Chapter 9 Arthur Buy My First House #3
He hadn’t meant to insult Wren with the schools comment, or by bringing up crime and safety. But he was also annoyed. He didn’t feel like taking a principled stand right now, trying to prove he was cool enough to live in the hectic, crowded city when he preferred a much slower way of life.
And didn’t every parent want the best for their kids, even better than what they had?
He didn’t appreciate her implying that growing up in a nice house in the suburbs meant you were devoid of personality or free will, just another cog in the capitalist machine.
She hadn’t said as much, but he knew she was thinking it.
If she turned out OK despite her chaotic upbringing, he’d like to think he did, too, despite his milquetoast one.
“You’re right,” she said. “If we can just keep them completely safe, never expose them to any risk or anything different or remotely uncomfortable, then everything will be just perfect.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Arthur, I know you,” she said. “Don’t you remember when Charlie invited us to the pool and you refused to get in?”
“It said you shouldn’t swim if you’d had diarrhea in the last two weeks. It was for everyone’s protection!”
“Literally no one expects you to follow that rule!”
“Then why did they make it one?!”
Wren glared at him. He met her eyes. Linda blinked at them. She could sense the tension.
“So, do you guys still want to see the sauna, or…?”
It was time to go. Linda led them out, Arthur and Wren holding hands stiffly as they clopped down the granite stairs leading back to the driveway.
He could feel her annoyance; it was radiating off her.
Arthur had always had a sixth sense about her moods.
It could also be that she was squeezing his hand in some kind of vise grip, contorting his thumb in such a way that she almost certainly meant to cause him pain.
Yeah, the spirits were telling him Wren would probably be following up on this conversation later.
“Well, I’m sorry this one didn’t work out,” Linda said, folding her hands politely in front of her. “But let’s stay in touch.”
Arthur tracked her eyes. She was noticing their car for the first time. Putting together the pieces. Not a fancy plastic surgeon, not a free clinic doctor, no; just a big old phony.
“Could we have a card?” Arthur asked. Owning a home to raise their family in was still a dream of his, and he didn’t know any other real estate agents.
“I gave you one, remember?” she said. Arthur shook his head no. “I’m certain I did. Check your pockets. Anyway, gotta run. Pleasure meeting you both.”
“How do we get in contact with you?” Arthur yelled out as Linda literally sprinted away and peeled out in her golf cart.
“Google me!” she yelled in a cloud of dust. And then she was gone.
When they got home that afternoon, Wren curled up in the bedroom and fiddled endlessly with her phone, popping in headphones to boot.
A firm defensive position. Probably listening to music, fast-paced snare drums and anthems about being young and free—that was her go-to when she was pissed off or angsty.
Guess they weren’t going to talk about it.
Arthur decided that if the mansion wasn’t in the cards—and it most definitely wasn’t; in fact, they didn’t even have cards—he should get a sense of what they could actually afford.
He sank onto the couch. In front of him, a blue circle was spinning jovially on his laptop screen with a Pixar-like bounce to it that implied this process was somehow fun and not incredibly nerve-racking.
Like all his hopes and dreams weren’t riding on the calculator’s decision.
He had found a little free online tool, filled out his and Wren’s salary estimates, rough credit score, debts, and other pertinent information, and in a few seconds it was going to tell him what kind of mortgage they might quality for.
It was going to tell him if they’d be decorating and painting a beautiful nursery in the coming months, or if they’d be shoving a crib up against the entertainment center in the living room of their poorly lit one-bedroom apartment, right under the part of the popcorn ceiling that seemed to be flaking off at an alarming rate.
The circle spun and bounced. Spun and bounced.
When the text finally appeared, “According to our estimates, you may qualify for a mortgage up to…” Arthur could hardly bear to look.
It was at the moment that Wren called out for him. Well, not him specifically, but…
“TACOS!” she yelled.
And he understood immediately. He stalked over to their coupon drawer in the kitchen and removed one of the Buy One Taco Get One Free vouchers from the stack of well over a dozen.
He had the restaurant on the phone before he even reached the car, and when he arrived, the order was already ready—two pulled-pork tacos smothered in queso.
But another text from Wren said simply, SNOWBALL, and off he went to rustle her up a skylite snowball with marshmallow filling.
Once he’d procured it, another text came in: BERGER COOKIES.
He sighed, desperately wanting to get home and keep researching houses, but he knew this was his penance.
His willingness to help her with her cravings was key to getting back in her good graces and them actually having a productive conversation when he got home.
So he dutifully drove in the direction of Royal Farms to procure a box of the famous chocolate-drenched shortbread cookies.
When all was said and done, he was gone for well over an hour, so long that he was forced to hold the snowball directly up to the air-conditioning vent in a desperate attempt to keep it from melting.
“Thank you,” she said as he walked in and handed over the goods. “Now, about earlier—”
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he cut her off, sitting down next to her on the sofa.
“I was being crass and insensitive. I’m really sorry.
” It didn’t mean he had changed his mind, or that he didn’t mean any of what he’d said, but his delivery had been poor.
They’d been together long enough for him to know that was at least half the battle.
Wren finished a bite of taco, washed it down with a scoop of light blue snowball, and leaned in. She began to rub his back.
“I forgive you,” she said. Then she kissed him. Whatever it was, it had a little extra. Maybe some extra pressure and just a tiny bit of tongue. Maybe it was just the spicy salsa. It made his whole body tingle. “Isn’t it great how we can forgive each other like that?”
“Yeah, I guess it is.” They’d always been good about dodging fights. They disagreed, even bickered sometimes, but almost never had a knock-down, drag-out. Sometimes it was best to agree to disagree and both mutually agree to move on. At that, they excelled.
“I just love knowing that whatever life throws at us, we figure it out together. Always remember that. Because we’re a team. And when you fall down, I pick you up.”
“Um, OK.”
“Also, very importantly, you pick me up, and you stand by me no matter what,” she said, still going. “I’ve always loved that about you. It’s one of many, many things that I love about you. Just like there are many, many, many things you love about me.”
Arthur exhaled, the tension of a pending argument finally leaving his body. When he breathed in again, something struck him. He sat up.
“Why does it smell weird in here?”
And that’s when he felt a long, rough tongue licking his ear.