel your guard drop. “You love me?”
His face softens, “Yes…c’mon. Be serious. I love you more than anything. You’re just…ugh,” he pushes his hair back. “Easy to disagree with.”
Guard: back up. “Easy to disagree with?” you repeat after him, ennuciating every word. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like,” he shrugs. “Exactly that.”
You stand there dumbfounded for a moment and can’t even look directly at him as you say, “Yeah, don’t talk to me anymore.”
He gives you the most passive aggressive thumbs up to ever exist, “Sounds good.”
You take a nice, long, long shower and when you come out of the bathroom, Matthew and Rory are watching Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood on the TV. They give you the exact same look when their heads whip around, definitely related, definitely happy to see you. Her tiny hands reach out for you and Matthew, with his face neutral, lifts the blanket to let you in. You crawl into bed and land in the crook of his arm because that’s your spot. Your head falls on his chest and it’s okay because, technically, he’s not speaking to you.
Maci lines up exactly five houses for you to tour on your next visit. She figures, surely, one must be a common ground. Out of them all, the right one must be there.
Poor Maci.
Two zipcodes. Brick. Plaster. Grand great rooms. Kitchen islands, sometimes two. Libraries. Bay windows. Basements. Each house sings its own special song. Some, you hear clear as day, calling you home. They speak to you. They don’t speak to your husband. Unfortunately, that matters.
In the last house, you follow Maci around until the dreaded, “what do ya’ think?” question in the kitchen.
“I love it,” Matthew grins. And that grin sinks when he sees the pout on your lips. Your arms across your chest. “[y/n] doesn’t.”
“Oh, don’t speak for me,” you roll your eyes.
“But you don’t like it, though.”
“It’s…boring.”
“Okay,” he sighs. He can’t hear you say that one more time. “Babe, no one knows what that means.”
“Um, I think Maci knows, soooo must just be you.”
The glare you two give each other, on either side of this luxury island, is intense enough to make the entire 3,000 square feet house feel small. Very, very small.
Rory is with your parents and without her, the drive back to the hotel is very quiet. Very tense. Matthew rushes into the bathroom as soon as he can and you plop down on the bed with a heavy sigh. When he emerges from the bathroom, he’s shirtless and pouting and moody and broody and you can feel it. You can see it in the way he stomps around and rummages through his suitcase.
He says, “So,” without turning to you. “Not one winner today?”
“Ugh!” It flies out of your mouth before you can contain it. You literally pull at your hair in frustration and Matthew watches with his mouth agape. You rip your shirt off your body and the cool air from the fan hits you immediately. Now you’re both shirtless and pouting and moody and broody. You don’t need to talk about it.
“Do we have to discuss it right now or can we postpone for like…an hour or so?” you ask. You insist. You are begging, tilting your head at him.
And his first thought is: no way she’s trying to fuck me right now? But you are. He can see it in your eyes and the way they lower as he walks over to you. Your hands plant themselves on his waist and you lean into his touch as his palm engulfs your cheek.
“Make it two hours?” he runs his thumb along your lip.
You shrug, running your hands up his waist, “Make it as long as you’d like.”
He nods, “Okay,” and pushes you back onto the bed where you land with a quiet ‘oof!’ before he crawls on top of you.
It kills a lot of time. Lot of tension to work out.
Your body is relaxed like never before as you lay there naked against his chest, with his lips peppering soft kisses on your sweaty shoulder. As you catch your breath, it’s the most comforting silence you’ve shared in a while.
You touch his lips and he kisses your fingertips, holds your wrist in his grasp. “Not one winner, huh?” he whispers, holding to catch you at peace.
“Mm-mm,” you shake your head and cover his mouth. “Not yet.”
He nods, nibbles on your wrist, “Fair enough.”
Your both in such a good mood when you go to pick up Rory. She crawls over to you at lightning speed and babbles excitedly and you coo over her like you’ve never met her before. You missed her.
And this joy is misinterpreted in a way that someone says, “You two are happy, did you find a house?” so your smiles drop.
“No,” you say in unison.
As Maci embarks on her next hunt, she’s opted for sending you virtual tours. She sends them in groups of four at a time and they are very useful. You can lay in bed, curled into Matthew’s side as he clicks around on his laptop and the serenity of it makes it harder to bicker.
