I tell her about the house
Last night Beth asked me if I had finalized things on the apartment. I told her that I hadn’t, that I’d actually found a house off Central St. near Natick Center.
“That’s a busy street,” she said.
“Well, it’s not on the street. It’s a side street. You wouldn’t know there’s a street there if you didn’t know to look for it. The only downside,” I said, “is that I’ll have to mow the lawn.”
“You don’t have to mow the lawn, the owner does that. Isn’t it a two-family house?”
“No, it’s a single family house, so I’m thinking of taking the reel mower.”
“How much was it?” she asks.
I tell her.
“Is it old?”
“About ten years old, they say.”
“What’s wrong with it,” she asks.
“Nothing. It’s small. Three bedrooms. Near some town land.”
I want to keep describing it, partly because I’m excited, partly because I want to reassure her, but I sense her tensing.
“Do you want me to go on,” I ask, “or should I stop?”
“No. That’s enough.”