42
ZOSHA
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The thought of that little building won’t leave me alone.
Even now, sitting in my mom’s friend’s house, I can still see it. The faded paint. The cracked windows.
It looks worn down, tired… but not dead. Not to me.
Earlier today, lunch with King was nice. For a moment, I almost forgot about everything weighing on me. But of course, he brought it back into focus.
He told me the truth. It's one of the things I love about him, how honest he is. He wasn't trying to spare my feelings, just telling me the truth.
How much it would cost to fix. How deep I’d have to go financially. How fast things could spiral if I wasn’t careful.
And he wasn’t wrong.
That’s the problem.
I want this so bad… but I’m not stupid.
This isn’t just a cute dream.
This is debt.
Risk.
Pressure.
Sleepless nights, and unforgiving bill, after bill, after bill .
Still… every time I picture it, I don’t see a broken shop.
I see the Unicorn Cafe.
Alive again.
The place that I shared with my family, my dad's dream, the warm lights and laughter of the people coming in and actually feeling that they were in a magical place.
And I just… sit there, stuck in between.
Wanting it. Fearing it. Knowing it could either change my life or ruin it.
My mom isn't on board with it because my dad already left us with debt, and most of it was settled by selling the shop. But there's still so much and I know my mom is working hard on her end to fix things.
The last thing I want to do is put my family, or what's left of it, in the worse straits.
“God… what do I do?”
My hands press together, resting against my lips as I sit on the edge of the bed.
“I want this so bad. You know I do. But I don’t want to make a stupid decision. I don’t want to mess up my life chasing something I’m not ready for.”
I swallow, my chest tightening.
“This is a lot of money. A lot of responsibility. And I don’t even know if I’ll get approved for anything. I don’t even know if this is wise.”
Pausing, I lie back on my bed.
“I just… I don’t want to move off emotion. If this isn’t for me, close the door. Please. Make it obvious. But if it is… if this is something I’m supposed to do… then help me. Guide me. Because I can’t do this blind.”
Silence fills the room.
No voice answers back. No clear sign drops from the ceiling.
Now if I were Erica, I would have just spent all the money, taking that leap of faith that I don't have.
Everyone around me is always careful. As a matter of fact, it's who I am by nature. But you know who wasn't careful? My father. He started this shop and he came here with nothing. My father took that leap of faith and that risk, and the only thing that caught up with him was time.
So I move.
Because sitting still isn’t helping.
I call the bank.
My fingers hesitate before I hit dial, but I do it anyway.
I ask questions. A lot of them. About loans, approvals. About what I’d even need to qualify.
The person on the phone talks in numbers and terms I’m still trying to fully understand, but I catch enough.
Something about credit, income, down payment. Most of what I hear is risk and that nothing is guaranteed.
But it’s not impossible either.
That’s what keeps me from hanging up.
After that, I call the real estate agent.
My heart is beating faster this time.
This feels crazy and all at once it feels more real than it's ever felt.
The phone rings once. Twice.
“Hello?”
“Hi, this is Zoe,” I say, sounding shy. “I was calling about the property, the cafe location?”
“Oh yes, Zoe,” she replies. “I remember. What can I help you with?”
I shift slightly, pacing a little.
“Yeah, I just had a few questions. I know it’s… being sold as-is, but is there any way the seller would be willing to… I don’t know… fix anything? Or at least have an inspector come out and look at it? Maybe address some of the major issues?”
There’s a small pause on the other end.
“I understand what you’re asking,” she says. “But the property is listed at $50,000 with the expectation that it will be purchased as-is.”
My stomach drops a little.
Of course it is.
She continues, “That said, I can reach out and see if there’s any flexibility. I can’t promise anything, but I can ask.”
“Okay,” I say quickly. “Yeah, I’d really appreciate that.”
“Of course. I’ll get back to you as soon as I hear something.”
We hang up.
And just like that… I’m back to waiting.
Waiting is the worst part.
Hours pass.
I try to distract myself, sitting in the living room while voices move around me, but my mind isn’t there. It’s stuck on numbers.
I'm scared. Looking up to the ceilings, imagining that there's a heaven pass there, I whisper. “Tatusiu... prosz?, pomó? mi podj?? w?a?ciw? decyzj?. Wiem, ?e jeste? tam w niebie i patrzysz na mnie. Bardzo tego potrzebuj?.”
Then my phone rings.
I look down.
It’s her.
My heart jumps.
I stand up immediately and walk off, slipping down the hallway so I can hear clearly.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Hi, is this Zoe?” she asks.
“Yep, this is Zoe.”
“Hi,” she says, and I can hear a slight shift in her tone. “I spoke with the owner.”
I hold my breath.
“They’re willing to come down to $40,000,” she continues. “But that’s as low as they’re willing to go. And it would still be sold as-is.”
Forty.
It's $10,000 less. Still a really big number but it is $10,000 less.
“Okay,” I say slowly, my mind already spinning. “Okay… um… thank you. I appreciate you asking.”
“Of course. Do you think you’ll be moving forward?”
I glance down at the floor, my grip tightening slightly on my phone.
“I’m not sure yet,” I admit. “I need to talk to my bank and… figure some things out.”
“That makes sense,” she replies. “Just let me know. I can hold communication open for you.”
“Okay. I will. Thank you.”
We hang up.
And now it’s just me again, standing in a quiet hallway.
All I can think about is the ginormous debt. And then the possibility.
By the end of that night, I tell myself I’m going to hold off.
Not give up.
Just… pause. Because rushing into something like this feels like the fastest way to ruin it.
So I sleep on it.