Page 11 of An Introvert's Guide to Life and Love
“Have regularly scheduled meetings with him. Every day at a certain time. Have an agenda with boxes to check off, like is he eating, exercising, socializing.”
My mom is using her attorney voice. Her words are crisp and confident, and for some reason they make me cringe. I may not know how to take care of Gramps, but I have an instinct that he wouldn’t like regularly scheduled meetings with an agenda. Maybe it’s because of the last phone call I had with him. It was like he couldn’t wait to hang up. Do I really want to put us both through that every day?
“I’m not sure if that sounds like something he would like, Mom.”
“Oh, Mallory.” She sounds irritable now. It also sounds like she’s chopping a carrot that has personally offended her. “You’ll have to figure it out. You’re nearly thirty years old. I’ll send you the property manager’s number. Call us back when you have solutions instead of just problems.”
She hangs up.
I stare at my phone, stung.Excuse me.I am only twenty-eight. Rude.
I sit back in my chair and gaze out the window. The day outside is clear and blue. The sun glints off the urban buildings of Lower Queen Anne and flashes off the Space Needle in the distance. The idea of hiring a property manager to help me feels like a huge weight off my shoulders already, but the idea of a phone call fills me with dread.
All I have is this guy’s name and phone number. I would really prefer to text him first. But I figure it might be an office landline, so I have no choice. I stall for a few more minutes, placing a DoorDash order for some pad thai for lunch, and then I arrange a notepad and pen on my desk and call the number.
“Hello,” comes a man’s voice, slightly out of breath.
“Hi, is this—” I double-check the name I’d scrawled at the top of my notepad. “Daniel McKinnon?”
“Yes it is.” He pants, and I wonder if he’s having a heart attack or something. “And who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”
“Um. My name is Mallory Rosen?” I’m aware that this comes out like a question, something that happens a lot when I’m flustered.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Rosen?” His breathing is really distracting.
“Look, are you okay? Are you having some sort of cardiac problem? I won’t feel bad if you need to hang up and call nine-one-one.”
He chuckles, and it’s a nice mellow sound. It simultaneously calms me and makes me feel like I’ve just swallowed some warm vanilla pudding.
“I’m not experiencing an emergency, but thank you for your concern.” He sounds normal now, and I hear something like the crunch of gravel. “I was on my bike. Just walking into my office now. So please, tell me what I can help you with.”
“Right. Well, I’ve come into some property.” Boy, that sounds pretentious. “And I need some help managing it.” Now I’m just repeating his job title at him.Me have property, you help manage.I try to sound somewhat intelligent. “It’s a single-family home. I asked around and you came highly recommended. I live in Seattle, so I could use the help of someone local.”
“Seattle, huh? I was wondering where your area code was from.” I hear the squeak of an office chair. I have no idea what he looks like,so I imagine a generic forty-something man, possibly bald, definitely sweaty from biking in the Florida heat. “What kind of help are you looking for, specifically?”
“At the moment, I could use some help finding new tenants. The old ones left.”
“Scared them away, did you? What, did you tell them about Seattle politics?” He laughs again, and my stomach squirms. Sweaty and balding he may be, but he has a nice laugh.
“That’s definitely something I can help you with,” he continues. “Are you aware of any repairs that need to be done on the place, big or small?”
“I’m… not sure. I haven’t exactly seen the place. In a while, I mean.”
There’s a pause. He’s surely wondering how someone as incompetent as me became a homeowner.
“In situations like this, I usually send my maintenance guy out for a quick inspection. Would that be okay with you?”
“Yes! Absolutely.” I feel a wash of relief. For a moment there, I was afraid he was going to tell me to fly down there.
My phone pings and I glance down to see a message from DoorDash.
“Oh, my lunch is here. I better go grab it before someone else does.”
“What do you eat for lunch up there in Seattle?”
“Today? I ordered pad thai. Spicy. With tofu.”
“We don’t get much Thai food down here. I’d try it, though. Not sure about the tofu, but I could be convinced.”
