We talk for a few minutes about our shared interest, and I’m surprised to realize I have things in common with this man. I want to ask him if I can try out his telescope because I’ve never used one, but something holds me back. If I can lease this apartment we’re headed to, I won’t be at their house much longer, anyway.
When we arrive at our destination, I double check the address, because it’s not an apartment building. We’re at the right place; however, it’s a large, old house that’s in need of new paint or siding, and probably a new roof too. Marcos seems as surprised as I am, and insists on coming to the door with me.
After nearly a minute, during which I knock twice, an old man answers the door, and when I mention the ad I saw, he tells me the rental unit is in the back. After getting his sweater from a hook near the door, he comes outside and leads us off the porch and along a path on the side of his house to a small, detached building I hadn’t noticed from the road. Its siding and roof aren’t in much better shape than the main house.
The man sorts through what must be at least two dozen keys on a keychain he pulls from his baggy pants pocket, and eventually finds the one that unlocks the rental unit. As soon as the door is opened, I’m slapped in the face with a strong, musty smell. Marcos recoils and wrinkles his nose, frowning at me.
“As you can see,” the old man is saying, “you’d have complete privacy here. This entire building would be yours. There’s a living room, kitchen, bedroom and bathroom.”
I follow him inside, while Marcos lags behind on the rickety porch before finally joining us. The odor is even stronger once I’m indoors, and I look around, taking note of how many windows the building has, and wondering how long it might take to air out the smell.
The man starts toward a doorway that leads to the kitchen, but Marcos speaks up, interrupting the information the man was providing about utilities. “I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to pass on this.”
As the old man turns, Marcos puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me close. “We’re looking for a bigger place,” he says, “and unfortunately this won’t work.”
“Oh, okay. I understand,” the man says. He looks disappointed, but then he gives me a knowing wink. “Looking to start a family, I assume.”
I attempt to pull away from Marcos and start to open my mouth to object, but he ushers me to the door and speaks over me, asking the man how long he’s lived here. He keeps him engaged in conversation for a few minutes before saying goodbye and leading me back to the truck, his arm firm on my shoulder the whole way.
“What the hell was that?” I ask, ignoring the door he’s holding open for me.
“What do you mean?” Having finally released me, Marcos goes around to his side and gets in the truck. He stares across the open seat at me as I remain outside.
“It wasn’t your business to speak up about the apartment!”
“Becca,” he says, having the nerve to look at me like I’m being unreasonable. “There was no way you were going to live in that place. There was mold on the walls, for god’s sake.”
I didn’t notice that, but based on the smell, of course, I don’t doubt it. “What, you’ve never heard of bleach and Lysol?”
“There isn’t enough bleach and Lysol in the state to clean that place. Get in the truck.”
I search desperately for some sort of plan that doesn’t require me to get back in the vehicle with him, but I can’t think of anything reasonable. I’m stuck.
“That was none of your business,” I say, spitting out the words as I heft myself up onto the seat and slam the door closed behind me. That was also my last hope for an apartment at the moment. I agree with Marcos that the place was no prize, but it wasn’t up to him to turn it down on my behalf.
“I didn’t want to be rude to the old guy. I thought it would be better to give him an excuse and let him down easy.”
Maybe it’s nice that he was trying to be polite to the guy, but that’s not the point. I turn away from him and stare out the window, thinking there has to be some other option for housing that I’m not thinking of. Maybe I can get a second job and stay at a motel until I find a place.
“Besides,” Marcos says, interrupting my thoughts, “there was no way I was going to let you live there.”
My head jerks back to him. “You wouldn’t let me?!” If he wasn’t driving so fast, I swear to god I’d open the door and throw myself out onto the side of the road because my skin is on fire, and I can’t stand to be sitting next to him.