Page 10 of Falling for My Ex Next Door

“I’ve made up my mind. I’ll negotiate with the bank myself. If that fails, I’ll sell the house, but only as a last resort.”

Surprised but respectful, he said, “Very well, Ms. Lisbon. It’s a tough process. Consider involving a real estate attorney or financial advisor.”

I appreciated his concern but chose to handle it alone.

The following days had been a whirlwind of activities for me. I had contacted the bank and had begun the process. I had been determined to find a way to save the coffee shop. The bank was resistant at first, but I was more persistent.

It had not been easy, but after weeks of back-and-forth, I had been able to work out a payment plan with the bank that would allow me to keep the coffee shop.

It was not the best solution, but it was better than losing the coffee shop entirely.

In the end, it was a relief to have worked out the payment plan, though making payments at the end of every month was still challenging.

I was very much grateful to my parents for the support they had shown since the day I made the decision. I could not be standing strong presently if they had decided not to involve themselves.

They made me confident in my ability to run the coffee shop and make good returns, enough to pay off the debt within a year or two.

***

The bright early morning sun shone so bright that it pricked my eyes. I roused from my sleep, and turned on my side. I had to get up; the morning was finally here!

The house was the most pleasant in the mornings, so I decided to stroll around. Upon my sauntering, I found out that my aunt had kept a good number of Michelangelo’s Ignudi, all apparently replicas, in a room that resembled a Victorian period drawing room, the kind you’d find in movies like Pride and Prejudice and The Duchess.

I wondered when she developed a liking for them. Unarguably, it would have been the time after I left for my parents, after she had recuperated from the loss of her husband.

Staring sheepishly at the paintings, I thought of a thought I often thought, a thought of why Michelangelo greatly loved to present and represent his imaginative communication through naked men.

As expected, Mom called, asking how I was faring. Thankfully, she couldn’t spot any sadness on my face and eventually decided that I was better.

“I still strongly believe that Sunnyvale will work for you.” She said this before my dad joined the video call. He seemed somewhat hesitant to ask if I had seen Jacob again. I hadn’t, I told him.

“Well, your mom and I are always here for you,” he finally said.

“I can come over if you want me to, baby.” My Mom crooned.

I pinched the bridge of my nose at her offer. I couldn’t have her coming over especially seeing as she lived at Campville. “No, it’s all good. I am doing well by myself. Thank you.”

“I love you, baby.” She smiled.

“Love you too, Mom.”

“Give me a call later, yeah?”

“Hmm, sure.”

And the call ended.

It was refreshing to speak with my parents, especially during the times when I hardly had anyone around me.

The housecleaning came easier than I had thought. By the time I finished, I was already obsessed with the way the entire house looked, spotless and beautiful. The place would surely cost a fortune, no doubt about it.

Afterward, I slipped inside the bathtub and dipped in warm water.

Considering how I had been enlivened by everything that morning—the house, the paintings, the cleaning, the warm bath, and the beautiful flowery dress I chose to wear over a pair of pink heels—, I never foresaw the dread I would later experience when I wanted to leave the house.

My feet were hesitant to cross the threshold, and I knew why. Jacob was the reason, my next-door neighbor. But I couldn’t allow my energy to be drained off by some pathetic presence, I told myself, blindly skipping out of the house.

My late aunt’s coffee shop had a charming vintage appeal, which I loved. The establishment stood among several old-fashioned stores selling jewelry, pawns, and books. I was glad to have inherited the place.

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