After an hour of light, amenable conversation Dr. Froggy, Auntie and I start yawning. Auntie goes into the kitchen and comes back with an 8-ounce bottle of water. “In case you are thirsty later tonight,” she says and smiles. “Let me show you upstairs,” she offers. Dr. Froggy’s attention is torn between the TV and his phone, so we leave him in the living room.
There are two sets of stairs in this house. The ones in the back of the house are the typical half a flight, landing, another half of flight. But the ones in the foyer are a winding, circular sweep of airy steps that make me giggle and leave me feeling like I am on the set of a modern day version of Dynasty. I cannot comprehend what a single man is doing living in this much space? The house is actually so massive, 5,000 finished square feet, a three-car garage, an unfinished 2,000 square foot basement and miscellaneous attic space, that it is comically surreal to someone who lives on a small island and is constantly downsizing in a micro apartment.
Auntie shows me to one of the five bedrooms in this house. “Good night,” she says. I smile and watch the door shut behind her. There is a button lock and I lurch for and secure myself in a bedroom that is bigger than my entire apartment. I unzip my suitcase, pull on my pajamas and pad into the bathroom. I flip on the light to discover a marble room with jack and jill sinks adorned with mini-sized bottles of hand soap. This prompts me to whip back shower curtain to find mini bottles of the shampoo, conditioner and body gel. OMG. I’m in a hotel. I am also wondering if his mother is the one doing all the upkeep. This could be a whole blog itself, Desi Boys Who Don't Grow Up and the Mothers who Coddle Them.
I brush my teeth and pad back into the bedroom. I stop by the window stare at the crack in the wall and the unlevel windows. Hhhmm. For a brand new house he really should not have cricks and cracks. I make a mental construction punchlist for breakfast conversation. I pull back the sheer curtain and stare across the street into the empty parking lot of the country club. I take a deep breath, draw air in through my nose and feel it jerk through my lungs. For ten minutes I stand and study the street --- no cars pass, no noise is made. I live four blocks from the GWB so this suburban silence is killing me. Can I really live here? In this house? In quiet? In this darkness?