I Can Fix That

Chapter 4

I spent the last week teaching simple review lessons to wrap up my students' work of all they’d done this year. Working with first graders isn’t the most straightforward job, but it’s probably the most rewarding. I decided to make this week easier on them, as we only had a month or so left before school was out for the summer.

I wore my typical work attire; a pink t-shirt tucked into my black and white polka dot skirt. Maybe I looked young, and I supposed I was, but I felt it was best for my students to feel comfortable around me. The room was covered in pastel colors and motivational posters with quotes such as “If you can be anything, be kind” and “Believe in yourself!” Welcome to Ms. Hart’s Class was written on the dry erase board covering the front wall.

The day was beginning to wind down, and as the students were sprawled out onto the floor for free time, I sat at my desk and looked at my Pinterest board labeled “Mi Casa”. I daydreamed about granite countertops and fun tile for my half bathroom. I thought of all the possibilities that could make the house a more gratifying space, with new light fixtures, countertops, floors, and paint that would transform the space into what I needed.

I may have to deal with a bad-tempered contractor for a few months, but it wasn’t the first time I was the nicest one in the room. Even in high school and college, I had been known as a people pleaser. I was always the one to go to for a shoulder to cry on or the one who apologized about things that were not my fault. I suppose that’s why Ashley was the one I could always go to. She was brutally honest and could read me like a book.

Meeting her in college was one of the best things that happened to me. I had a problem saying no to people, and she had a problem opening up to people. We were a perfect match. I would help her make friends and work on her social skills, which had transformed a little too well. And she would help me stand up for myself, which still needs a lot of work.

I worked all afternoon, thinking of everything I wanted to explain to Grant’s team about my planned designs. Before my grandmother had passed, the house held such value. Not monetary value, that’s for sure, but the memories made there would always be precious to me.

I thought back to my summer nights spent playing in the backyard from morning until the streetlights came on. If I closed my eyes, I could still hear my grandmother playing Hank Williams Jr. and the taste of her homemade sweet tea—which certainly had way more sugar than it needed. The thought of catching fireflies in mason jars and watching Gram paint in her studio spread warmth through my chest. I reminded myself I wasn’t doing this for a place to live. I was remodeling the home to relive those memories and create more with my own family one day.

∞∞∞

The walk from my car to my apartment was always uncomfortable. It was about a third of a mile trek and then from the elevators down the hall to my unit on the far right side of the building. There were technically two assigned parking spots per unit, but my neighbors next door always took the ones reserved for me. I didn’t bother bringing it up to avoid any unnecessary confrontation.

However, it would be nice only to have a fifty-foot walk to my elevator on evenings like this when I’d had a long day. Carrying my multiple bags of supplies and my teaching tote wasn’t necessarily merciful in these conditions, but I reminded myself I only had a couple more months. My situation could have been a lot worse.

Opening the door to the front of the apartment, Al stood there in his usual work uniform of dark blue pants and a white shirt with his name tag across his chest. He tipped his head at me, his grin wrinkling his face.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Hart.” I smiled up at my dear, old friend.

“Hey there, Al! How’s your day been?”

He pressed the elevator button. “It was great, those muffins you gave me made my day.”

I tried to take Al small treats and treasures when I could. He had worked for the landlord here since I moved in almost four years ago, and he never let his precious smile fade.

“I’m glad you liked them. I’ll bring some again when I make more!” My oven being out meant I had to be creative with baking now, but it wasn’t impossible. Al thanked me again and guided me in the elevator, sending me to the fourth floor.

I was out of breath and sweaty by the time I reached my apartment. Putting down all my bags, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the entryway mirror. My flushed cheeks and slightly damp ponytail made me look like I’d just run a 5k, not someone just casually entering their apartment.

I grabbed a quick shower, headed straight to the couch, and let out a deep breath. My phone rang on my side table, vibrating loudly throughout the apartment. I sighed when I saw my mother’s contact come up on my lock screen.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hey, little June! How are you? You know I’ve called you three times this week, and your voicemail box is full. You should keep a better watch on that. What if someone tries to reach you in an emergency? What if I had gotten in an accident?”

I rolled my eyes in annoyance at the babbling coming through the phone, “Dad would have called if you were in an accident. I knew you were fine, Mom.”

I heard her clatter in the background as she replied, “Well, either way, I needed to know if you still want to sell Elizabeth’s house or not?” This had to be the tenth time we’d had this same conversation.

This was how it always went. I said I wanted to fix the house. She said I couldn’t do it by myself. I said I’m going to hire a worker. She sarcastically said, good luck with that. I said, why don’t you believe in me?'' She finished up our conversation, offended I think that. It’s a game we often played where no one was a winner.

“Mom, I have said over and over that I’m not selling Gram's house. I have already got a contractor out there, and he’s getting me a quote on Monday.” I paced in my living room to distract myself from the frustration building in me.

I was not easily irritated. Dealing with first graders for a living gives you the power of patience. I was as strong-willed as I was kind, but I had a button, as does everyone. For me, that button was someone saying I couldn’t do something. I’d like to think I can do anything I set my mind to, and when someone tried to micromanage me, it lit a fire in me.

“Well, even with hired work, you know it’s not going to be easy to pay for. No one in town will give you a fair price, much less even show up. I’m just saying this isn’t exactly your area of expertise, honey.”

Well, there it is. “What exactly is my area of expertise?”

“Well, children, of course! You practically are still one, you probably always will be. Now, your brothers are a different story, always trying to get so much done. It’s exhausting for them! Be grateful you have it so easy, and you don’t have to worry about these kinds of things!”

Ah, yes. My two brothers had both gone off to their ivy league colleges and left me to do the same. My brothers were good guys, and they were kind enough to me growing up—even if they were a little overly protective. Being significantly older than me, they both paid close attention to the circle of people around me. They had grown to follow the Hart family tradition, which inferred having successful jobs to brag about to Mom and Dad’s friends at the country club. Once I decided I wanted to become a teacher and volunteer in my spare time, my family was less than impressed. I quickly became “little June,” the kid who wouldn’t amount to much financially and would fall behind, but at least she would be a good mother.

“All right, Mom, I think it’s best if I go. It’s getting late.” It was only seven o'clock, but she knew I went to bed as early as possible to be at the school on time. I fidgeted with my thumbs in discomfort.

“Well, don’t forget to call your father! He has an outstanding Realtor who can sell it.” We exchanged our goodbyes, and I face-planted onto my gray sectional.

The most annoying part is my Gram made it very explicit in her will that she wanted me to keep the house. She was the only one in our family who didn’t put her focus on money, but rather on memories and other people. She never lived a luxurious life, her house was an example of that, but her life was rich. Rich with love and passion for the people around her. I decided early in life I would follow her mindset. That was more than likely the reason she left me the house, and I appreciated it more than probably any of the other Hart members would have. Unfortunately, with the house came unsolicited opinions and advice. I didn’t mind the first month, I was caught up in mourning one of my closest family members and still teaching, so I could’ve used the advice.

Fast forward over a year later, to say I was frustrated would be an understatement. I was over it, and I was downright irritated with my family each time it was brought up. The only helpful person was Ashley. She offered to come to help me fix it if I gave her a small commission.

Well, turns out, she was just as bad as I was. We spent an entire Sunday working on the house and barely saw any progress. It was then I realized that if I were to take this on myself, it would take years to complete, and I didn’t have that kind of time to waste. I did, however, have the patience to save up for a year and hire someone who could do it better and much faster than I could.

I just didn’t expect that someone to be him.