It’s been a minute since I wrote a short story. I didn’t plan to write one today. I sat down this morning with every intention of working on my new romance novel, but this is what came out. Sometimes it just works out that way 🙂

The Things Other People Have

It doesn’t look like much from the outside. A small, white ranch with black shutters that have weathered to a dull shade of gray. It doesn’t have a proper porch, just a stoop with room enough for a couple of chairs and a pot of flowers. It doesn’t look like much from the inside, either, if I’m honest. A standard, simple ranch; kitchen, bedroom, living room and bath, with a bonus walk-in closet. I moved in ten years ago, after Keith passed away. The life insurance pay out was enough for a decent funeral, but not much else. Not enough to pay off the mortgage on our three-bedroom, two-bath home. So I sold that and bought this. It suited me then, but now it doesn’t. After ten years of careful saving and a few smart investments, I can do better. I bought a beautiful townhouse on the outer cusp of one of the nicest neighborhoods in town, and don’t I deserve it?

The ranch is not the worst house on the block, but it’s not the best either. That’s clear when the first couple, Tyson and Jessica Moore, come to look at it. It’s written all over Jessica’s face, in the way her mouth turns down at the edges as her gaze sweeps over the living room.

“Small,” she says.

It will look bigger when it isn’t stacked to the ceiling with packing boxes, but I don’t bother  to point this out.   

“It’s an up-and-coming neighborhood, though,” Tyson says, “and the rent is cheap.” He turns to me. “Are you willing to do any upgrades?”

I’d planned to sell the house and be done with it, but my finance guy convinced me to hang onto it. Said it would make a nice little investment property. I’ve replaced the water heater. I’ve had the walls painted and the carpets shampooed. That’s as far as I’m willing to go.

With a passing glance at the rest of the rooms, they hurry toward the door. “We have another house to look at this afternoon,” they say. “We’ll be in touch.”

Not likely. I cross their names off of my list. Their loss. It’s not a bad place to build a life. Certainly, better than the windowless efficiency apartment above the bowling alley where Keith and I started out, with the constant thunder of bowling pins beneath our feet and the smell of pizza that permeated our clothes and furniture. Keith and I didn’t have much, then. We married young. I was seventeen and he was twenty. He rescued me from an abusive home life, so even our not much seemed like everything to me. Our first sofa was red plaid, snatched off the curb on a citywide cleanup day. On date nights we walked to the city library and checked out books, then spent the evening snuggled in bed, reading to each other. I don’t remember when that stopped being enough.

Up and coming, Tyson Moore said. I don’t know about all that, but the neighborhood is quiet and there’s never been a break-in since I’ve lived here. My neighbors, the Gleason’s, have a wraparound porch with rose colored Ruttan furniture and baskets of ferns and fairy lights hanging across the front. I have a stoop and a car port that leaks like a wet paper bag. Maybe if the ranch wasn’t sitting next to the Gleason’s house it would look better.

I made sure to buy a townhouse with a proper porch.

An hour after the Moore’s leave, I pull a sheet of chocolate chip cookies from the oven and set them on the counter to cool. Maybe the scents of vanilla and brown sugar will make the ranch feel more like a place you’d like to live in. When the growling muffler of an older model, unwashed Subaru announces its arrival, I wonder why I bothered. Shane and Jillian Bricks, I presume. My next possible renters.

Peering between the slats of my mini blinds, I see the Subaru is stuffed full of items. What they are, I couldn’t say. It almost looks as though the family lives in it. I’ve always kept a tidy house. If Shane and Jillian Bricks’s vehicle looks like that, what will my house look like after they move in? No. I most definitely will not be renting the ranch to people like that.

I step onto the stoop. A man and woman get out of the car, followed by a little girl. Their clothes are wrinkled, but reasonably clean.

The man grins. “Mrs. Walters?”

“Yes.”

“Hi. We’re Shane and Jill. And this is our daughter, Maisey. We have an appointment to look at the house. We’re a bit early, is that OK?”

My glance moves over the family of three. The ranch is a one-bedroom home, I’d made that clear. But I’m probably not renting to them anyway.

Jillian is the first one in. Her glance sweeps over the living room.

“Oh, Shane,” she says, barely a breath. He squeezes her hand.

