Page 30 of An Introvert's Guide to Life and Love
But I’m agrown-up, and ahomeowner. I heave a sigh and force myself to respond with two letters:Ok.
He calls a second later.
“Hey, hey, enjoying our sunshine?”
Goodness, his voice sounds like sunshine itself. It’s… jarring.
“Are you always this perky?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“What’s not to be perky about?”
I say nothing. This seems to remind him that he just emailed me asking me to part with an ungodly sum of money.
He clears his throat. “Well. I thought it’d be easier to address your question over the phone. Look, without the aesthetic improvements, you’re looking at nearly half the monthly rent you could otherwise charge. Ethically, you really can’t rent the place without the maintenance Alan recommended. Since you have to do that, in my professional opinion, you might as well do the whole shebang.”
“How much more could I charge with the improvements?”
He names a number that’s almost double what the last tenant paid. I do some quick mental math. Even with the higher rent, it would take me at least a couple years to pay off this investment.
I bury my face in my arms to stifle a groan. The sun burns into my shoulders. I never signed up for this much responsibility. I’ve only ever had to take care of myself, and I just recently started doing an okay job at it.
“You still there?” Daniel asks.
“Yep.” My voice is muffled with my face still squished against my forearms.
“If it helps, Alan offers a monthly payment plan to clients whomeet the credit threshold. And I’ve had clients opt to do home improvements themselves to save a chunk. So that’s something to consider.”
A shrill laugh escapes me.
“Daniel. I don’t even know how to hang a picture on the wall. I can’t do home improvements myself.”
“You don’t know until you try.” He sounds like he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet as he talks. What does he put in his coffee?
“I do know. I had to call my dad for help with one measly floating shelf. I did put together an IKEA bookshelf by myself once, but I put the shelves on backward. I cried for half an hour and then just left it like that.”
“You—you left the shelves on backward?” Now he sounds like he’s trying very hard not to laugh.
“It’s a sore subject.”
“I get it.” There’s a pause, and then he continues, “My mom was a chemistry teacher, and when I was a kid she used to say she didn’t have a creative bone in her body. But when she retired, she decided she wanted to change that. She watched a YouTube video about needlework—like embroidery and stuff—and decided to teach herself. Boom. Now she’s an expert in all things needle and thread. She has an Etsy shop and everything.”
“I—wow.”
“So…” Daniel’s tone implies that I’m missing the obvious. “If my mom can teach herself how to embroider and crochet and quilt after the age of sixty, what’s stopping you from learning how to paint a bedroom?”
Okay, when he says it like that, I’m almost offended. It does sound simple.
And… “to save a chunk.” How much is that? I look back at his first email to see his estimate for paint and floors. If I keep the costof the paint and floors but subtract the cost of labor… It is a big difference.
“And I could save a chunk,” I say.
“A chunk,” he confirms.
I wouldn’t even know where to begin doing that stuff myself. But it is interesting.
Ugh, what am I thinking? I have to go back home, to my apartment and my job. Maybe I’ll just do the necessary improvements and rent it out cheap. Daniel clearly doesn’t like that option, but hey, it’s my house.
“I don’t know. I’ll think about it. It’s complicated, because I have to go home. Tomorrow.”
