Me, too.
***
While I took the car into the shop for a tire repair, Magnus decided to do some research, and now he’s driving, I’m holding the camera, and we’re pretending we aren’t boyfriends for an audience who already suspects we are or hopes we will be.
“Tell me what we’re doing?” I instruct Magnus from behind the camera.
Magnus glances at the camera, shakes his head, and shoots me a mischievous smile. “No, thanks. I think it should be a surprise.”
“We’re in a neighborhood. Are we meeting someone?” Magnus is winding through a quiet, uptown suburban neighborhood, so we’re either meeting a professor, or he’s taking us on the scenic route to a park or something.
“Where we’re going, I expect there to be at least one person we will meet,” he prevaricates, smiling as he turns into a cul de sac.
“You found a dead end,” I point out, looking around.
There’s streamers and balloons in front of one of the houses.
“A birthday party?” I ask, but there’s no cars in the driveway nor in the open garage. It looks abandoned except for the…
Sign that says, “Open House.”
“An open house? Are we house hunting?” It’s happening? Are we going to find and buy a house? Together. Shit. Yes! Fuck yes!Finally.
Magnus gives the camera a self-satisfied smile. “I have a whole tour of open houses lined up. We’re going to hit five of them, and then we’re having dinner at Critter’s Crab Shack because I feel like a Cajun boil.”
“Ooh, we’re going all out for today’s bro-date.” I have to laugh at that. Bro date my ass. This is our first date as boyfriends, and we’re house hunting. That… pretty much tracks with all my goals here.
Magnus turns up a mock accent and raises his voice an octave. “Everything for you, sugarplum.”
I laugh and turn off the video. I don’t know if we can record in the house, so I’ll wait to ask before we do. Never been toan open house, and I don’t want to fuck it up just because I’m inexperienced.
We get out of the car and walk up to the open front door. The place is fully furnished but doesn’t look lived in. There’s furniture, but no personal items. On a buffet, someone’s placed brochures and refreshments; I assume it’s the older woman with red lipstick standing next to it.
She sees us and smiles, more confused than welcoming. “Hello, I’m Jacqueline Cope. Are you here for the open house?”
Magnus turns on the charm, approaching her with his teacher-confidence and his arm outstretched. “Magnus Lancaster, and this is Trent Bressler. We’re in the market for a house and decided to spend our afternoon touring the open houses that looked like they would fit us. My colleague, Dr. Swenson, lives three houses down and recommended this one. I think I came here for a house party last year. Is this Stephanie and David Cross’s house?”
Her smile becomes more welcoming. “It is. How do you know the homeowners?”
“Stephanie and I work together. She’s one of the adjuncts in the Chinese Studies department who cross-teaches Sociology with me. David and I met before I became a professor, though. We have the same social circle and attend many of the same events. His parents and mine vacation together during the winter holidays.”
I really wish I was allowed to record this, because this woman has dollar signs floating above her head at all the name dropping. I knew it, but it still strikes me that Magnus knows and has personal relationships with wealthy people. Not that this house is a mansion; it’s just a large suburban home. Bigger than we need, honestly. A family home, which is what we wanted, because we want to sell it for a profit when we’re done with it.
Magnus and Jacqueline talk for a few minutes more, then more people start arriving, and pretty soon we’re in a guided tour of the house with Magnus commenting on some things he noted when he was here for that party. He’s selling the house almost as much as the Realtor, and by the looks on some of the people’s faces, they’re sold on it.
I’d be fine if Magnus decided he wanted it, but if another professor lives three houses down, I think I’d rather look elsewhere. I want to know our neighbors, but I don’t want to be a student of our neighbors. It’s already strange enough being my roommate’s student.
***
After three houses, I’m not as excited as I was before. I’ve gotten some good video of Magnus, and he’s gotten some of me, but I’m losing steam, and neither of us think the houses we’ve seen so far have been right for us. We aren’t even picky, it’s just that none of them have felt right. I didn’t even know I’d have to feel it to be able to say, “Yes, let’s make an offer on this one.”
When we pull up to the fourth house, I almost suggest just going to dinner, but when the front of the house registers, I have to stop and stare.
It’s hideous. Absolutely hideous. It’s painted a fading, peeling rainbow of colors, but the windows. They’re stained glass. Every window is stained glass, and it’s gorgeous. I slip out of the car, walking up the empty driveway, studying each window. They’re not telling stories; they don’t have saints in them. They’re just abstract stained glass designs. All the woodwork outside needs a sanding and a stain, but the metalwork is beautiful wrought iron.
“The bones are good. It just needs a little TLC.” The craggy voice draws my attention to an older man in dirt stained overalls sitting in a lawn chair that I didn’t notice because of the house.
“It’s gorgeous,” I agree, turning back to the front of the house. “Are you the homeowner?”
