8. James
8
JAMES
“Are you sure you can find a place by Monday?” Ethan asks, his voice muffled by a cardboard box. We’re on a call, and he’s standing in the middle of his tiny Portland apartment. Ethan just set his phone down, so now I have a full, unobstructed view of his legs that cuts off right above his crotch.
Exactly what I called him to see. Not.
I smile back through the phone, even though Ethan is wrestling with a roll of packing tape.
“Dude, I know people, don’t worry.”
By “know people”, I mean that I have a friend who used to live in Boston. That’s a start, right?
“I’ll have a place locked down by Tuesday at the latest. No worries.” I try to sound as reassuring as possible. I need to nail this because I want Ethan to see me as a guy who has things under control.
“Just don’t break the bank.” Ethan turns away to toss a box labeled “Kitchen Stuff” onto a growing pile, which collapses with a concerning clatter.
I ignore Ethan’s apparent crisis and try to distract him. “Dude, we play for Boston. We can afford a decent place.”
Ethan laughs. “Fair enough, but I kinda want to save for the first while, in case I get injured.”
Ah, right. Ethan always makes sense. That’s why I need to match his energy and make sure I don’t mess this up.
He lets me go and ends the call, leaving me to look for a suitable apartment within three days. Fuck me. It’s my fault for bringing this on myself.
Taking deep breaths, I find my phone and head out. It’s time to lock something down.
I regret my choices. As usual. That happens to me pretty often.
I must have seen about fifty apartments today, and every single one has been a major letdown. Half of the viewings were for places with kitchens so small I could reach across and touch every appliance from the fridge. Don’t even get me started on rustic (unmaintained) wood floors and exposed (cost-cutting) industrial ceilings. Or layouts that make no sense at all. Who decided that slapping a stove and sink onto a random wall qualifies as a kitchen?
My pet peeve? Bad kitchens. Can’t stand them.
I need to find something that works for both me and Ethan because he should feel like it’s his place too. I can already picture us chilling after games, shooting the shit, and bonding. If he didn’t end up agreeing to live with me, I know I’d beg him to come over and hang out constantly, just because I’d need that company.
My phone rings, interrupting my crisis spiral. It’s Mom.
“Hey, Mom,” I groan, leaning myself against a mailbox. The April sun beats down, making me sweat uncomfortably in my too-thick wool sweater.
“Hi James, how’s everything in Boston?”
“Oh, amazing, Mom. I’m apartment hunting and it’s so fun. Just locked down the perfect place, right downtown, it’s four floors tall, 9000 square feet, and it comes with seven butlers. Best of all, it’s free!”
Mom laughs quietly on the other end. “James, you’re being dramatic. What are you actually looking for?”
“Well, you know, the usual,” I reply, frustration seeping through the phone. “Somewhere walking distance to the ballpark. With a private elevator. And four bedrooms, five bathrooms, a decked-out kitchen, and… ooh, a hot tub!”
“A hot tub?” Mom asks, intrigued.
“Yeah, a hot tub. Can’t live without one. Gotta soak to recover after games and stuff.”
There’s a pause on the other end, and I can almost hear her rolling her eyes. At least that’s what I think she’s doing.
“Don’t worry, I got you,” she says, her tone serious.
“Wait, what?” It’s no use. She’s already hung up.
Unease starts to twist in my stomach as I wonder if Mom is about to do something over the top. That’s a common theme with her. I know she means well, but sometimes she goes way too far, like the time my sister Sofia mentioned how cold her walk to university was, and the next morning, there was a $70,000 car parked outside her house, all thanks to Mom.
Shoot, I’m officially freaking out. What the hell is going on? Mom might be off calling around and finding an apartment that costs ten thousand a month, per person. Ethan wanted a basic apartment. A budget-friendly place. Not one with unrealistic everything.
I try to call her back, but it goes straight to voicemail. I try again. And then I call the landline that my parents refuse to get rid of. Straight to the answering machine.
Then, Dad texts me.
Dad
Your mom’s off doing something, I don’t know what
One of her productive moods
I’ll try and tell her to call you back
I put my phone away and stare at the sidewalk. Fuck. This is getting out of control.
I get the call a couple hours later when I’m back in my hotel, trying to calm my nerves with a donut.
“Uh, hey Mom,” I say, trying to keep my voice within its normal octave.
“Guess who found you a place, sweetie?” Her voice is brimming with excitement.
“You did what?”
“I bought you an apartment!”
“Hold up. You bought me an apartment?” Am I hearing her right?
I’m already dreading the conversation where I have to explain this to Ethan.
“Yeah, think of it as a ‘congratulations on getting signed’ kind of gift! Just make it up to me by coming home sometime!”
“You bought an apartment. For me.”
“That’s what I said! Trust me on this one, okay? I called in a favor with Joanne, and she’ll be the one to give you the keys.”
I struggle to find words as my email notification goes off.
“Oop, sorry James, I’m getting a delivery. I just sent you the address, but I have to run now. Bye!” Mom cuts my thoughts off and then hangs up.
