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12
Madison
Quentin’s tasteshave changed dramatically over the years, or I never knew them that well in the first place. That or not one was communicated to the real estate agent because the first place she takes us to is a garish gold-plated nightmare of a home that looks like it was built in the late ‘90s.
“Now… It needs a lot of work. A lot of updating so just try to focus on the space and not the interior. I know you’ll want to change that to suit your tastes, but the property is large, very private, and in a good school district.” She flashes a smile at me with that last tidbit of info, and I cringe inwardly a little. I’m not going to contradict Quentin publicly if he wants to pretend we’re dating to the real estate agent. But the idea of shopping for homes with him, being in this space, and helping him pick something feels so much more intimate than just flipping through his socials or picking fake girlfriends for him.
Quentin disappears down a hallway of the house while the agent putters about the front hall looking at her phone and allowing us to take our time. I make my way after him, noting the stark contrast of the baseboards and the walls, the blue fluffy carpeting, and the years of wear on the tile in the bathroom as I pass by it. When I find him, he’s in the master bedroom staring out the window of a door that leads to the back deck.
“That seems unsafe,” I note.
“It has a lock.” He points to it, but it seems flimsy, and there’s no deadbolt. “Besides I’m not worried.”
“You’re not worried. But I assume the house is because you have future plans for a wife and kids, right? When you’re on the road, and she’s home alone and hears a noise outside that door in the middle of the night, it won’t matter that you’re not worried.”
Quentin tilts his head in acknowledgment of my point.
“See, this is why I brought you along.”
“Is this really your style? It’s very… nineties. For how good some of the music and movies were in that era, none of that seemed to translate into good architecture.”
“Does it usually?” he muses, his lips twisting a little with it.
“I’d argue it does. At least some of the time. Even if it’s not always my taste.”
“What’s your taste?”
I shrug. He knows what my taste is. Or he knew. But it’s been a long time since we discussed it. I shouldn’t feel sore over the fact that he doesn’t remember. Or maybe he just thinks it’s changed over the years. We both have.
“Not this. The layout’s oversized and awkward. Lots of rooms and spaces that have no purpose other than maybe for something decorative, and you can only have so many pianos and oversized vases. Then the bathrooms are so tiny and the tile is bad.”
“The tile can be replaced.”
“You’d have to gut this place. Tear out the carpet in every room and repaint every wall. Why not just build something new with a floorplan you like at that point?”
“The good schools?” he questions with a shrug.
“I’m sure you could find property in a good school district. It just might take some time.” I ignore the obvious implication. The idea of him having children with someone else isn’t something I really want to spend time thinking about.
“What do we think?” The real estate agent asks like she can hear my thoughts.
“It’s okay.” Quentin shrugs and then she looks to me.
“It seems like it needs a lot of work. Like there’d be extensive months of contractors and decision-making.”
“All right. On to the next one then? The next one’s a much newer property. More turnkey. No one’s ever lived in it as the previous owner started building and then had a transfer to a new job.”
“Sounds good.” Quentin nods, and we follow her out of the house and to the next property.
The next one is beautiful. Everything has been hand-selected, and the work on the house looks like it was done with attention to detail. It’s huge and open, filled with light pouring in from the windows, and the use of space is at least better than the last place.
“All right. Have at it. What’s wrong with this one?”
“Nothing’s wrong with this one. It would be good. Plenty of room for you and eventual kids. An office and an extra media room in the meantime. Might be able to turn this into a gaming room,” I say as I turn around in one of the extra bedrooms.”
“But?”
“But nothing.” I shrug. It still wouldn’t be my choice, and I’m surprised it’s his.
