by Anna Martin
“Anytime.”
And I mean it.
Chapter 16
THE conversation about getting a new place together turns into consulting with a realtor much sooner than I had anticipated. Still, I want to show Chris that I’m serious about us making a life together, and the agency seem to be more than competent, so really there’s no reason for me to delay anything.
“We should take Chloe with us,” Chris says after I’ve set a date for some viewings. “I want to make sure wherever we move to, she’s happy there as well.”
“Sure. I’ll call her.”
“Hey—does she know I’m back?”
I shake my head. I’ve selfishly been keeping him to myself.
“Don’t tell her. Then it can be a surprise.”
I call Lu, just to make sure she doesn’t have plans and to see if Chloe is even at home. Apparently she has homework, but Lu is happy for us to take her out for a couple of hours.
“You know Cassie will want to come too,” I say as we drive out. “She missed you like crazy.”
“I don’t mind.”
Clearly my plan for a romantic afternoon looking at possible love nests needs to be adjusted. Still, I can’t really complain about how much Chris seems to care about my daughter and her happiness.
The house seems quiet and calm when we pull up outside, and I’m sure this is merely a front for the chaos inside. We decide to ring the bell rather than let ourselves in, and it takes a good few minutes until there’s a response.
I can hear Cassie thundering down the stairs screaming, “I’ll get it, I’ll get it!” and I look to Chris with a smirk.
The door clicks and swings open, and Cassie stands there, openmouthed for a moment. Then: “Uncle Chris!”
In a move they don’t seem to have forgotten how to execute, she jumps into Chris’s arms and he swings her around, laughing.
“Oh, I missed you, Pumpkin Pie,” he says, tickling her ribs.
“I missed you too,” she says seriously. “Are you back for good?”
“For good,” he promises.
We take a few steps inside, and I shut the front door. The noise of someone else rushing down the stairs reaches us as I do. Chloe stops much as her sister did but affects a calm nonchalance the polar opposite of Cassie’s reaction.
“Hey, Dad. Chris. You’re back.”
“I am,” he says.
“For good,” Cassie adds.
She smiles. “Good. Does Mom know you’re here?”
“I called her earlier to let her know we were coming. We’ve got an appointment this afternoon with a realtor to look at a couple of houses. Do you want to come with?”
Her eyebrows rise up to her hairline. “Are you serious? You’re moving out of the moldy apartment?”
“It’s not moldy,” I protest, stung. “But yes. We’re going to look for a new place.”
“Can I come?” Cassie asks.
I catch Chris’s eye over her head. She’s still balanced on his hip.
“If you can promise to be a very, very good girl,” he tells her.
“Pinkie promise,” she says, holding out her little finger. Chris hooks it with his own, and they shake on it.
“Come on, Cass,” Chloe says. “You need to get changed if we’re going out.”
The little girl seems to be in play clothes, a pink tracksuit, and although I don’t have a problem with it I know Lu has high standards of how her children look in public.
“Can I choose?” Cassie asks as Chris puts her down and Chloe takes hold of her hand.
“Sure. Mom’s out in the garden with Carter,” Chloe says as they head back upstairs. “I’m sure she’s dying to see you.”
I know my daughter well enough to interpret that her mom is going to want all the gossip about Chris’s return to Boston, and I’m not disappointed.
Now that Carter is older and far less breakable-looking, I’m happy to take him as Lu and Chris “catch up.” She gives him the obligatory “Don’t you dare ever hurt Rob again or I’ll kick you in the nuts” speech, and I let her, partly because I know she loves me and it’ll make her feel better.
I’ve arranged to see four houses, one not too far from where Lu lives, and fortunately that’s the first one on the list. I get Chris to call ahead and let the realtor know we’re running slightly behind schedule. In allowing Cassie to choose her own clothes, we have a three-year-old in tow wearing pink cowboy boots, green, reindeer-patterned leggings, and a T-shirt with Elmo printed on it. Never mind. I live and learn.
Jessica—the realtor—doesn’t seem to mind as I introduce the fairly ragtag bunch of people she didn’t know I was bringing with me.
“Are these your children?” she asks.
“Chloe is my daughter,” I say. “Cassie is… extended family.”
Thankfully she doesn’t push the issue. It’s far too complicated to try and explain.
The first house is slightly bigger than I expected after looking at the pictures online. It’s a new property, brand new; no one else has lived here. We follow Jessica around, nodding at all of the features she points out, but I can’t help but feel like the place is too cold. Too clinical.
When we get to the bathroom, which is just… white, everywhere… white toilet, tiles, shower, bath, floor, towel rail, the towels on the towel rail, the toilet paper… I decide that this isn’t the place for us.
“I’ll let you have a look around by yourself,” Jessica says and heads back down the stairs. The white-carpeted stairs.
“Don’t touch anything,” Chris whispers to Cassie. “You’ll get fingerprints on it.”
Chloe leads us back through to the master bedroom.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Dad,” she says slowly, turning in a circle with her arms outstretched. “But I don’t think this is the right place for you.”
“Yeah,” Chris adds. “There isn’t any mold anywhere.”
