There’s a point in the process of looking for houses where you don’t think you can step foot in another one. You see house after house that for some reason or another, you pass on. You start to think that you will never find a house. Sure, you see one that maybe a possibility, you can see yourself investing the time and money into it, building a future in it. But for whatever reason, you have to pass on it (i.e. access to the attic was screwed shut).
So, you finally get to the point where you think you find “the one,” and you get excited, super excited.
You know the house has been on the market for a year. You know that it’s a short sale, but you have a loan pre-approval burning a hole in your pocket. You know that there’s a chance that the bank will drag their feet to the point of frustration. You know that maybe this won’t work out.
But you put in an offer anyway. You meet in Medina, have a basket of onion rings before you meet the realtor because you were busy at work and didn’t eat all day. You listen to a podcast on the way down the highway and think, “This is a hike, can I do this every day to work?” But you’re excited, because you think you’ll finally have to make this drive every day. You start planning traffic evasion routes.
You can tell Charlie is nervous when you sit and initial all sorts of forms and indemnity clauses. You are grateful that you took two semesters of business law and know the five elements of a contract are agreement, consideration, legal capacity, legal purpose, and genuineness. You read each line clearly, finally in a position to apply all of that studying you did. You explain the important parts of the contract to Charlie. You admire how your initials look next to each other on a legal document.
You listen to the realtor when he says that short sales can be a nightmare. You temper a lot of your expectations. You look at the stars in Charlie’s eyes, and hope they don’t get extinguished.
You celebrate pre-Valentines Day and your first joint legal endeavor with Yuengling, hummus, and fruit. You don’t realize that you were more nervous than you thought you were, and pick at your food.
You get gas, give Charlie a hug and head home. You’re tired, but in a good way.
You wait to hear back. You get excited. You don’t know how long it will take for the sellers to accept your offer.
You find out there are multiple offers on the house. In your heart, you know that you bid too low. You tell Charlie you’re pretty sure that they won’t take your offer. You try to prepare him to have the stars in his eyes extinguished.
Two days later, your realtor sends an email: the sellers took a higher offer. You were pretty sure that’s how it would end, but it still stings to read it. You take a deep breath and comfort Charlie. You take turns cursing the sellers’ realtor. You make a list of all of the streets in that neighborhood.
You’re secretly a little relieved that you have more time to save money and can pack your current house more slowly.
You comfort Charlie some more. You both sulk a little.
You sit down with the realtor’s portal and find more houses that look promising. You send an email to the realtor. You schedule another Saturday afternoon of five houses to look at.
You dust yourself off and start over again. Your house is out there, waiting for you to find it.