Doesn’t make any of the houses suck any less, though. Doesn’t stop the annoyed sighs and smacking of teeth and the abrupt ‘whatevers’ to change the subject and the screen.
The very last of the bunch, you have your hopes up. The exterior is promising. The number of bedrooms, bathrooms. Matthew opens the view of the entryway and you just stand up, “I’m done. I’m going to shower. Goodnight.” And he, just as disappointed, shuts the laptop quickly.
It was nice to at least be on the same page with that one.
And poor Maci, she’s trying so hard. The two of you are stressing her out, but it’s hard to say what the outcome would be without a realtor equally as stubborn. Because when she thinks - no. When she knows she’s found the one, she calls your phone at midnight and leaves a voicemail saying - I am so sorry to call you so late but there is a house and I want you and Matthew to come see it as soon as possible. [pause] How soon can that be?
It’s soon. You make the trip back out there but it is done with very little enthusiam or optimism. You suspect that Maci knows this and she’s opting for suspense to lure you in. This is a blind viewing. She’s driving. You just have to wait and see.
“The country club?” is your first impression as she drives you into the neighborhood.
“Is this not one of the zipcodes you picked?” Matthew asks you and you roll your eyes.
“Yes. It is, I’m just making an observation. Damn.”
“You can opt in or out of being a member at the club,” Maci chimes in. “Completely voluntary.”
“Is this where we’re gonna live, Maci?” Matthew laughs.
“I think so,” she nods. “I really think so.”
Because all you and Matthew wanted was to know. To not have to think, but to see it and know. To see a house that was, at first sight, yours. To know.
And when you slowed down upon the house on the hill, you both knew. You both gasped. You looked at each other.
The driveway is gated and is almost like a rollercoaster up the hill. This rollercoaster ends at nothing other than a three car garage on an all brick house. Brick stairs leading the front door which lead to an entryway where you feel it. You know, with one step on the hardwood floor, this house is yours.
Maci goes into full tour mode, “So this is the foyer and all you walk in, you have your formal dining room on the left…” and you are holding Matthew’s hand. You are holding his hand and wrapped around his arm and the two of you are walking and staring at this house and Maci’s voice just sounds like “blah blah blah blah blah…”
There’s two islands in the kitchen. A large sunroom right beside it that gives entry to the lush backyard. A center fireplace in the living room. Built in bookshelves. A guest room, a guest bathroom.
It all just flows.
The main bedroom is upstairs and it has two closets. You nearly faint in each other’s arms - two whole closets!
There’s 4 additional bedrooms on the upper floor and so, yes, should it be that you have multiple litters of children, there’s room. Just in case.
Way below is the basement where there’s not only plenty of room to lounge but a full wet bar lined with green tile and neon lights lining the walls. You exit the basement and plant your feet in the driveway, coming full circle to Maci’s car. She turns to you both, her smile as wide as yours.
“So?” she asks anxiously.
You look at your husband and he’s already looking at you. “Speaking to you?” he grins.
“Yelling at me,” you laugh.
He giggles and can’t help but kiss your cheek. He turns to Maci and nods, “You were right. This is it.”
The paperwork and red tape is the last of the bullshit and that itself feels very short in comparison to the past few months. It’s the easiest. It’s the happiest. So far. By the time the two of you are alone in your car, you take a full minute to breathe. Then you look at each other and the words come rushing out.
“Is it really over?” you ask.
“It’s really over.”
“I love it. Do you love it?”
“I love it!”
“Me, too! Aw, I wish Rory had been there. I wish she had seen it.”
“She’ll see it. She’ll love it.”
“She will!”
And with the sweetest laugh ever, Matthew grabs your face and kisses you. You’re giggling so much that it’s not a true, proper kiss but it does its job. You get the message.
“Do you know what this means?” he says.
“Yes, now I won’t have to smother you in your sleep.”
“No no, you’ve still got plenty of time for that. Besides that, do you know what this means?”
You chuckle, kiss his nose, “What?”
“Furniture shopping!” He cheers.
You gasp, you tear yourself away from him just to buckle your seat belt. “Oh, my god. You’re so right. So true.”
He laughs as he buckles himself in, holding your hand in his, kissing your knuckles. He asks, “Are we friends again?” with a pout on his face and you can’t help but roll your eyes.
You bring his hand to your face and kiss his knuckles in return, “Best friends.”
