Good luck.
I put my phone in my pocket and went back inside to the warmth of the restaurant and my family. The real one.
We startedthe house hunt the following Saturday. Lila had offered to come along. She’d gotten her real-estate license a few years back, mostly to help clients find fixer-uppers, but it came in handy now. Robbie had printed updated versions of his spreadsheets, one for each of us, where we could assign a rating to various elements: everything from the kitchen, yard for Trevor, natural lighting and size of bedrooms.
I looked out the front window from the passenger seat of Grady’s car, while he drove, listening to the kids talking in the back seat.
“Do I get a vote too?” Madison asked.
“Of course. We’re not ageists in this family,” Robbie said.
Trevor, sitting between them, whined softly, perhaps to remind us that dogs should get a vote too.
“I have a lot of opinions,” Madison said. “Mostly they come from my stomach.”
“That’s called a gut reaction,” Robbie said. “Intuition, although tricky to quantify, is very important. Especially in a decision about a house. We’re going to live there for a long time.”
“I hope there’s a lot of pink in whatever house we choose,” Madison said dreamily. “And sparkly chandeliers.”
“You can make a note of your wishes in the comment section if you’d like,” Robbie said.
“I will. As soon as I find a pencil,” Madison said.
“I told you to bring one,” Robbie said. “But I have an extra.”
“Thanks, Robbie,” Madison said. “You think of everything.”
“Someone has to,” Robbie said.
Grady and I exchanged a smile.
Lila met us at the first house—a three-bedroom ranch on the north end of town. It had good bones, she said, which seemed to be language foreverything else is a problem.The kitchen was dark, the yard mostly gravel, and the master bedroom looked out onto the neighbor’s fence. Robbie marked something on his spreadsheet. Madison asked if we could leave almost the moment we walked in.
The second house, a Victorian with tall ceilings and beautiful original molding, was a few blocks north of Harbor Avenue. Lila loved it for its classic architecture. I loved the front porch. But the yard was too small for Trevor to run, and Grady said he didn’t want to live in town, preferring something more private. In addition, the bedrooms were small, the stairs steep. Robbie measured the fourth bedroom with a tape measure he’d brought from home and said something about it being much too small for what he had in mind.
“What’s that exactly?” I asked.
“I’m not entirely sure of my plan, but it involves multiple computers and screens.”
“You’re not getting an office,” I reminded him.
“Mother, I must have space to create. The world needs my inventions.”
“You’ll have a bedroom, just like your sister.” I tousled his hair. “So don’t worry. There will be plenty of room.”
The third house smelled like cats. Not one cat, but like a dynasty of cats. Trevor took one sniff and turned back around, waiting instead on the porch. Lila opened a closet, closed it immediately. “No. Hard no.”
The fourth was a modern build on the hill above town, all glass and angles, stunning views, and twice our budget. Trevor sat down on the threshold and refused to enter. We had no idea why, but we marked it on our spreadsheets as a no for Trevor.
“It’s beautiful, but not for us,” I said. “It looks like a feature in a magazine on modern architecture. There’s no soul.”
Grady looked around at the sleek, white kitchen. “Itisnice, but yeah, you’re right.”
“You sure?” I asked.
Grady gave me a quick peck. “We want a place that feels like home, and this isn’t it.”
“Please capture those thoughts on your spreadsheet,” Robbie said.