“Watch it,” I warn him. And sigh. “You’re probably right.”
“Next place?” she suggests.
The next place is better. It’s another house, slightly older but with a huge back garden and a tire swing hanging from a large tree. Chloe takes Cassie down to swing on it as Jessica gives us the lowdown.
“There’s work to be done on it,” Jessica warns us as we watch the girls from the patio deck. “There’s only electricity on the ground floor at the moment. And you’re probably going to want to redecorate most rooms.”
“A real fixer-upper,” Chris mumbles. I take his hand and squeeze.
When I finally get Cassie to come back to us, she’s panting hard.
“That,” she says, “is a very good swing.”
“Thank you,” I tell her. “These things are very important.”
Never mind the fact that the kitchen needs to be completely ripped out and reinstalled, or that there’s damp coming up through so we’d need to fit new carpets, and the bedrooms are actually on the small side. There’s a swing in a tree, so the child approves.
In reality, we’re never going to take the place, and Jessica apparently gets this vibe as we leave relatively quickly. I can’t blame her. When we spoke on the phone a few days earlier, she asked a fairly detailed list of questions as to what we were willing to look at, and places that “needed work” I’d agreed to. Just… not quite that much work.
With two houses down and both being big no’s in my book, and Chris’s too if I can read him well enough, I’m starting to feel a bit discouraged. We drive back into the city into one of the more “up-and-coming” neighborhoods, where Jessica starts to enthuse about the quality of the schools nearby.
“It’s a real family area,” she says with a sunny grin.
I don’t have the heart to tell her that we have no intentions of expanding the family or having the girls come and live with us full time.
Still.
The next house is the only one I actually seriously consider. It’s very clean, tidy, clearly currently owned by a
family who have made themselves scarce. There’s a playroom, which I mentally earmark as an office, and a well weather-proofed garage where Chris could set up his drums.
The whole place could do with a good clean and possibly some redecorating, but they would be little jobs that could be done as we go along. Chris lets Cassie explore the garden again, and I tug him to one side.
“It’s the best place we’ve seen so far,” he says reasonably, and I agree. “It’s not the place, though.”
I sigh and pull him closer to me. “If we look for perfection, though, who’s to say we’ll ever find it?”
“Doesn’t mean we stop looking,” he says.
The sound of little feet on the floor distracts us, and Cassie comes in to what should be a dining room but is being used as storage by the current owners.
“The yard isn’t so good here, Uncle Chris,” she laments.
“Ah, well.” He scoops her up. “One more to go, eh?”
For a moment, just a tiny, little moment, I let myself fantasize that Chris and I have a child together, a house in a nice neighborhood with good schools and a backyard with a really good tire swing. When he looks at me, I get the impression he can see right inside me, down to these silly ideas that I really truly don’t want to act on, but it’s always nice to spend time in someone else’s life. Especially when it’s so easy to shrug it off again.
“Cassie, cover your eyes,” Chris says seriously.
“Why?”
“Because I’m about to kiss your Uncle Rob.”
She giggles but does as she’s told, smacking her hands over her eyes as Chris leans in and kisses me with an aching softness that liquefies my bones and sends butterflies from my stomach to my throat.
God, I love this man.
“I’ve only got one more place to show you,” Jessica says as she locks up behind us. “It’s actually only a couple of blocks over. If you don’t mind walking, you won’t lose your parking space, and we can see some of the area at the same time.”
“Sounds good,” Chris says, and we follow her up the street.
It really is a nice area. There’s a park just a few more blocks over, just a small one but somewhere to go chill out when the weather is nice. And it’s not too far from a street of nice restaurants, coffee shops, and convenience stores. And a Chinese takeout place. These are all very important points.
Cassie takes my hand as we walk, in between me and Jessica with Chris and Chloe behind us. I don’t mind too much. They’re catching up on some soap opera that I don’t watch. I’m lost in my own thoughts and don’t catch what Cassie is saying until I force myself to pay attention.
“Uncle Chris is gay,” Cassie tells the realtor with relish.
“Really,” Jessica says, a polite but amused expression plastered on her face.
“Cassie, shut up,” Chloe whispers furiously from behind us, but she is ignored.
“Mhmm,” Cassie says. “That means he doesn’t like girls. He likes boys instead. My mommy says that’s okay, though. You can like whoever you want to like.”
“Is that so.”
“Yes. So when I grow up, I’m going to marry a penguin.”
At this point Chris can’t hold in his laughter any longer and presses his face into my back. I can feel his shoulders shaking with silent giggles. At least he’s hiding it from Cassie, who would surely be upset if she thought he was laughing at her.
“Is there any particular reason why you think a penguin will make a good husband?” Jessica enquires, and I decide right then and there I’m going to buy a house from this woman because she’s working really bloody hard for her commission.
“Yeah,” Cassie says in the same tone of voice one would say “Duh.” “’Cause they live in Antarctica.”
“Antarctica” is a big word, and I’m more than a little impressed that she knows it, and so much about the endemic nature of the habitat of a penguin.
Fortunately at this point we reach the next house and poor Jessica is spared any further dealings with Cassie. For the moment, anyway.
