Chapter 7 Nelly
NELLY
Ten months ago... Tacoma, Washington
I wandered through the living room, fingers trailing along faded, plaid wallpaper.
The realtor was efficient—too efficient.
A young, monogamous Beta couple with a baby on the way had fallen in love with the "vintage charm" and "unlimited potential” of the old home. They’d been excited to find out a monogamous Alpha and Omega couple owned it for so long.
They said it was meant to be, said they felt a deep connection to the house.
A deep connection. That irritated me. How could a fifteen-minute tour compare to decades?
“They don’t make them like this anymore.”
“Such good bones, a sturdy foundation.”
The Barbie-perfect Omega realtor had given me a play-by-play of the entire showing afterwards.
Their realtor had already reached out with a verbal offer, but we were waiting on the written counterpart now.
They were already talking about knocking a wall down.
Major renovations. Repainting my grandparents’ room.
Changing the antique doorknobs. Even though it was still technically mine, the house was already slipping away.
Grandpa’s words resonated in my head, banging around my grey matter, trying to find a place to implant permanently.
Not the end of the world, just the end of a world.
But it was my world, dammit. And I wasn’t ready to let any of it go.
It was well after midnight, and the house seemed to breathe around me. In. Out. In again. Inhaling and exhaling all the memories its walls had seen. Was it removing them to prep for its new occupants? Or was it pulling the ghost of us ever deeper, embedding us into its framework?
God, I still couldn’t believe I was selling this place.
Couldn’t believe I’d not be sleeping here next month.
My brain drifted back to Grandpa. The cancer bombshell.
His following instructions to sell and make a new life.
I was honoring his last will and testament, even if we weren't calling it that. I’d planned on hiding in Seattle, but I’d never once considered giving up our beloved home.
It was my security blanket. If Seattle didn’t work out, if I never got a job and the money ran out, I’d come back and stay here.
I’d stay until the walls crumbled around me.
“Medicaid and the last of the savings account will cover the rest of my time here. I've set up a trust for Annie. Won't matter how long she lives, it'll be enough.”
“How is that possible? Find a golden goose?” It was an inside joke, but it didn’t feel funny at all. Not anymore. Not with how very unfunny reality had become.
He winked at me. “I didn't sell my entire coin collection back when we sent you to San Francisco.
Now, sell that house. The lien is still about fifty thousand or so, but I've had an appraisal done. You'll come out with a hundred even in its current condition. The realtor will be in touch with you next week. She’ll probably tell you to do a few repairs or updates, things to maximize the market value, but ignore all of that. Just list it as-is.”
My mind raced. When the heck had Grandpa gotten the house appraised and inspected? Why didn’t I notice? Had I been gone, enduring yet another fruitless interview?
“I can't sell our house, Grandpa. I won't.” I shook my head violently. I was already forced to accept the fact he didn’t want treatment, now he was asking me to say goodbye to the place that I’d spent my entire childhood, the place I loved so much.
"I'm not asking you to do it, Nelly. I'm telling you to do it." His voice was soft but unyielding. "You need a fresh start. That house is full of memories, good ones mostly, but they’ll haunt you all the same."
My mouth opened to protest again, but he held up his palm.
"Honey, listen to me. The last thing you need at your age is baggage. An old house. Old grandparents fading away. Old city that’s not been treating you kindly." His eyes, jaundiced but still sharp, pinned me in place. How did he always know?
The floor seemed to shift beneath me. "Everything’s fine. Tacoma is where I want to be."
He sighed. “I didn’t want to push you. Wanted you to tell me in your own time. I’ll be honest though, Madame Belova tracked me down. She was worried about you."
The betrayal stung like a physical slap. "She had no right."
"Maybe not, but I’m glad I finally know a few things, glad I finally understand why your visits were few and far between over the last year.
More than that, really. You looked pale in video calls.
Winced when you moved. You always shrugged it off.
How could you tell us it was minor surgery, Nell?
” He shook his head, melancholy washing over him.
“I hate you went through all of that, and we weren’t beside you. ”
“That’s not your fault,” I insisted. “I’m the one who kept you in the dark.”
“You did. And now I’m pushing you out of the dark.
” He leaned forward. His eyes held fire; he was determined to convince me.
"You're too young to cling to the past. The house is just walls and a roof. We’ll always be right here.” He reached toward me, pushed his pointer into my body over my heart, then dropped his arm again.
His face was so pale. “What matters now is what you do next. "
I averted my gaze. "I don't know what to do next."
"Sure, you do, honey." His voice was gentle. "You're just afraid."
If he knew what his words meant to me… If he knew that the thing I was afraid to do was pursue the last idea I’d noted down on my phone… would he still push me forward?
While lost in thought, I’d roamed into the kitchen.
I didn’t like being in here these days. It was too bright, so jarringly happy.
Grandmother, who loved sitting in the sun more than just about anything—except for, maybe, Grandpa, me, and her bird collection—had kept it a sunny shade of yellow my entire life.
After clicking on the overhead light, I poured myself a glass of water, then wandered back out into the living room.
Everything in this space had a story. The dark green sofa had caused the biggest fight I could ever remember my grandparents having.
They’d ordered brown; the store had delivered green.
Grandmother loved it. She called it a happy accident.
Grandpa had a fit about how much they’d paid, and that they should get the right item.
If I flipped over the left cushion, I could still see why the fight ended.
A large stain they could never quite remove.
