Page 14 of Isn’t It Nice We Both Hate the Same Things

CHAPTER NINE

The following Saturday, at an apartment inspection, Genevieve tries to rationalise the situation. She’s always held great determination to help me solve my problems. ‘I think it’s nice that they want to celebrate him,’ she says. Then sees my expression. ‘But I am, of course, wrong.’

We’ve carved out time this morning – Genevieve, Bruce, myself – to walk through an apartment I found after days of digging. Twenty-five minutes from where we’re currently living. Further away from the city and deep in suburbia, but nestled firmly in their price range.

Beside me, Bruce cradles a piccolo – his second for the day. It’s always comical seeing him with one, his gigantic hands wrapped around a minute cup like that. As if a giant were holding a kitten.

We greet the real estate agent – an affable man with wavy black hair wearing a pressed navy suit and clutching an iPad – and step across the threshold, inside.

‘I’d prefer to forget,’ I say.

‘I know.’

‘She’s obsessing over it.’

Genevieve smiles. ‘She’s planned a dinner, Charlie. I’d hardly say obsessing.’

‘And of course I couldn’t say no, because then I’d look like an arsehole. She’s cornered me, hasn’t she? What are my rights here?’

She tries to hide her laugh. ‘It’s a trip home, not a murder accusation.’ When I say nothing, she changes her tune. ‘I can help think of an excuse for you? If we tell them that you’ve contracted some sort of vaginal rash, maybe they’d understand if you cancelled.’

‘You’re a good friend.’

‘I know—’

A second real estate agent – tall, lean, with a cropped brown hairdo – cuts me off. ‘Good morning.’

‘Morning,’ we recite, then make our way through the apartment.

It’s bigger than our rental. An extra bedroom, bigger living area, larger laundry.

But it’s still a squeeze. I suspect the ceiling is lower, because of how close Bruce’s head is to colliding with it.

With a body that big, legs that long, he’s at risk of clipping the door frame when he enters the first bedroom.

We go through the motions, avoiding the other groups of people as we progress.

Kitchen, check. A bit clinical and sterile, with its white laminate cupboards and monochromatic appliances.

Carpet, clean enough, but taupe and faded in the centre of the living room where the sun hits.

Balcony, concrete and habitable, with a small bistro table and two folding chairs – wooden and splintering.

Wardrobes, in-built and with a few scuff marks, but overall, thrilled to see they exist.

It’s the first time we’ve viewed an apartment and so the list of things we’re checking has instantly grown shorter. No backyard, no garage. No need to check retaining walls or ground drainage. Instead, it’s strata and communal gardens. It’s the safety of the entrance and the size of the post boxes.

It’s not perfect, but it’s certainly nicer than everything else on the market. And more affordable.

I feel a great sense of pride, having found this place.

Bruce tosses his coffee cup in the bin and then throws me an appreciative look, because he knows how hard I’ve been searching.

How many listings I’ve scoured, trying to find somewhere they might love.

Trying to repay them for all they’ve done to help me.

Genevieve might’ve given up on finding a place, but I’m convinced we can find them somewhere before the baby arrives. Somewhere great.

As the crowd grows, we duck out onto the balcony to debrief. Nearby, an older couple discuss buying the apartment as an investment.

‘That’d be right,’ Bruce grumbles. ‘A rich person swooping in and adding another property to their collection.’

Over the railing, on the pavement, I see a couple walk to their car with a child at their feet, and I feel it’s a sign. Those two people seem sensible, and they chose to live here. That could be Genevieve and Bruce! Perfect location for families, tick.

Turning back to Genevieve, I assess her. ‘Thoughts?’

She nods, looking back inside. Shifting her weight into the balls of her feet and then back over the toes. ‘It’s nice.’

‘I know it’s not what you wanted. An apartment.’

Bruce adds, ‘It isn’t, but I could see us living here.’ Then he looks down at her stomach. ‘The three of us.’

Her eyes widen, and she nods. I cannot read the expression across her face, but she appears plagued with worry.

‘You okay?’ I ask.

‘Just thinking.’

‘What about—’

Someone inside suddenly shrieks to their partner. ‘This place is way nicer than I was imagining. It’d be perfect for us.’

Bruce, Genevieve and I all turn to the source – a pregnant woman who appears near full-term. Genevieve stiffens.

Part of me is pleased that another pregnant couple can see potential in this place: it means I’ve done something right. The other part of me is focused on Genevieve, and how she’s retreating into the corner of the balcony. She’s taking a moment to collect herself, breathing in deeply.

‘Everything okay?’ Bruce asks.

After a moment, Genevieve nods. ‘I think this was a mistake.’

‘You don’t like the place?’ I say. ‘It’s the first decent one we’ve found since you got pregnant.’

