The House

“I missed you,” he said lovingly, and she smiled at him. The relationship they had was so weird. Most of the time he didn't want to see her, and then when she fended for herself, he was jealous, had a tantrum, and said he missed her. It seemed as though one of them always had to be uncomfortable. One end of the seesaw had to be up and the other down. They could never be on an even keel at the same time. It somehow seemed a shame.

He took her out to dinner that night, at a restaurant she liked, and he seemed to be making an effort. And as soon as they got back to the apartment, he insisted he was tired and wanted her to come to bed with him. She knew what he had in mind, and she had no objections. It had been three weeks since the last time they made love. And she could tell when they did that night that he had been hungry for her. She had missed him, too, but not as much since she was distracted by the house. She hadn't said anything to him about it at dinner. She wanted to wait until after breakfast on Saturday morning. She somehow thought he'd be in a better mood. And she didn't know exactly why, but she had the feeling he'd disapprove. Phil hated change, and there was no denying it was an outlandishly big house.

She made him scrambled eggs and bacon in the morning, with blueberry muffins she had bought the night before. She even made him a mimosa, with champagne and orange juice, and brought him the paper while he was still in bed.

“Uh-oh,” he said with a sly smile, as she handed him a cappuccino with little flecks of chocolate on it. “What are you buttering me up for?”

“What makes you think I am?” she said with a mischievous smile.

“The breakfast was too good. The cappuccino was perfect. You never bring me the paper in bed. And the champagne and orange juice was outrageous.” And then he looked at her with worried eyes. “You're either going to dump me, or you've been screwing around.”

“Neither,” she said with a victorious look, as she sat down on the end of the bed. She couldn't contain her excitement any longer. She was dying to share it with him, and know what he thought. She was hoping to take him over to see it that afternoon. “I have something to tell you.” She smiled at him.

“No kidding,” he said, looking anxious. “I could figure that much out. What did you do?”

“I'm moving,” she said simply, and he suddenly looked panicked.

“Away from San Francisco?”

She laughed and was pleased. He actually looked frightened. That was a good sign.

“No. Just a few blocks away.” He looked relieved.

“You bought a condo?” He seemed surprised. “You told me you decided not to.”

“I did. I didn't buy a condo. I bought a house.”

“A house? Just for you?”

“Just for me. And you on weekends, if you like.”

“So where is it?” He looked skeptical. She could see that he thought it was a bad idea. He had already done the house thing, in his marriage. He didn't want anything more than the small apartment he had. All he had at his was one big bedroom, and a tiny back room with a triple bunk for his kids. They hardly ever stayed there, and it was easy to see why. They had to be contortionists to fit in. When he wanted to spend time with them, he took them away. The rest of the time they stayed at his old house with his ex-wife. He was perfectly satisfied just seeing them for dinner once or twice a week.

“It's on Scott Street, not far from here. We can go over and see it this afternoon, if you want to.”

“When do you close escrow?” He took a sip of the cappuccino as he listened.

“Tomorrow.”

“Are you kidding? When did you make the deal?”

“Thursday. They accepted my offer. I bought it as is. It needs a lot of work,” she said honestly.

“Jesus, Sarah. That's a headache you don't need. What do you know about fixing up a house?”

“Nothing. I'm going to learn, and I want to do a lot of it myself.”

He rolled his eyes. “You're dreaming. What were you smoking when you decided to do this?”

“Nothing. I admit, it's a little crazy. But it's good crazy. This is my dream.”

“Since when? You didn't even start looking till last week.”

“It was my great-grandparents' house. My grandmother was born there.”

“That's no reason to buy it.” He thought he had never heard anything so stupid in his life, and he didn't know the whole story yet. She was getting there slowly. And he was more skeptical by the minute. “How old is it?”

“My great-grandfather built it in 1923.”

“When was it last remodeled?” he asked, interrogating the witness.

“Never,” Sarah said with a sheepish grin. “Every-thing's original. It's never been touched. I told you it needs a lot of work. I figure it might take me a year. I'm not going to move right away.”

“I hope not. It sounds like you bought yourself a giant headache. It's going to cost you a fortune.” She didn't tell him she had one now, thanks to Stanley Perlman. Phil never asked her about money, nor she him. It was something they each kept to themselves. “How big is it?”