The Drip, a novel by Michael Gullo
“Hey, Amz, what’s up?”
“I just got a call, and the Fatahs wrote an offer.”
“Honey! Come here. Amy is on the speakerphone.”
“Don’t say it. Amy.”
“Hey, girl. You’re homeless.”
“I told you it would work.”
“Are you serious right now? You just sold our home, and you’re gloating?”
“Just a little victory lap.”
“Stef, ignore him. It’s an offer. You don’t have to accept it. And we talked about this. You guys can stay in my short term rental for a little while…”
“Wait, am I married to two women now? When did this short ter…”
“Nope, no. No, Michael. Don’t you dare. It’s time for you to be quiet and let the adults discuss this. Amz, what’s the offer?”
“I’ll email it to you.”
“Just tell me.”
“Michael, I told you to be quiet.”
“Don’t gloat, Michael – the offer is the original ask.”
“Haaa! I told you. Raise it five percent, and look at that, we just got offered original asking price.”
“Michael. Serious. You gotta be quiet. I’m working on something else with Amy.”
“But look. We listed for exactly what we have in it. The raise was for a tiny profit in a market where everyone else is doubling and even tripling, and the final offer is for a couple thousand less than what we paid for it, the I-dare-you price.”
“When do we have to be out, Amy?”
“Offer has a thirty day close.”
“So we have thirty days to pack all eleven years we lived in this house into bags and boxes and put them somewhere?”
“And I don’t have to keep building this place anymore.”
“Michael, I know you’re a thousand steps ahead in your set-free mind, but I’m still trapped in, what now.”
“I’m in what-now too. I’m just not stymied by the easy stuff, where to live, how to pack, where does the stuff go? I already solved all of those and moved on to getting out my computer to order the house plan online.”
“That’s not decided.”
“Decided.”
“Amy, I may need an alibi. Easy stuff, he says.”
“It’s the easy stuff. You and Clover go to the apartment idea, whatever form that takes, and me and Kitty go to the shed at The Drip. I work the build onsite, and you work the felons from a desk.”
“What about the packing, smart guy? I’m not packing up this whole house by myself.”
“Actually, Stef. That’s part of the offer. They want to know about chattel. She said they’re hoping to get the furniture and the televisions and anything else you want to sell. They said, come up with a list and prices, and we’ll do a separate check.”
“Okay, so some furniture handled, but have you seen this guy’s shit? He has 3 pairs of jeans, one hundred pairs of socks and underwear and ten shirts, and the rest is a tractor trailer full to the gunwales, tools, screws, electronics, books – my god, the books.”
“That’s not fair. You have your own thousand or more of those.”
“Okay, we have books. Amy, there is a life worth of shit here. I don’t think I can get it packed in a month.”
“No problem, My Love, we get the guys over here, and we start hauling it out one twenty-year-old at a time.”
“Great! I ask him, please don’t bring this one home with him, and here they come. They can put down the drill and transfer their holler balls to my Mamaw’s china.”
“So, while you two are packing your stuff, I’ll just read the details to myself. They want ten percent down payment and four percent interest.”
“You’re a pussy! How did you not lead with that? Deal broke. Ten percent. Are you crazy? No way. No chance. No. Don’t bother replying.”
“Easy, Magilla. It’s an open offer. You counter.”
“I know how it works, Amy.”
“I know you do. And now that you calmed down, say it.”
“Full bid offer, quick close. Wait, you didn’t say inspection.”
“No inspection. Construction site.”
“Oh shit. This guy’s good.”
“There he is. Say the rest.”
“Bury the lead in easter eggs and bombshell the real ask, the downpayment and the rate. Cute. Still, he wants it, or he would have put a lot less thought in. Okay. Counter. I want twenty-five percent down, and I wanted six point five percent, but I’ll take five. Let’s get his financials and see what he looks like. I’ll dangle the five and land at six even if he rides the eight fifty line.”
“Six is tough – his realtor says he’s sharp, has the money. Just wants to preserve principal to finish the upgrades.”
“That settles it for me. He buys my paper, and he upgrades my collateral? It don’t get any better than that. He goes belly up, and I wholesale his equity and keep mine intact.”
“Hey, J.P. Morgan. Come down to earth. You haven’t even seen the offer yet, and you’re on the courthouse steps calling out the bids.”
“Honey, we sold the house.”
“It’s not sold yet.”
“Have we met?”
“Okay, you two. I’ll send the offer. Read it. Call back.”
“Bye Amy.”
“Bye, Amz. Look, Stefanie, before you start with me, know that I have this remote control here, and I will use it.”
“I’ll stick it up your…”
“Pause Rage TV.”
“Where-are-we-going-to-live?”