LJ Idol Week #4: My House, Her Home
Jul. 30th, 2024 06:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chasing_silverAs I descend the stairs, I pass pictures of her on the wall. Her hair colour is like mine, eyes hazel, too. Lines showing on her dainty face, her arm slung around a daughter who looks just like her. The photographic gaze meets mine, almost in recognition. I half-smile in response, and pass the frames by.
In the kitchen, she's left a dish on the counter. Old-fashioned Pyrex, the snowflake pattern. I touch it in delight. "She likes Pyrex, too!"
My wife turns from the island, where she's examining the countertops. "These will have to go. Who does concrete slabs on islands anymore?"
I touch the Pyrex dish again, and gently place it further back on the counter so it doesn't get broken. I collect old-fashioned Pyrex; this one is valuable. The light from the inlaid stained-glass kitchen window falls across my hands. I feel a strong sense of deja vu, but my wife is already exclaiming over the cunning understairs cabinet. I turn away.
Upstairs, there's a lump in the master bed. A note with careful cursive writing is taped to the iron-wrought foot. "Our kitty is a little scared of showings! Forgive the lump in the bed; we couldn't bear to take her out."
I laugh. "Athena used to do that when visitors came over."
My wife grins. "I love that she thought to write us a note. This is so cute." She gently pets the lump in the bed and we hear a rusty "meow" from under the handmade quilt. The hospital corners are perfect; just like my mother taught me to make beds, too.
As we discuss the master bath and our plans for enlarging, I picture her combing her long hair in front of the mirror. As I raise my head to meet my reflection, for a split second, I see her face instead of mine.
She has dishes of crystals and tumbled rocks, glinting in the light from the spotless windows. A squat black cat with huge yellow eyes, like a Studio Ghibli soot sprite, watches me accusingly as I stir them with a finger, listening to them clink together. I smile at him. "I won't hurt your mommy's things."
He just stares back at me, but then as he leaves the room, rubs against my legs.
She's painted the walls a light green, like a springtime green. The haze that blooms on trees in early May green. She likes lace valances for the windows, Bible verses embroidered in samplers on the walls. But the hardwood floor is hand-laid, and the colours match the room perfectly. "She really loves this house," I say.
"Great. I hope she'll accept the offer without a problem," says my wife, examining the three windows to the screened-in porch. "Man, the decor in here ... well, I'm just glad the sellers can't hear us."
I nod. It's old-fashioned. But somehow, it's home. Somehow, it's familiar.
As we leave, I look at the wedding picture in the front hallway. Her husband looks away from us, but she's facing the photographer. Her face is knowing, and I impulsively turn to the image looking me straight in the eyes.
"I promise I'll love it as much as you did."
It could be my imagination, but I swear she smiles in response.
This has been an entry for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
therealljidol. The prompt this week was "Uncanny Valley", and it struck me that buying someone else's house, having access to all their things during house showings, but never meeting them is an extremely uncanny valley situation. As we prepare to transition from our home to hers, the differences and familiarities become almost overwhelming.
Thank you for reading and voting!
In the kitchen, she's left a dish on the counter. Old-fashioned Pyrex, the snowflake pattern. I touch it in delight. "She likes Pyrex, too!"
My wife turns from the island, where she's examining the countertops. "These will have to go. Who does concrete slabs on islands anymore?"
I touch the Pyrex dish again, and gently place it further back on the counter so it doesn't get broken. I collect old-fashioned Pyrex; this one is valuable. The light from the inlaid stained-glass kitchen window falls across my hands. I feel a strong sense of deja vu, but my wife is already exclaiming over the cunning understairs cabinet. I turn away.
Upstairs, there's a lump in the master bed. A note with careful cursive writing is taped to the iron-wrought foot. "Our kitty is a little scared of showings! Forgive the lump in the bed; we couldn't bear to take her out."
I laugh. "Athena used to do that when visitors came over."
My wife grins. "I love that she thought to write us a note. This is so cute." She gently pets the lump in the bed and we hear a rusty "meow" from under the handmade quilt. The hospital corners are perfect; just like my mother taught me to make beds, too.
As we discuss the master bath and our plans for enlarging, I picture her combing her long hair in front of the mirror. As I raise my head to meet my reflection, for a split second, I see her face instead of mine.
She has dishes of crystals and tumbled rocks, glinting in the light from the spotless windows. A squat black cat with huge yellow eyes, like a Studio Ghibli soot sprite, watches me accusingly as I stir them with a finger, listening to them clink together. I smile at him. "I won't hurt your mommy's things."
He just stares back at me, but then as he leaves the room, rubs against my legs.
She's painted the walls a light green, like a springtime green. The haze that blooms on trees in early May green. She likes lace valances for the windows, Bible verses embroidered in samplers on the walls. But the hardwood floor is hand-laid, and the colours match the room perfectly. "She really loves this house," I say.
"Great. I hope she'll accept the offer without a problem," says my wife, examining the three windows to the screened-in porch. "Man, the decor in here ... well, I'm just glad the sellers can't hear us."
I nod. It's old-fashioned. But somehow, it's home. Somehow, it's familiar.
As we leave, I look at the wedding picture in the front hallway. Her husband looks away from us, but she's facing the photographer. Her face is knowing, and I impulsively turn to the image looking me straight in the eyes.
"I promise I'll love it as much as you did."
It could be my imagination, but I swear she smiles in response.
This has been an entry for
therealljidol. The prompt this week was "Uncanny Valley", and it struck me that buying someone else's house, having access to all their things during house showings, but never meeting them is an extremely uncanny valley situation. As we prepare to transition from our home to hers, the differences and familiarities become almost overwhelming.Thank you for reading and voting!
no subject
Date: 2024-07-31 03:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-08-01 11:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-08-01 05:12 pm (UTC)