The agent smiled. “Very.”
I felt Jake glance at me.
“And you have plenty of space while still getting that neighborhood feel,” she continued.
“Ah, yes. Nothing says ‘neighborhood’ like never seeing another human being.” Scott smacked Jake on the shoulder, smirking.
“You know, Dad, we can’t all have a Malcolm to play Turf Olympics with,” Jake replied.
“Please. That’s serious competition. I’d like to see you drag a hose around a yard without getting it caught on something.”
We followed the agent through the house room by room. It was enormous, and it was beautiful, with tall ceilings, clean lines, and sunlight everywhere. The kind of place you bought when money stopped meaning what it used to.
That was where Jake was now: nineteen, and already looking to buy his first multimillion-dollar home. I’d grown up in houses like this, where space and opulence came standard, and walking through it felt familiar in a way I hadn’t expected. Not wrong—just different. It reminded me how much my idea ofhomehad changed over the years, and how little it had to do with size or price.
“Mom,” Jake said. “This would make a great music room, don’t you think?”
The space was large but tucked away from the rest of the house, with solid walls and just enough light to feel calm without being distracting. It felt quiet, even with the door open.
“Yes. I can picture the piano over here and a few guitars on stands instead of shoved into cases. And maybe a couch along that wall. Somewhere people could sit and stay awhile,” I said, dreaming.
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“If you like this,” the agent said, “wait until you see the backyard.”
We stepped through the back doors, and that was when the place really revealed itself. A massive pool stretched out in front of us, the water impossibly blue. A two-bedroom pool house sat off to the side. Beyond that lay a basketball court, pristine and empty, waiting for some noisy dribbling.
“Well?” Jake asked once the agent had stepped away to give us some privacy. “What do you think?”
“It’s beautiful,” I said. “And… big.”
Scott nodded slowly. “This is not a single-guy backyard.”
Jake shrugged. “I like space.”
“Then you’ve got it,” I said with a soft laugh.
He hesitated. “You don’t like it?”
That made me look at him closer—not at the rock star everyone else saw, but my son, watching our reactions carefully. Wanting us to love it.
“What’s not to like?” I said. “It’s incredible. I just meant it feels more like a family place. Kids running around. Barbecues.”
He paused a moment. “Then maybe we put the family in it.”
It wasn’t until Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys that it clicked. He wasn’t buying the house for himself.
He was buying it for us.
I stared at him. “Jake—”
He shook his head, cutting me off before I could protest. “I need a place to come to when I’m not on tour. Somewhere close to L.A. And I don’t want it to feel empty.”
I didn’t have any words. It was a gift too big to even process.
“And Dad,” he added, “I made sure it’s close enough to the ocean for a morning dip. Mom, it’s still about halfway to Grace’s school—just in the opposite direction.”
Neither of us spoke. We were still catching up to the moment.
