“This used to be your Aunty Abigail’s room,” he said, studying the door like it was a sad painting. He stopped at the last room, a closed door, and reached out. Impatient.Īs the father moved on, his family trailed behind. Their mother checked the time on her wristwatch, then crossed her arms. “It’s like a mini elevator,” he explained. “Looks like somebody covered it up.” He glanced towards the kids, “There used to be a dumbwaiter chute here - went all the way down to the basement.” Leaning forward, he squinted: beneath the wallpaper was a square bump. He placed a hand flat against the wall, “Used to be a dumbwaiter chute here.” Turning around, he stared at the wall, puzzled. And then, he stopped in his tracks as if remembering something. He kept walking, sharing a brief, mundane fact in each doorway. Well, that’s what it was until we figured out what to do with it. “This room,” he nudged open a half-closed door, “used to be a library.” He strode forward, and his family followed.
“This room used to be painted blue,” said the father, pointing into a green-walled guest room. I followed them through the upstairs hallway. And for some reason, this house was starting to make that feel possible.Īnyway, there I was, alone on a Friday night when this excruciatingly perfect family showed up on my doorstep. Two married couples playing board games - isn’t that like the settling down suburbia dream? Granted, Charlie and I weren’t married yet, but we talked about it. A young married couple from across the street, Harpreet and Miguel, even invited us over for a game night next week. It needed some work, but that was our thing: fix up old houses - flip them - move on. “Barbie’s gothic dream house,” Charlie joked. All surrounded by rolling hills and an old forest. My girlfriend Charlie and I had just moved in.Ī killer deal on a two-story at the end of a quiet suburban street. The father looked back over his shoulder, “Tops.” Watching them go, my ever-present, people-pleasing personality kicked into gear. They all turned around and started back down the snow-covered driveway. “Might be passing through in another year, or two.” “We’ll give you a proper heads up next time,” he added. Muted disappointment fell over the kids’ faces. “This was all very last minute, and… thank you regardless.” “-Say no more,” he put up his hands in a little surrender, and stepped back. “Yeah, I just… we’re still moving in and, it’s a bit of a mess and-” The father smiled, “We’d only need ten, fifteen minutes, tops.” The mother winced at the word’ girlfriend,’ almost like someone had spat in her face. He nodded, “Show them where their dad grew up. He cleared his throat, “Would you mind if we showed the kids around?” “Hello miss,” said the father, “Sorry to bother you so late.”
This was the type of family that showed up early to get the front row pew. Behind them, three young, blue-eyed kids lined up by height. Normal in a 1950’s sitcom kind of way: Tall handsome dad, petite blonde wife. The family on my doorstep looked normal enough.
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