“Nice sized room,” he says. “I like the color.”

It is eggshell white. Pre-mixed. The cheapest paint money can buy.

They move into the tiny bathroom. Last year my friend, Susan, spent a bundle on a bathroom renovation, a state-of-the-art ensuite with double sinks, a walk-in shower, a jacuzzi tub. I thought about taking out the walk-in closet and expanding the bathroom, but the ranch is short on storage space as it is. My townhouse has an ensuite bathroom. Anything less would have been a deal breaker.  

“Mind if I check the water pressure?” Shane asks.

“Be my guest.”

He turns on the faucet and Jillian plunges her hand beneath the flow. Her fingers caress the water, as though it is liquid silver.

In the closet, she flips on the overhead light. Maisey’s eyes shine. “Will this be my room, Mommy?”

Jillian turns to her husband. “It’s plenty big enough for a small bed, and a nightstand. We could get one of those cube storage units with the little baskets for her toys and clothes.”

Shane smiles. “Sure.”

The excitement they try to hide hums beneath their words. I can feel their happiness. And their love.

Susan recently met a man named Charles in the garden section at the Home Depot, of all places.  A companion. They go out for Sunday drives, and Friday night fish fries. After Keith passed, I didn’t want a new relationship. But lately, I think I do. I just don’t know where to find one.

Shane and Jillian Bricks walk out to the back yard, then they come back inside and walk through each room again. I stay in the kitchen to give them privacy, but I can hear them murmuring together in the bedroom.

“The kitchen has so much counter space,” Jillian says. “I could cook a proper Thanksgiving dinner. And a nice yard for Maisey to play in. Maybe Mrs. Walters would let us put up a swing set at some point. I love this house, Shane.”

Their voices drop to whispers. It almost sounds as if they are praying.

Moments later, Shane Bricks stands in the kitchen doorway. He clears his throat and runs a hand back through his hair. “We have the first and last month’s rent with us today,” he says. “We don’t have all of the security deposit. We could make payments on it a little at a time.”

“Let’s talk about your employment,” I say.

He clears his throat again. “Well, Jilly works full time in the cafeteria at Maisey’s school. I got laid off from the paper factory back in January. I’m washing dishes at The Flamingo. Just until I get called back.”

Which isn’t likely to happen. The layoffs at the city’s largest manufacturing plant have devastated our town. Five hundred jobs, gone in 60 seconds. Shane’s downcast eyes and the sudden slump of his shoulders tell me what the last ten months have cost him. But we’re all just one lay off, one accident, one unfortunate event away from being where Shane and Jillian Bricks are, aren’t we?  

“We’d love it if you’d consider renting to us,” Jillian says softly.

I take my time answering, but there’s no need. I’ve changed my mind. A man, a woman and a little girl. A family that would cherish and care for my house. They are exactly the kind of people I want to rent to.

“I’m moving out on Saturday,” I say. “I’ll find someone to haul the furniture out to the curb before you move in.” The living room set is more than twenty years old, bought new when Keith and I bought our three-bedroom, two-bath house. I got the kitchen table second hand at a yard sale.  I spent a fortune on all new furnishings for my town house. I listed the old furniture on Craigs List. No takers.

“We’ll take care of the furniture,” Shane says quickly. There’s no mistaking the look that passes between them.

“Fine, then. You’re welcome to move in any time after Saturday.  The rent includes your utilities, but if they start to run too high, I’ll have to raise it.”

“That sounds fair.” His hands shake slightly as he pulls his wallet from his jeans and counts out the money for the rent. He signs a six-month lease, and I give him a set of keys. He pushes out a breath. “Thank you.”

“Would you like to take some cookies with you?” I ask.

Maisey has been quiet up to now. Her face lights up. “Yes, please,” she says.

I remove half of the cookies from the baking sheet, wrap them in a paper towel, and slide them into a bag for them.

As they climb back in the Subaru, I see them talking excitedly, probably thanking God for answered prayers. I turn away, caught up in a memory of me and Keith and the hard, simple, beautiful life we shared in a one-room apartment above a bowling alley, all those years ago. In my chest, I feel the deep, aching emptiness that comes with wanting the things that other people have.