“What a great neighborhood!” I said as we walked up the street to the open house. “Fifth doesn’t go all the way through, so I bet it’s really quiet.”
“Yeah,” Mike replied. “Look at those apartments, though,” he said, pointing to a cluster of buildings across the street.
“But they’re not ugly, like the ones in front of that duplex we looked at last month,” I pointed out.
“No, they’re not bad.”
We walked in, and it hit me right away.
“This is perfect,” I breathed.
Open, airy and bright, it was more spacious than other bungalows typically found in the neighborhood, with three bedrooms, two full baths and a bright sunroom.
Mike chatted with the realtor while I half paid attention and half examined the kitchen. It had been upgraded in the recent past and sported two (two!) ovens. I imagined Thanksgivings here, with a turkey in one oven, green beans the other, my mom stirring gravy over the stove while I beat mashed potatoes with the hand mixer…
“Hon?” Mike said, jarring me out of my fantasy. “Let’s go see the rest of the house.”
It had flow, with no weird attached “half-closets” or impractical cabinetry. Sure, the laundry room shared part of the sunroom, cordoned off with floor length curtains, but even I knew that no house in our price range would be perfect. Hardwood floors, vaulted ceiling; this house came pretty darn close.
We walked from room to room, describing how we would use each space.
“This would be perfect for a shared office.”
“Yeah, it has great light.”
“Oh, look – linen closets! We could finally get rid of that nasty dresser!”
“Here would make a great spare bedroom for guests, then it could become the kids’ room at some point.”
The master bedroom had French doors leading to the patio, and we stepped out onto the deck. I sucked in my breath.
“A jacuzzi!”
“Jacuzzis are a lot of work.”
“Yeah, but we’d have a jacuzzi.”
Someone had obviously cared for the large yard, though it boasted a few oddities, like the miniature dog ramps up to the deck and a tiny stone pagoda,complete with tiny bridge, in the middle of a rock garden. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed, especially in view of the well-tended rose beds lining the yard’s perimeter. I saw dark-haired children who had my husband’s eyes bobbing along the neatly trimmed grass, clutching dolls and shovels in their chubby toddler hands.
When we walked back through the house, Mike grabbed the realtor’s card on the way out.
“Wow, I really like it,” I confessed.
“They’re asking too much,” Mike commented. Yeah, I knew they were asking too much. Still…
“But do you think we’ll be able to find anything better?” I asked. “This is my favorite of all the houses we’ve seen so far.”
“Really?” he mused, opening the car doors and climbing in. “Well, I know we’ll find the right one for us. If we could find something for less, and in a better neighborhood….”
“Well, yeah,” I said. “What if we don’t find something though? I really liked that house.”
“I know, hon, but you can’t get attached. We’ll probably look at dozens more houses before we find the right one.”
“Not get attached?” I sighed. I decided not to tell him about the children in the yard.
Joining the writers over at Yeah Write. You should come, too…
