We’re running late.
It’s partially my fault (fear that they’ll reject me based on my outfit) and partially his (deciding now was the best time to drop off library books). So we’re left dodging tourists, umbrellas, and wintry mix in the supposed heart of Midtown on a Thursday afternoon. The librarian yells at Danny saying that the books are wet. She’s afraid that they’ll mold but neglects to notice that they’re already overdue. We walk up 6th Ave at the pace reserved for people trying to get away from the police both quickly and subtlety. I decided on the navy polka dot silk blouse. It’s the closest thing I own to a safety blanket that’s still socially acceptable to be worn as a shirt. Luckily it’ll also hide pit stains.
In New York efficiency is prized even if it’s worthless.
We arrive in front of the Giant Law Firm. One of those New York buildings that you can’t believe exists because of the sheer capitalist power it represents. We made it on time in every reasonable sense except that being even just 3 minutes late makes the anxiety lash out. We approach the receptionist and she waves at us to retreat, and mimes to turn around through the glass. Behind us is at single long conference table with the assortment of attorneys all dressed in black framed by their large stacks of white paper. Our attorney. The seller’s attorney. The bank’s attorney. And some other person who probably makes six times what I do for making photocopies and scanning documents. We sign papers. I’m thankful for a signature bordering on negligence. We wait for the bank to release the funds. We kill time. We talk about the election and the year in general. We pray (figure of speech) that this decision will not be one more awful moment in 2016. The money comes through. We all make exclamations of joy, the women in black because they get to go home- and us because we have a home. Well, an apartment. Good enough.
The big reveal? We bought a one bedroom (750-800 square feet depending on your level of optimism) pre-war co-op in Kensington Brooklyn. Our first home.
Soon a couple each with their respective cat as well as books, video games, and other things that Marie Kondo can’t make us get rid of will move in and make it their home. The apartment’s been a rental for the last 85 years and we’re its first owners. A story for another day. Needless to say she’s been around the block (just kidding she’s an apartment she can’t move) and hasn’t seen any major renovations or attempts at restoration for the last 50 years.
She needs love. She also needs a kitchen. Good thing we have a lot to give and a few kitchen ideas as well.
For now we’ll stand outside the Giant Law Firm and text everyone we know on the 2% of battery that I have left that we closed on our apartment. It’s New York and you always know that you have the option of buying another $5.00 iPhone charger at the bodega. It’s likely that it won’t work- but then again maybe it will?