sure,” she said, looking at Kurt.
“Probably two or three,” Kurt said.
“It’ll probably take me six or even more in the beginning,” I said, watching their eyes widen. “It’ll get faster once I get to know your house. I work straight through, though. I’m probably a little slower than three people working all at once.”
They seemed to understand, or at least they pretended to. I knew Alice had done all the housework herself before her youngest daughter was born. Since then, between the full-time job and the girls, she hadn’t been able to keep up on the house or yard, and I wasn’t sure what Kurt did to help.
I would keep track of my landscaping hours and submit them, like a timecard, to Alice in an email. It seemed like a fantastic deal for both of us, but Alice still seemed hesitant, judging by the small pile of legal documents she planned to have notarized. She swore it was to protect both of us in case anything happened, but it still seemed odd. I’d done lots of trades by then, and most people seemed more trusting.
Kurt admitted he’d read more of my blog, commenting on what a good writer I was. I blushed and thanked him. It had been a rough couple of years since I started writing online. Hardly any of that I wanted to talk about in person, but having it published for anyone to read caused me to assume they already knew everything so I didn’t have to explain myself. Kurt called it inspirational. I smiled, but winced at the word. People had said that about me before. How can barely surviving be an inspiration, I started to ask.
“If you can handle life with a three-year-old by yourself, in a tiny space, with so little, then I can, too,” one commenter had written.
The blog was an outlet for the beauty of life, but also for my frustrations. Life had still been so relentless in throwing one obstacle at me before I’d been able to fully clear the last. I couldn’t get ahead.
My lived experience seemed vastly different than that of my peers—not even just the moms at the day care. Many times, I ducked out of possible interactions or potential chances at making friends with people I actually liked because I felt like I’d only be a drain. I’d suck people of the resources they had available for friends without being able to give anything back. Maybe I could take their kid for an afternoon for a trade, but it stressed me out not to be able to provide snacks or food. A hungry kid coming to my house on a weekend afternoon meant ten dollars of groceries, sometimes more. And they always seemed to want huge glasses of milk. I couldn’t afford that.
The apartment over the garage made me feel like I had made it to the other side. I felt like I’d accomplished something by finding better living conditions, even if it meant losing my steady income. I’d gained a couple of new clients that week. My childcare assistance was approved to cover a volunteer position at the Domestic Violence and Sexual Assault office. I’d somehow found a place in the system that allowed me a tiny bit of time and space to get ahead.
But I couldn’t shake the feeling that everything seemed a little too dreamy. One afternoon while I did homework, Mia and the girls drew chalk rainbows on the cement outside the garage, their laughter coming in through the open window. The sun was out, and everything felt perfectly in place.
When Alice called her older girls in for lunch, they whined, asking if Mia could come, too. The girls clambered up to my porch, Mia between them, breathless, all asking at once. When I smiled and said yes, they cheered. I watched them run back down the stairs, all of them giggling, and across the yard to the main house. Then I sat back down at my desk. The fact that Mia was off playing somewhere safe, instead of watching the same cartoon over and over, alleviated the guilt I usually felt at keeping her cooped up while I worked. The days of living in a one-room moldy studio apartment felt far away.
26
THE HOARDER HOUSE
When I arrived for the first clean at what I would call the Hoarder House, the wife opened the door only a few inches. I saw her eyes go from alarm to hesitancy and back again.
“Hi,” I said, smiling.