“Hold on, buddy. Let me talk to Mr. Peterson first,” I say, grabbing my purse. “You boys wait here for a minute, okay?”
I step out of the van, smoothing down my skirt and putting on my best responsible-tenant smile. “Mr. Peterson? I’m Honey Mitchell. Thank you for meeting us.”
The man barely looks up from his phone. “You’re late.”
My brows pull together. Late? Glancing down, I check my watch. We’re actually five minutes early.
“I’m sorry about that. School dismissal can be unpredictable,” I say instead, extending my hand.
He ignores it, thrusting a clipboard at me instead. “Sign here, here, and initial here.” He points to the highlighed spots on what appears to be the lease.
I scan the document quickly, though there’s not much to read. It’s a standard one-year agreement, though I notice there’s no mention of who’s responsible for repairs. I make a mental note to clarify that before he leaves.
“So, about maintenance?—”
“You’ve got my number,” he cuts me off. “Call if there’s an emergency. Otherwise, minor stuff is on you.”
I blink, taken aback by his brusque manner. “But if something breaks?—”
“Like I said, emergencies only,” he repeats, holding out his hand. “First month’s rent and security deposit. Cash or certified check only.”
I pull the check from my purse, a significant chunk of my savings, and hand it over, watching as he shoves it into his pocket without even bothering to look at it.
“Keys,” he holds out his hand.
I open my hand and he drops two sets into my palm. “One for the front, one for the back. Mailbox key is on there too.”
“Thank you,” I say, though it feels strange to thank someone for being so rude. “Is there anything else I should know about the property? Any?—”
“Nope,” he pops the P, walking toward his car. “Pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Mitchell.”
And just like that, he’s gone, leaving me standing here in the driveway with the keys to our new life clutched in my hand.
“Mom?” Tommy calls from the van. “Can we get out now?”
“Yes, come on,” I say, shaking my head at the odd transaction that just happend. “Let’s check the place out.”
The boys shove out of the van, Jackson racing toward the front door while Tommy trails behind him.
“Wait for me!” I call, hurrying after them. I turn the key in the lock and push the door open.
The inside isn’t much more impressive than the outside. The living room is small with faded beige walls and scratched hardwood floors. The kitchen is outdated with chipped laminate countertops and appliances that look older than I am.
So much for getting that new stove.
“It’s... kinda small,” Tommy observes, his nose wrinkling.
“It’s bigger than the apartment,” I counter, trying to get him excited. “And look, three bedrooms!”
I push open the doors to show them.
Tommy peeks his head inside each of the three tiny rooms with the same beige walls and scuffed floors.
“And the best part,” I continue, leading them to the back door. “Our very own yard!”
The backyard is overgrown with weeds and surrounded by a rusted chain-link fence, but it’s a yard nonetheless—something we’ve never had before.
“Can we go out there?” Jackson asks, bouncing on his toes.