From the curb, I fall in love.
Not with the man next to me—I’ve been in love with him for ages. But with the house.
It’s a classic Boston brownstone with steps up to the front door, enclosed with wrought-iron handrails. The door is painted a bright, shiny red.
“It’s a split-level condo,” Jessica is saying, and I force myself to tune in to her voice and pay attention. “This street was developed in 1890, and these houses were originally all one unit. Nearly all have now been split into two spaces. Shall we have a look inside? The apartment we’re looking at today is actually the top two floors.”
“There’s no need,” Chloe mutters as we walk up to the shiny, shiny, pretty front door. “Dad wants it already.”
She’s right, of course. That childish sense of want it, now, make it mine doesn’t diminish one bit as she leads us through a black-and-white tiled entrance hall to the second floor to the apartment door, and through that into a warm, bright, living space.
“I thought you might appreciate that this space is slightly quirky,” Jessica says. “On this level is the kitchen, bathroom, master bedroom, and an office space. Upstairs, in what was once the attic, there’s a second bedroom and a large living area.”
I want it, I want it, I want it.
“I’ll let you explore,” she says with a little wink in my direction. She pulls an iPad, of all things, out of her extraordinarily large handbag and starts tapping away on it.
The apartment is decorated and furnished, although sparsely, indicating that there’s no one living here at the moment. Thick cream carpet and sage green walls lead us down to the kitchen, which is at the end of the hall directly opposite the front door. In here we find dark wood countertops and cupboards, light walls, and dark red, blue, and green glass tiles on the walls, giving the entire space a magical, bejeweled feel.
I mourn the lack of a dining area until we climb the stairs and it becomes apparent that there’s room for a large dining table and chair set to be placed at one end of the long living room while leaving plenty of space for a sofa and a couple of chairs to go at the other end. Breaking the two spaces is a huge window with a sill large enough to turn into a window seat.
Kneeling on it, I can see out onto the street below.
The others are following me around and talking amongst themselves, clearly respecting my desire to explore this place myself. When we turn to the second room in the attic, Chloe smiles.
“My room?” she asks, and I nod. “It has skylights.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Yeah. It’s cool.”
Cassie seems to be flagging a little bit, and I’m reminded that she is only three years old and we’ve done a lot of dragging her around the city today. Chris picks her up again, and she rests her head on his shoulder, her thumb tucked securely in her mouth.
The office space has an entire wall of built-in, deep mahogany bookshelves that make me almost whimper with pleasure as I run my hand across them. There’s also an oddly placed door, which Jessica tells us was something the current owners had to install as a fire escape, but all I can think of is that it’s the perfect place for a cat flap.
The garden below isn’t ours (I can’t force myself to break it to Cassie just yet) and I hope the people downstairs won’t have any objection to Flea.
I want to see the master bedroom again, and we stand in the room for what feels like a long time, absorbing the space and what it has to offer.
Soft, blue-grey walls, white trim, more of that luscious thick carpet. No attaching bathroom, but I can live with that. Another window out onto the street—it’s right below the living room upstairs.
“There’s nowhere to keep your drums,” I say, looking for the negatives now. “No off-street parking either.”
“Not high on my list of concerns,” he says. “There’s a corner of the family room where I can set up the drums. And it’s the attic so it w
on’t disturb the family below us.”
My dining table, I think wistfully.
“You can keep the drums in my room,” Chloe says, leaning on the door frame in a pose very reminiscent of one Chris might adopt. “Get a futon, I can sleep on that.”
“You’re not having a futon, you’re having a bed,” I say firmly.
She rolls her eyes. “Stop looking for problems, Dad,” she says. “This place is perfect. You love it. So does Chris.”
“Do you?” I ask, afraid that I’m being desperately selfish now. This is supposed to be a home we’re building together, making a family of the two of us. There’s no point in choosing somewhere we’re going to want to move out of in a few years’ time.
“If you want a proper house, we can get one,” I rush to continue, not giving him time to agree just to make me happy. “I know you wanted a house, and I’m okay with that, I really am. This is more of a bachelor pad sort of place anyway. Not a family home.”
“Do you two want kids?” Chloe asks with a note of panic in her voice.
“No,” Chris says calmly. “We want a place where you’ll be comfortable to come stay sometimes, and Cassie too, when she’s old enough. And like your dad said, somewhere where we can have a home together.”
“So?” Chloe and I say at the same time.
He laughs. “I really, honestly love it,” he says. “I love it for me, because it’s beautiful and classy and it feels like a home. And I love the way it makes you light up. So we should get it.”
“Really?” I say, and he nods.
“Really really.”
He lets me kiss him, quickly, softly, but a kiss loaded with meaning.
“Jessica,” I say as we walk out of our master bedroom as a family. “I think we’d like to put in an offer.”
OF COURSE, nothing is as easy as that when it comes to buying houses, and unfortunately there are other people who are equally as enamored with the gorgeous split-level condo as we are. Rather than the days I was expecting, it takes weeks of bartering back and forth before our offer is considered by both the bank and the seller.
