The Thread Between Danny and Me

Chapter 23: That you?

It didn't take long for my mom to sell the house. Hector and I went through all of our things, cleaned, sold what we didn't want, and got ready to move. Hector already had an apartment with some roommates in Baltimore and one drove up with their SUV to get Hector and the rest of his stuff.

My mother, on the other hand, got rid of almost everything she owned. It was hard to watch, but she needed to find her own path forward through the grief. The best way to help was to support her.

And like she said, she wouldn't be alone in New York.

I also had to think about my future. Since I didn't have to stay in Boston, I could move anywhere. A brand-new life sounded tempting. If I was forced to start over, perhaps I could get the cord in my heart to snap.

I entertained the idea of moving to California or Oregon. There were plenty of architecture jobs out west, after all. Hell, I could even move overseas. That was less plausible, though still tempting.

But in the end, despite all of my grand delusions and scheming to move far away, I took an offer from G and T, the same architecture firm that Brandon Daniels had accepted a job from in Boston.

Boston was within driving distance of my mother and my brother. I liked the city, and I was getting to a point in life where moving for the sake of moving felt like a lot of work. I didn't have the energy to make a new set of friends or get used to a new city with a new culture.

Boston was good for me, and I was good for it.

My life had been far from easy so I was grateful to have some starter money from my mom. Housing wouldn't be a constant worry for me. I was lucky in that respect and I endeavored to find a place that would be a good long-term fit for me and Rojo.

I looked at a lot of places. Houses, condos, and townhomes, close to work, and further away. In the city meant an easier commute, but less space. Outside the city meant a lot more space, but a long drive time.

Architects are funny because though we love buildings and constantly dream them up, most structures are suffocating for us to be in. They're either poorly designed or they're fine but too different from how we would design the space in our heads. This is a nasty predicament when choosing a place to live. Homes are supposed to be relaxing. They're not supposed to give you an eye twitch.

Touring homes in the suburbs usually ran something like this in my mind: "This is a boring saltbox. I can feel the cheap materials used in the framing. This house is going to fall apart in thirty years. Why is the bathroom in this part of the house? This kitchen isn't functional at all. Why. Why why why."

I realized that I couldn't afford a house in the suburbs that was up to my snooty standards. And perhaps most importantly, taking care of a house by myself would be a lot of work.

Old buildings in Boston with bits of interesting architecture were a lot more expensive. Anything above six hundred square feet was out of my price range. But this was still a better option for me.

You can imagine my relief when I stumbled upon a foreclosed studio apartment in an old brownstone. Seven hundred square feet with dreadful cabinets, a gaudy bathroom, and carpet that reeked of cat urine. But for all the ugly, there was exposed tan brick on the inside. The apartment had tall ceilings and bay windows, and best of all, a layout that could easily be renovated.

Having less of a commute was good for me and Rojo. I also decided that because I would be working long hours, he should go to doggy daycare three days a week. I didn't want him to be stuck alone in my apartment without anyone all the time.

My apartment was renovated over the summer. I had my friends help with the big stuff such as taking out the old cabinetry and helping with the bathroom. Tiling? Not my thing. But everything else was me and a labor of love. I ripped up the old carpet, re-sanded the wood floors, built cabinets, went thrifting, and put together my little paradise.