Wait, who’s Joanne?
An hour later, I’m walking up to an impossibly fancy building, still wildly uneasy about the whole situation. Like, I’m glad I don’t have to search for an apartment anymore, but this is not where I expected my search to end up.
Again, how am I supposed to explain this to Ethan? He never lets me spot him for dinner or anything and this is a whole ass apartment that I’m not gonna charge him for.
Before my thoughts can go anywhere else, they’re interrupted.
“James! It’s been so long!”
I turn to see Joanne, who is apparently one of my mom’s university friends. She’s incredibly put-together in an impeccable navy dress, and she’s waving over at me. We shake hands and she leads me around the back to a private elevator while I try not to think about how many other items on my sarcastic, frustrated list my mom managed to tick off.
Soon enough, I find out that it’s all of them. The apartment is insane. There’s a kitchen that, while meeting my standards, is way too fancy. The living room could double as a theater, and the floor-to-ceiling window opens onto a balcony with a view of the city that’s straight out of an ad. I open my mouth to speak, but no matter how hard I rack my brain for words, nothing comes out.
Joanne hands me the keys. “Your mother seemed very excited to get this for you,” she says. “I have to get to another viewing now but give me a call if anything comes up.”
Still processing the events of the past half hour, I thank her right as my phone rings. It’s Ethan. I take a breath. This is going to be a fun conversation.
Ethan’s face pops up on the screen, and I get the sense that he woke up right before calling me. His hair is everywhere, and he’s rubbing his eyes. “So, how’d it go?” he asks. “Did you find a place for us?”
“Yeah, dude, it’s all sorted. We’re good.” My attempts at putting on an unbothered smile seem to be holding up, at least for now.
“Nice! Appreciate you doing all the work. What’s the rent like?”
Hesitating, I try to figure out how to break the news to him gently. “Rent? Oh, right, about that?—”
Ethan tilts his head. “What about it? It’s half of what the place costs. Also, are you staying at the Ritz or something? That place in the background is crazy.”
I laugh nervously, noticing the tastefully ornate ceiling molding that’s behind me on the screen. “What? No way. I’m just, uh, somewhere else.”
“Just tell me the rent, I need to finalize my budget.”
“Okay, so, there is no rent,” I start, my voice getting quieter with every word. “It’s a condo. We can split the condo fees and utilities if you want.”
Ethan blinks. “So you bought a place.”
I’m quick to clarify. “No, no, my mom bought it. I tried to stop her, but she turned her phone off before I could get through.”
His face is a mix of shock and disbelief. “You’re kidding, right? Because there’s no way you managed to buy something in the six hours since we last called.”
“No, I’m not kidding. My parents are…connected.” Flustered, my eyes dart around as I try to say something, anything, that can stop Ethan from backing out.
“Hear me out. It’s way cheaper than renting, even with the condo fees.”
Ethan pauses, thinking. “Got it,” he says.
Maybe this won’t be as bad as I thought.
But then a wave of doubt washes over me. This is insane. I’m letting him live for free in a place my mom bought for us. I can’t shake the thought that he’ll judge me for being a spoiled rich kid. And worse, I don’t want him to think that I’m holding something over him. He’s my closest friend on the team, and I can’t lose that.
“Hey, I’m coming down tomorrow, let’s figure everything out later.”
“Sounds good, man,” I reply. He hangs up, and I’m alone with my thoughts, silently pacing the cavernous living room. I decide to do a walk-through of the entire apartment since I haven’t seen anything beyond the living room and the kitchen. Getting a feel for the place might help me calm down.
But as I move through the rooms, my nerves only get worse. “Ethan’s so gonna freak out,” I confess to a support pillar.
The balcony wraps around the entire floor. It’s complete with a fire pit and the skeleton of an outdoor kitchen. Just add a grill and you’re all set.
I move on, wandering down a hallway to explore one of the four bedrooms, and I’m thinking that this one might end up as a gym. It’s attached to a freaking spa that contains the hot tub. And a sauna. Of course there’s a sauna. Everything in this place screams luxury, and now it’s starting to freak me out.
As I head up the stairs to the second level, I can’t stop thinking about how to explain this to Ethan. The apartment is incredible, but it’s also over the top. He got nervous from seeing the fancy molding on the ceiling. He doesn’t know the layout of this place, and he hasn’t seen the private freaking elevator.
Ethan was going to stay in Portland to save money. I almost had to beg him to move here with me, and he only agreed when I said that I’d find a sensible place. And here I am, about to tell him he’ll be living in a ridiculous penthouse rent-free.
Slumping down on the hardwood floor in one of the two master bedrooms, I stare out of the window at the city. What if he decides that it’s too much and that he can’t live with me?
What I need to do is chill out and act like everything is normal. I’m not even doing him a favor because I already built up this idea of living with him and having a blast.
It’s no use tying myself up in knots.
I’ll leave the apartment and head back to my hotel. Tomorrow, I’ll play this off like it’s no big deal. That might be gaslighting, but I think it’s justified.