the bank. Maybe they will sell it to me.”
“Maybe they will, I don’t know. I can give you the contact information, but I know they will be refinancing it and it seems unlikely they will offer a mortgage that equates to the same deal on rent that I’ve been giving you the past few years.”
That, I knew was true. I had completely lucked out on rent when I got this place. In the several years I’ve been in the house, she’s never raised the rent on me once. Finding another house in this area for less than a thousand dollars a month is not going to be an easy task at all.
“I’ll include the contact information for the bank in your letter when I mail it to you.”
“Okay,” my voice sounds small, withdrawn.
“Again, I’m sorry Aspen. I wish you lots of luck.”
I hang up the phone without responding. What can I say? I didn’t see this coming at all. I put my head in my hands and cry. And cry. I feel helpless, confused, lost. I’ve been saving for a down payment for this house for a while; hoping and admittedly assuming it would one day be mine. I don’t have much saved, but it was something. And then the floodgates open and I cry for all that has happened in the last few days. At least my red eyes and nose will blend in with the sunburn.
I go to my room, change out of my lounge clothes and put jeans and a t-shirt on. I throw my still damp hair in a high bun and don’t even bother with makeup. Before I can even think about it, I once again find myself in my car and at the gas station buying a paper.
Time to start looking for places to rent.
I drive without even thinking and find myself sitting in the parking lot of D’Vine. I’m not sure why D’Vine continues to be my go to location, but one thing I do know – alcohol needs to happen.
When I walk into D’Vine, the hostess greets me with my name. Apparently, I do come here a lot. Oh well, what do I care? I’m allowed to come here any time I want. After I order my second glass of wine, I look down at the newspaper in front of me once more. Red pen in hand, apartments that look promising are circled.
I’m really sad that in order to find something within my price range, I’m going to have to resort to apartment living once again. I often forgot how lucky I was to get my house when I did. I just happened to see the for rent sign and placed a call to the listed number. She was desperate for someone to take it off of her hands and take over the mortgage payment.
I’ve gotten used to having the privacy a home provides as opposed to an apartment where you can hear everything through the walls, floor , and ceiling. This is going to suck massively. And the fact I have to get out in two weeks? The thought makes me want to throw up.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” a smooth voice says to me as the man that owns it slides into the booth across from me.
I look up into Wes’ face and it brings an instant smile to my lips, but it quickly falls when I remember the last time I saw him. Before I can respond, his eyes widen. “Whoa. That’s quite the sunburn you’re sporting there.”
Shit. I forgot about my face. My hands raise and I start to cover it, like that will do any good. And then I remember my approach to getting ready to go out and what I look like. And wish that the room would just absorb me somehow so I could disappear. “Shut up. Besides, don’t you have something else you want to tease me about? Go ahead, let’s hear it.”
I don’t know how it’s possible, but his smile widens. “Why didn’t the chicken cross the road?”
I’m not going to smile. No, I’m not. “Why didn’t the chicken? Isn’t that wrong? You’re already telling it wrong.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Just answer the question. Why didn’t the chicken cross the road?”
I sigh . He’s not going to quit, so I give him the answer he wants. “I don’t know, why?”
“Because she was dancing on the corner,” and
“Maybe they will, I don’t know. I can give you the contact information, but I know they will be refinancing it and it seems unlikely they will offer a mortgage that equates to the same deal on rent that I’ve been giving you the past few years.”
That, I knew was true. I had completely lucked out on rent when I got this place. In the several years I’ve been in the house, she’s never raised the rent on me once. Finding another house in this area for less than a thousand dollars a month is not going to be an easy task at all.
“I’ll include the contact information for the bank in your letter when I mail it to you.”
“Okay,” my voice sounds small, withdrawn.
“Again, I’m sorry Aspen. I wish you lots of luck.”
I hang up the phone without responding. What can I say? I didn’t see this coming at all. I put my head in my hands and cry. And cry. I feel helpless, confused, lost. I’ve been saving for a down payment for this house for a while; hoping and admittedly assuming it would one day be mine. I don’t have much saved, but it was something. And then the floodgates open and I cry for all that has happened in the last few days. At least my red eyes and nose will blend in with the sunburn.
I go to my room, change out of my lounge clothes and put jeans and a t-shirt on. I throw my still damp hair in a high bun and don’t even bother with makeup. Before I can even think about it, I once again find myself in my car and at the gas station buying a paper.
Time to start looking for places to rent.
I drive without even thinking and find myself sitting in the parking lot of D’Vine. I’m not sure why D’Vine continues to be my go to location, but one thing I do know – alcohol needs to happen.
When I walk into D’Vine, the hostess greets me with my name. Apparently, I do come here a lot. Oh well, what do I care? I’m allowed to come here any time I want. After I order my second glass of wine, I look down at the newspaper in front of me once more. Red pen in hand, apartments that look promising are circled.
I’m really sad that in order to find something within my price range, I’m going to have to resort to apartment living once again. I often forgot how lucky I was to get my house when I did. I just happened to see the for rent sign and placed a call to the listed number. She was desperate for someone to take it off of her hands and take over the mortgage payment.
I’ve gotten used to having the privacy a home provides as opposed to an apartment where you can hear everything through the walls, floor , and ceiling. This is going to suck massively. And the fact I have to get out in two weeks? The thought makes me want to throw up.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” a smooth voice says to me as the man that owns it slides into the booth across from me.
I look up into Wes’ face and it brings an instant smile to my lips, but it quickly falls when I remember the last time I saw him. Before I can respond, his eyes widen. “Whoa. That’s quite the sunburn you’re sporting there.”
Shit. I forgot about my face. My hands raise and I start to cover it, like that will do any good. And then I remember my approach to getting ready to go out and what I look like. And wish that the room would just absorb me somehow so I could disappear. “Shut up. Besides, don’t you have something else you want to tease me about? Go ahead, let’s hear it.”
I don’t know how it’s possible, but his smile widens. “Why didn’t the chicken cross the road?”
I’m not going to smile. No, I’m not. “Why didn’t the chicken? Isn’t that wrong? You’re already telling it wrong.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Just answer the question. Why didn’t the chicken cross the road?”
I sigh . He’s not going to quit, so I give him the answer he wants. “I don’t know, why?”
“Because she was dancing on the corner,” and
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