44 - Haley
44
Haley
“I still can’t believe he hasn’t reached out,” Sara complained one morning. “He found out that he has a son . And his response is to totally ghost you? That shows he was never father material in the first place.”
“I guess so,” I said. I had become numb to the whole thing.
“You should text him,” Sara insisted, resting her hands on her belly. She was close to popping at this point, and was going to be induced later this week if the twins didn’t come naturally. “Give him a piece of your mind, Hales.”
“I don’t think that would help anything.”
“What has gotten into you? The sister I know would show up at his office and call him a deadbeat dad in front of all his coworkers. But you seem… defeated.”
I sighed and turned toward my sister. “I feel defeated, Sara. I got a glimpse of a life I could have had, and then it was torn away from me. I’m not angry anymore. I’m just tired.”
She pursed her lips, but said nothing as I finished getting ready for work.
I’d found comfort in my routines. Helping Bran get ready for school each morning, and putting him to bed every night. Practicing baseball with him in the afternoon, even though I had about as much hand-eye coordination as one of those wacky inflatable tubes outside of car dealerships. Having family dinners every night with Harper and Sara, enjoying the last few days of peace before the twins arrived and threw our lives into chaos. As soon as they were born, I would be too busy to worry about Lucas, Jordan, or Shay.
I threw myself into my work, too. My career was flourishing since the conference—I’d given two presentations for my colleagues on what I had learned, and my boss kept telling me how proud he was of me. He was even giving me more responsibility, including transferring more house showings to my workload.
That’s what I was focusing on today: an open house at a property that had been on the market for months without selling. It was a huge opportunity for me, and I allowed it to occupy most of my mental energy. Better that than obsessing over Lucas, and his reaction to learning he was Bran’s dad.
I arrived at the home and did a walkthrough, ensuring everything was clean and staged. It was a bright sunny day, so I opened all the blinds to allow as much natural light in as possible. I set up a big tray of cookies, nibbling on one of them while walking around the neighborhood and planting signs at intersections with arrows pointing toward the home.
The last thing I did was rearrange two of the chairs in the study, giving it a more open feel. I had a pretty good eye for staging, and small changes like that often made a huge difference.
The open house technically began at noon, but I started getting a steady stream of people popping in before that. The house was near a popular street that got a lot of foot traffic, which certainly helped get people inside. I’d done hundreds of open houses before, and sometimes I sat there all day waiting for someone, anyone to take a look. Fortunately, I didn’t have that problem today.
Un fortunately, there was another problem with the house: the living room. It was basically a wide hallway between the front door and the kitchen, not large enough to position both a couch and a television. That was undoubtedly the reason the house had gone so long without selling—people spent most of their time in the living room, after all.
I had my work cut out for me.
With a bright smile and an enthusiastic attitude, I greeted everyone who came inside and urged them to sign-in with their email and phone number. I floated around the house, pointing out its features to whoever would listen while downplaying its flaws. And I handed out business cards when people left, hoping that my face—and the house—would stick in their memory. I could handle a thousand rejections if it meant someone bought the house—all it took was one , after all.
That’s a good metaphor for love.
The pain was bright and sharp, but I quickly pushed it back down. I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself. I was a single mom, and I needed to focus on giving Bran the best life possible. And in order to do that, I had to sell this house.
There was one couple who were immediately interested in the house more than anyone else. They nodded politely when I told them to let me know if they needed anything, but I saw them whispering to themselves excitedly. Time to play it cool. Some realtors liked to hover, but I knew it was better to give a potential buyer some space before reeling them in.
Just like Lucas .
Damnit. No . I wasn’t going to think about him today.
“Is it three bedrooms?” one of them asked me after they had wandered around for a few minutes. “I counted four.”
Jackpot.
“Technically, it’s three,” I said, leading them upstairs. “It’s different in Oregon, but in the state of Washington, we can only classify a room as a bedroom if it has an egress window and a closet.” We stepped into the room in question. “This one has a variety of built-in storage, but not a full closet, so it’s technically an office.”
“That’s crazy. It has a balcony!” the husband said.
“A great balcony, too,” I said, opening the doors wide. “It’s east-facing, which means you’ll get nice sunlight in the morning while drinking your coffee. There’s plenty of room for a table and two chairs, too.”
The wife patted her husband’s arm. “We could eat breakfast out here when the weather is nice!”
“The classification is also good for tax purposes,” I explained. “It basically has four bedrooms, but it will be appraised like a three-bedroom home. And since home values are soaring in this neighborhood, that will help keep your property taxes lower.”
“I didn’t consider that,” the husband told his wife.
I felt a surge of hope as we walked back into the room. The previous agent had spent months trying to move this house. If I could find a buyer on the very first day…
Suddenly, there was a crackle of static noise outside. It sounded like a voice fed through a really cheap speaker, drifting up through the balcony door.
“What is that?” the husband asked.
“Someone on a phone call? Listening on speakerphone?” his wife suggested.
The noise continued, totally unintelligible.
“You get all sorts of people at these open houses,” I joked while beginning to close the balcony doors. “Did you see the kitchen? It’s so good for hosting…”
But then I heard one word cut through the static outside.
“…Hales…”
Ice ran through my veins. I threw open the door and strode back out onto the balcony, leaning over the edge, searching for the source.
It was immediately clear who was causing all the commotion.
The man with the inky-black hair, standing in the middle of the lawn.