“On my property. That I'm paying for.”
A beat of silence. “I understand this is frustrating---"
I stare at the phone. Blood pounds in my ears. Replay what she just said.
Nope—still makes no sense.
"But it's wonderful news, really—they're a lovely person, very quiet, works as a paramedic so excellent references?—"
"I didn't agree to rent out any part of my property." My voice comes out flat. Controlled. The kind of calm that makes Ivy nervous and made Vanessa furious.
"Oh, well, technically the suite was marketed as a rental unit before closing, and Copper Ridge has very strict tenant protection laws—once someone has a signed lease and paid deposit, we can't evict without cause, and simply not wanting a tenant doesn't qualify as cause?—"
The phone suddenly requires significant grip strength to avoid launching across the room.
"You're telling me I have a tenant I never agreed to, in a space I didn't know was being rented, and there's nothing I can do about it." My knuckles go white. The mountains blur. I breathe through my nose---in for four, hold for four, out for four. The anger management technique the divorce counselor taught me. It doesn't work. It never works.
"They're really very nice! And the lease is only for a few months initially?—"
"A few months."
"With option to extend! But I'm sure you'll get along wonderfully. Small-town living is all about community, and having someone in the in-law suite is actually quite common?—"
"When does this tenant move in?"
A pause that speaks volumes.
"Today or this evening."
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
The call ends with Jennifer's overly cheerful reassurances echoing in my skull. Ivy appears in the doorway, plastic T-Rex in hand, reading my expression with the accuracy of someone who's spent years decoding parental moods.
"What's wrong, Daddy?"
"Nothing, bug. Just adult stuff."
"Is it bad adult stuff or boring adult stuff?"
"Somewhere in between."
She crosses the room and wraps her arms around my leg. The hug says she knows things aren't okay but loves me anyway. The T-Rex presses into my thigh.
"It's gonna be okay." Absolute conviction in her voice. "This house is PERFECT and we're gonna make so many good memories here and maybe the neighbors have kids who like dinosaurs and even if they DON'T, I can TEACH them?—"
"That's very optimistic of you."
"Mommy says I get it from her." Pride and grief mixed together in a way that makes my chest ache. "Daddy, can I ask you something?"
"Always."
"Do you think the new person likes dinosaurs?"
The question hangs in the air. Innocent. Hopeful. Completely unaware that my fresh start just became a disaster.
My throat tightens. Ivy's looking at me with Vanessa's eyes, believing everything will work out because that's what six-year-olds do. They believe in happy endings and neighbors who like dinosaurs and fathers who don't screw everything up. “I don't know if they like dinosaurs, bug.”
She considers this, then shrugs. “That's okay. If they don't, I'll just have to fix that.” She skips back to her room, already planning conversion strategies. I stand in the kitchen gripping my phone, staring at nothing.
