Chapter 11 #2
“Yeah, but here, with these pretentious assholes? You just know this is one of those neighborhoods with a psycho HOA—quiet hours, fines for visible trash cans, palettes of approved mulch colors. Is that really us? I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be one of those people.”
She was ever so gently rubbing it in his face that she had been right all along.
“I know how you feel about the burbs. And you’re not wrong about the HOAs. But sometimes you have to put up with it to be around other families with young kids. That’s what we need, what the baby will need. Friends, comfort, normalcy.”
“We have kids in our apartment building.”
“That weird guy who claims to live with his mom upstairs does not count. He’s, like, our age and I’ve never seen this mom of his. I’m starting to think it’s a Norman Bates situation.”
Wren paused, thought for a moment, and then spoke. “Either way, we agree that this one isn’t right for us?”
“Not unless you’re OK living in a zero bed zero bath.”
“OK, good. Because I just remembered something that I’ve always wanted to do and never had the chance to.”
She yanked on the handle and flung the door open, then stepped outside.
“Where— What—” Arthur called out, but she was moving too fast. Before he knew it, she was behind the car, rummaging around in the trunk.
“Oh no.”
He clambered out to try to stop her.
By the time he got there, she was already armed with a roll of toilet paper in each hand.
“No, no,” he said, placing himself between her and the house. “We are not doing this.”
“Why not? No one lives here, obviously. Who cares?”
“I care! Maybe this house isn’t for us. But I still think this is the kind of place I want us to eventually end up. I don’t want to spit in the face of that.”
“Have you ever tried spitting in someone’s face? It’s incredibly satisfying, especially when they deserve it, and I’m pretty sure the people who live in houses like this deserve it,” she said, offering him one of the rolls. “Now, come on. You with me?”
He looked at her hand, at the free end of toilet paper flapping in the gentle wind. It was cocked and ready to go.
“Is this on the list?”
“Not officially,” she said. “But if you say no, I’m still naming our child Princess. Even if it’s a boy.”
“All right,” he groaned. “Gimme.”
Maybe she was right, but for the wrong reasons. Maybe they didn’t belong here, but not because they were better than these people, but because they weren’t good enough. He wasn’t good enough.
In another world, another time, they would have bought a house like this in their early twenties.
He’d have been a wildly successful door-to-door vacuum salesman, and she’d have been—an operator, or something?
He supposed that the sexism was a pretty good reason not to idealize the past. That and the rampant racism, and the war.
He was tying himself in knots. There was no one to blame but himself.
Wren launched her roll of toilet paper. It fluttered through the air and unraveled beautifully, looping just over a branch of the big tree in the front yard and landing on the ground on the other side, leaving a perfect arc of paper behind.
“God that felt good,” Wren cried, looking down at her hands like she had just been granted infinite cosmic power. “That must be what people feel like the first time they do cocaine. I’m getting another one.”
Arthur lined up his own shot. He wanted to TP the house itself. The arrogant Realtor and her Gosh, can’t you just see the potential? rang in his ears. Yeah, people used to say that about him, too. To hell with all of them.
He unfurled a perfect throw, which arced over the roof and just to the right of the chimney, streaking the entire front of the house with a long trail of paper.
“Nice one!” Wren said. “You’re a natural.”
He looked back at her. She was balancing the rest of the eighteen pack of rolls in her arms.
“Woah, you’re not screwing around,” he said. He looked around nervously. This was insane. It was broad daylight.
“One day I’ll be someone’s mother, a self-respecting member of the community who doesn’t resort to petty revenge and vandalism,” she said. “But today is not that day. Now, come take some of these.”
He grabbed a few, then felt the beginnings of a light drizzle. At some point, a few clouds had rolled in without him noticing.
“Oh, this is gonna be an absolute mess,” Wren said with glee, tossing another roll, which clanked off a window.
Arthur lined up another shot himself, cocked his arm back, and felt his phone buzz right as he was about to let go. He paused to check the screen and let out a little yelp when he saw the name.
It was Linda Kellerman.
“You OK?” Wren said, still tossing.
“All good, just a sec.” He wandered across the yard to take the call. “Hello?”
“Arthur,” she said, all business. He gulped. Was she watching them from down the street? Had a neighbor spied them and called her to tattle? “I feel a little bad about the showing. You seemed a bit…blindsided.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess a little.”
“Even still, I wanted to encourage you not to give up on the property. Maybe it’s not the ideal fit for a young couple expecting a baby—and you two are adorable, by the way—but if you’re serious about getting into the area, it could be a huge opportunity.
Will it take a lot of work? Yes, of course. But for the price, you can’t beat it.”
“We’re about to have a baby and there are no bedrooms. It can’t work.”
“Can’t it? If you move quick enough and are willing to live in a construction zone for just a few weeks, boom, you’ve got your nest egg. It’s an absolutely incredible investment.”
“I don’t know. My girlfriend’s not sure she wants—”
“Oh, she doesn’t know what she wants,” Linda scoffed.
“She’s about to pop; her hormones are going crazy.
She can’t be held responsible for anything she says and does, OK?
It’s your job to make this decision. She has enough to worry about.
Take this off her plate. And, wait—did you say girlfriend? You’re not married?”
“No, we’re not.”
“Well then. All the more reason to follow your gut on this.”
Arthur turned around and watched Wren chucking rolls of toilet paper with a demented glee in her eyes. The lady had a point. Wren was certainly making some rash decisions lately.
“Just think about it,” the agent said. “And call me, OK? Just give it some thought before you let this one get away.”
After, Arthur and Wren surveyed the damage. It was pretty impressive. The house was nearly mummified.
“We should probably get out of here,” Arthur said, amazed that no one had walked by yet. “Returning to the scene of the crime is one thing. Never leaving in the first place is another.”
“Sorry, it’s just—” Wren sniffed, admiring her work like a canvas masterpiece. “It’s beautiful.”
He couldn’t help but laugh.
“I know it sounds ridiculous,” she said. “But I was never allowed to be the troublemaker, to screw around a little, you know? I mean, I had a short phase, don’t get me wrong. But I was already a big enough burden to everyone as it was.”
Just as quickly, he felt guilty for laughing. Until she looped her arm through his and tugged him toward the car.
“Let’s go. Can we pretend we hear sirens and we’re making our getaway?”
“Sure.”
“Can we just barely sneak under the railroad crossing arm right before a train whizzes past?”
He rolled his eyes. There was a lot rattling around in his head. The real estate lady had made some sense, but the truth was that he wasn’t going to lie to Wren.
Arthur wasn’t sure where that left them. But he knew one thing. Somehow, he was smiling. Because of her.
“Fine. Get in,” he said. “Buckle your seat belt and I will consider plowing through one sidewalk fruit stand.”
“You’re the best.”
In the car, Arthur pulled up directions to Home on his phone and plopped it in the cupholder.
Was it the world’s safest setup? No. One day he’d love to have a minivan with a modern touchscreen, where Google Maps and Spotify and all sorts of other goodies would be at his fingertips.
A flip-down screen in the back for the baby.
But that was starting to feel very far away.
For now, he’d have to settle for viewing the map at this harsh and confusing angle that required him to take his eyes completely off the road.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Wren said, snatching the phone and canceling the navigation.
“Home? I’m hungry.”
“No, no, no. First,” she said, “you need a redo.”