We bought the house on a Tuesday. The pink-washed bungalow from the fifties had white paneled walls and laminate floor covering the original hardwood. Three small bedrooms and a fireplace. Oversized windows filtering in warmth and natural light.
Our realtor, who is also a friend, called as I was driving to acupuncture. It was the afternoon, and the spring heat in southern california was beginning to make itself known. The air conditioner and traffic muffled her voice, even on speakerphone, so I leaned towards the dashboard just in time to hear her.
Congratulations! Neither of us could believe it. This was only the second offer—the second time trying to buy a home in los angeles. It had been less than a week. My husband and I had prepared ourselves to be at this for months. Competition is fierce, things move fast, everyone kept telling us. Somehow, we had slipped through the backdoor in only four days.
The speed of the sale felt like an ordination. That …
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