A Home, Not A House

Click, crack, creak. The most beautiful sounds we’ve heard in a long time. As we stepped in our excitement echoed. Thump, clack, thump, clack, the contrasting sound of my heels and his work boots filled the breezeway . . . mudroom . . . entertainment room? No, definitely mudroom. I’ve never seen a house with so many doors, each one opening a new opportunity for us, a new place to call ours, a new version of ourselves.

The first leading to his garage, my fiance leaned in with excitement, It has to have a garage, that’s non-negotiable I remember him telling our realtor. And here it was, in all its glory, twice the length and at least 6 feet higher than the shack we have now. Its walls sang with its canary yellow paint, but he didn’t care, he had his space, and all his tools and toys would have a spot now until he outgrew this one like he did the last.

I shifted over to the sliding back doors. The backyard looked like it was an acre big to me, with a small patio right as you stepped out, perfect for furniture. The back right corner would be perfect for my garden, filled with roses and wisterias, then next to it an assortment of vegetables and fruits to snack on throughout the summer, I could see the bees and butterflies fluttering through it now as I looked at the empty spot. We joined hands as we walked through the next door into our kitchen. An actual kitchen, with a dishwasher that didn’t look like the bottom of a lake sat in it after it ran, and a gas stove that flickered the fire in an even pattern, and counter space galore, I’d never have to put another pan on the floor again.

“I think we’re losing cabinet space in the kitchen,” He says to me as we saunter through our home.

“Honey, all the cabinets at our apartment are half this size, we’re definitely gaining space here,” I say with music behind my voice.

“Yeah, that’s true.”

The kitchen was a terrible shade of deep cadmium yellow, that matched the toupe yellow-hued backsplash and pale brown cabinets.

“I don’t know what color we’re gonna paint in here,” we continue through our small hallway, with an 80s mosaic-style hanging light right in the middle. To the left, is a beautiful archway leading to our new living room. It was a beautiful vintage green, it had just enough blue in it to not look like vomit, and just enough softness to not make the room look dark and compact, I thought it was perfect. The fireplace stood like a radiant accent to the room, its stark white mantel with a beautiful glass mosaic that flickered with gold and green specks was beautiful.

“This green has got to go,” he snickers.

“Oh, I think it’s kind of charming, so different, you don’t see colors like this anymore!”

“Yeah, exactly, I'm sorry babe, but we’re not having a green living room,” I look around and begin to imagine it in shades of blue, with hints of black and grey accents. The main walls, a shade of Baywaves, or Upward, the wall framing the fireplace a deep shade of Gale Force, and the TV would hang just above it. I could see it becoming our place.

“Okay honey, but I need color I’m so tired of looking at Eggshell White,” I say as I sashay into the next room. A smaller two-toned “bedroom” would become our office, then the slightly larger room adjacent to it that would become our bedroom, another ugly shade of deep yellow. This lady really liked her earthy tones I thought to myself. I opened the door to . . . the second floor. No, it wasn’t a full floor, but it wasn’t an attic, a bonus room? Yeah, that's what it would be, regardless it was my favorite part of the house, a beautifully large space that I thought could be our bedroom, but was just short enough to feel uncomfortable for my fiance to fully stand up and stretch in. The knotty oak floor glistened in the stream of light that flowed onto it. He didn’t know it, but this would be my little spot, my place to go when I needed inspiration; when I wanted to play my guitar or keyboard when I wanted to write, I loved it. It had a beautiful aura about it, so calming and welcoming. It hugged me with its warmth as I walked around, imagining the space it would become. A “closet” my fiance would tell you, a getting ready room I would tell you; a beautiful little vanity by the window so I could do my makeup in the natural light; clothing racks and shoe holders would line the walls, it would be like my own personal atelier. The room's warmth grew, and I realized it was my love as he wrapped his arms around my shoulders, embracing me with a new excitement.

“Well?” he whispered in my ear. I twisted in his arms to face him.

“It’s perfect,” I said, he had always been my home, but now, we would have ours.