Grandpa, gesturing emphatically, spilled coffee all over it during the argument.
They’d both broken down laughing after that, since returning it was suddenly a moot point.
So, the dark green sofa stayed and later came the mismatched wingbacks in brown and gold.
They’d somehow managed to find throw pillows with all three colors in their horrendous pattern.
The brass floor lamp was a side-of-the-road treasure, spotted after having ice cream together on a random Wednesday.
Grandpa shocked himself while rewiring it.
My eyes landed on the mottled coffee table with its flock of sparrows.
The realtor wanted me to move the birds, but I’d refused.
Grandmother’s birds would stay in their rightful places until I was ready to pack them up.
There were dozens of them flying around the house.
Ceramic.
Metal.
Wood.
Antique.
Brand new.
The little blue bird Grandmother chose during bingo last month sprouted to mind. That bird would never roost in this house. That fact made my heart ache.
I walked slowly out into the hallway. I’d packed up all the personal things from in here before the realtor listed; the woman wouldn’t budge on that, saying the house’s entrance was the first impression.
A family needed to immediately imagine themselves living in the home, putting their own photos on the walls and kicking off their own shoes.
But the dozens of framed photos were burned into my memory. Real outlines remained too, a result of sun fading the surrounding wallpaper just enough that a person who knew what to look for could easily spot them.
None had been artfully hung. There’d been no grand design. Anytime Grandpa or Grandmother had a new one they wanted to display; they just willy-nilly banged a nail into a free bit of wall. I closed my eyes, imagining the hall as it was three weeks ago.
A gold frame. My mother cradling me in the hospital. My father standing behind her.
Silver frame. A snapshot of me in my first tutu. Pink. I’d cried, because I wanted baby blue.
A worn, wood frame. First day of level fours.
White frame. Last day of level eights.
Silver again. Hugging my favorite teacher before leaving San Francisco.
And so many candid photos of us all over the years too. All the photos of Grandpa and Grandmother together without me had the same pose, same vibe. Grandmother staring at the camera while Grandpa looked at her with a boyish love that never changed, no matter how old they both got.
I parted my lashes wider, trying to see what could not truly be seen now. The living room still retained the shadow of familiarity with birds and furniture. But here? My childhood had been erased.
The realtor had staged a mirror over the foyer table, its surface now bare. A generic runner hid one spot on the hardwoods that had faded from foot traffic. The wainscoting had been painted a bright, cheerful cream.
I climbed the stairs, my hand trailing along the banister that had been polished to a gleaming shine for potential buyers. The upstairs hallway felt hollow without Grandpa's book collection overfilling the built-in shelves.
“Clutter confuses buyers.”
“Personal things will take them out of the illusion we’re trying to build. That this is their future home, not your current one.”
“Let’s lose the bedding in here. That quilt is way past its best-buy date.”
That last bit had been about Grandmother’s starlight crossings quilt. She’d spent forever working on it. It had several holes now and needed deep cleaning, but I was scared to wash it.
My childhood bedroom door stood ajar. I pushed it open, stepping into the space that had been my sanctuary for so damn long.
The realtor had left my furniture—the white four-poster bed, the matching dresser, the desk where I'd done homework until I’d gone to live at the San Francisco Ballet dorms full time.
“It’s always good to have a child’s room set up, especially to target young couples.”
The items that screamed ‘Nelly Shaw’ were gone though. My Center Stage Slick movie poster, my collection of music boxes, the mirror where I'd practiced positions every morning while holding onto a handmade, freestanding barre Grandpa crafted.
It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. I’d taken over my grandparents’ room a long time ago.
I’d also gotten a new mattress and sheets.
For…obvious reasons. I still slept with Grandmother’s quilt at the foot of the bed every night though, folding it out of sight during the day to appease the realtor.
God, I was suddenly exhausted.
I retreated to the master. My phone buzzed in my pocket as I placed the glass of water down on the nightstand. I fished it out. Two texts from my flawless realtor.
Jan Messer: Nelly, I still think the Stevensons are a sure thing, but I’ve scheduled another showing tomorrow at 2 PM. These buyers are a fantastic back-up. Half the cash on hand, pre-approved for the rest. Their agent already sent over that letter.
Jan Messer: Let me know if 2 doesn’t work. I’ll try to rearrange.
I had an interview in Tacoma tomorrow at 4 PM anyways.
I’d just leave a bit early, gave me time to grab a coffee and read over my prep notes.
Though I’d decided not to hope anymore, this opportunity had rekindled the feeling.
The director of the small modern dance school seemed impressed by my resume, and already aware I was a single Omega.
He didn’t seem to know who I was, so that was good too.
Me: 2 is fine. I’ll be out of town anyway.
It felt like she started typing before I’d even sent the message. She must have still had our convo open.
Jan Messer: Fantastic! I’ve got a great feeling about tomorrow. I bet we get two offers!
Jan Messer: Though, I told you we should paint the kitchen. The Stevensons’ agent said they almost walked out when they saw it, but the rest of the house won them over.
Me: Great.
I sent a cheerful emoticon next, because my one-word response felt hollow.
Painting the kitchen was another thing I’d refused to change. That sunny yellow would stay until I sold the place. I couldn’t part with it any more than I could part with the birds or the quilt.
Collapsing onto the bed, I buried my face in one of the pillows and screamed.
I screamed as loudly as I could.
I screamed until my throat hurt.
Eventually, when I felt emptied of frustration and pain, I fell asleep.