I don’t know why, but saying this somehow makes it worse. Genevieve chokes a little, tearing up. Turns away and rests a hand on the brick wall, hiding her face.

‘Did I say something?’ I ask. ‘I’m sorry.’

Bruce throws me a desperate look over his shoulder. Mouths, I don’t know what’s happening .

‘Are you feeling sick?’ he asks Genevieve, placing a hand on the small of her back.

She shakes her head.

‘We can go home,’ I say. ‘If this isn’t what you want.’

‘It’s actually lovely,’ she whispers. Rolling her shoulders back, she brushes the tears away from under her eyes. ‘And it is the best place we’ve seen.’

‘So …’ Bruce treads carefully. ‘Maybe we put in an offer?’

Turning back, Genevieve bites her bottom lip and pauses. Stares at her feet, then up and through the glass doors. Then she glances at me. ‘I think you’re right.’

I exhale, relieved. ‘Good—’

‘We should stay in the apartment. We should forget about this whole thing. We’ll make our current place work.’

And then she walks off, back inside the apartment and towards the front door, leaving Bruce and me reeling.

‘What just happened?’ he says, eyebrows risen and hands outstretched.

‘I have no idea.’ I watch as she disappears out the front door. ‘She hates the rental.’

Bruce is shocked silent, jaw open. ‘I don’t …’ He clutches his forehead. ‘I’m confused. She doesn’t want to put an offer on this place?’

‘That can’t be right.’ I feel like every ounce of energy has been sucked clean from my body.

Then, just inside the apartment, the older couple pop their heads out the sliding door. The man, inches from me, points at the tiled balcony ground beneath our feet. ‘Oh dear, bit old. It’ll need a renovation.’

Turning to his wife, he says, ‘Those guys that fixed the tiling in our last place, can you remember the company name? They do good work – let’s get them back again.’

Outside, further down the street, Genevieve hovers by my car while she waits for us.

Bruce stays by the apartment entrance, leaving us to discuss. He does that a lot, I’ve realised, letting us have time to ourselves. Perhaps he does it when he feels I can help the situation more than he can. Sometimes Genevieve doesn’t need him, she needs me.

‘We didn’t finish our conversation about your mum,’ she says. ‘And the anniversary.’

‘You’re deflecting. Don’t do that.’ I step forward. ‘Is everything okay?’

She is jittery. ‘Yes, fine. Can we go?’

I make no move to unlock the car. And when I place my keys back inside my pocket, she lets out a frustrated groan. ‘I’m fine , Charlie.’

‘Don’t insult me. You’re not.’

‘You’ve been saying this whole time we can stay in our current place. You’ll move out and we’ll turn that room into the baby’s room, and we’ll be just fine.’

‘It’s too small.’

‘Well, it was time for a cleanout anyway.’

‘And the lack of airflow?’

‘I’ll buy another fan.’ She slaps her hands down against her thighs. ‘And I’ll get those padded strips for all the corners. And I’ll get Bruce to build some kind of fencing for the balcony railing.’

‘And the teenager down the hall?’ I ask.

She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. And then she collects herself. ‘I really don’t want to talk about this.’

‘You’re scared.’

‘Of course I’m scared,’ she shouts, head tipped back.

Nearby, people on the sidewalk glance our way.

‘I’m so fucking scared, all the time . Every minute of every day, I’m terrified.

We’ve been looking for a house because we wanted to raise a family, and I’ve somehow only just realised that if this baby doesn’t live, we won’t need a bigger place anymore. ’

Oh.

Oh.

‘It’ll be a waste of money. And I don’t know how I didn’t clock it before, but now I have and I’m even more terrified. This is my last chance, Charlie. And if I buy that place and lose the baby? That’s all I’ll ever think about when I’m living there.’

Stepping forward, I grab her hands and squeeze.

Wait until her breathing steadies. ‘G, I know it’s scary, and I know you’re preparing for the worst, and I know you don’t want to get your hopes up and then have them completely obliterated, but this is something you can’t control.

You could buy a pram and lose the baby.’ Then I gesture behind me.

‘And you could buy that apartment and lose the baby.’

She looks away, closing her eyes. Her expression is haunted. ‘I know.’

‘It wouldn’t be your fault. You know that, right? If something happened, if things didn’t go to plan. It’s never your fault.’

She says nothing.

‘I’m trying to think of ways I can help. Things I can say.’

‘I’m not sure there’s anything you can say. I don’t really know how to explain it, and I’m trying not to make it about me. But this isn’t something you can understand unless you go through it.’

She’s not trying to be cold, I know that. But it twists me inside. And she seems shocked to have even said it.

This isn’t something you can understand.