Page 76 of Best Offer Wins
“Yep, fine,” I say, standing to shut off the water. “I’ll be out in just a sec.”
28
Jack and Curt couldn’t have designed a more perfect Saturday for their open house: fluffy clouds, brilliant sun, a debatable need for a light jacket. The home itself looks incredible. The window boxes have been replenished. Not a blade of grass is out of place. Theresa the listing agent—I recognize the Colgate smile and straw-hued helmet of hair from her website—stands on the front porch, ushering in anxious people from a line that stretches to the curb and up the sidewalk.
Several groups of three—couples with their agents—are scattered around the yard, locked in intense conversation, sneaking paranoid glances at the competition. All of them are surely debating the same thing: how aggressive they’ll have to come in now that they’ve sized up the mob.
I’ve been taking in this chaos from the passenger side of Natalie’s red Volkswagen Golf. We’ve driven up and down this stretch of Stonebrook Avenue five or six times, searching for a parking space. It’s like Black fucking Friday out here, but finally, a Tesla is vacating a spot a half block down from the house. Natalie flips on her blinker to claim it, signaling to the driver of an oncoming Subaru that he’d better hit the bricks.
“This is insane,” she says, as she straightens out in the space.
“Now you can see why Ian refused to come to another one of these things,” I lie.
She scoffs. “I just can’t imagine why anyone would put themselves through this. I mean, this house isn’t even anything that special.”
My skin goes hot before I remind myself that it’s not worth feeling insulted. Natalie wouldn’t know good taste if it smacked those obnoxious Versace sunglasses off her bronzer-caked face. Ignoring her, I put on my own aviators and pull down the brim of my Nike baseball cap before we get out and take our place in line.
The plan came to me in bits and pieces at first, and then in one big burst, as I lay wide awake listening to Ian’s snoring compete with the late-night commotion of U Street unfolding below us. By the time a sliver of sunlight peeked between the curtains, I knew exactly what I needed to do—and it started with getting to the open house today.
“Thanks again for tagging along,” I say to Natalie, as a couple with a baby strapped to the dad’s chest joins the line behind us. “I bet this’ll move pretty fast.”
“Oh, this is fun for me,” Natalie says, grinning. “It’s like a glimpse into the domestic hell that I narrowly escaped.”
Sure, Nat, judge me all you want.
In about fifteen minutes, we’ve inched our way down the sidewalk to within a few yards of the flagstone path that leads to the front door. That’s when I hesitate, bringing a hand to my stomach: “Ugh.”
“Are you okay?” Natalie asks.
“I’m not sure. I feel nauseated all of a sudden.”
There are still a dozen or so groups ahead of us. But even in my sunglasses and hat, I can’t get too much closer. I’m betting Jack and Curt gave Theresa a description of me and Ian—and our sad Prius—and asked her to keep a lookout. I have to make my exit now.
“I’m so sorry, Nat, I think I have to go back to your car.”
“Really?” She twists up her face. “Do you think it’s something you ate?”
“Actually,” I lean in and lower my voice, “please don’t say anything, I haven’t even told Ian, but I just found out I’m pregnant. I think it might be morning sickness.”
Her eyes expand, glittering the same bright blue as the sky. “Oh my God!” she shrieks, loudly enough that I dip my head. “I’m going to be Auntie Nat! Or Auntie Natty? I think that one might be cuter.”
Because this is definitely about her. She pulls me in for a hug and I groan. “Sorry, I really don’t feel well. But you should still go in.”
“No way, let’s just go home.” Natalie starts to lead the way out of line.
“Hang on.” I guide us back into our spot. The couple with the baby grudgingly allows it. “We’ve come all this way, at least one of us should go in. And, anyway, I really need someone to scope out the competition, just so I know what we’re up against if I can talk Ian into going for this place. Would you mind?”
“Really? You know you sound nuts, right?”
“Come on, just give me your keys,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Please?”
She shrugs, handing them over, and I head back to the red Volkswagen.
I wait in the car for a few minutes, until I’m sure Natalie’s inside. Then, keeping my head down—and steering wide of Theresa’s battle station on the front porch—I make my way toward the side gate to check on the one thing I need to confirm before we leave.
29
“Hey, babe, did you get anything?”
