If You Were Here

Oh, and at least three million carpenter ants. We have to fumigate. Call me back on my cell. And if you could keep the gloating to a minimum, I’d appreciate it.”

“Hi, I’m hoping to book a couple of reservations. The first one is a standard room, right now for two people. You’re dog-friendly, yes?. . Cats, too?. . Great. . Uh-huh, two nights under ‘Mia MacNamara’. . Right, thanks. . The second one is for June fourth through June seventh. . All you have left is the presidential suite? How much is that?. . Ouch!. . No, I was unaware that was Abington Cambs College graduation weekend. . Of course I realize prices reflect demand. . No problem. . The name on that reservation is Josefa Grabowski. . Um, I’ll be using my AmEx for both. The number is 3750. .”

“Hello, sir. Lovely day out here; hope you’re enjoying it. Have a seat on the bench? Don’t mind if I do. Went with the white peonies today, because I thought you might want to mix it up a bit after getting so many shades of pink ones. Anyway, do I have a week to share with you. Remember how I said neither balloons nor bubbles were inherently threatening? Yeah? I stand corrected.”

Chapter Twelve. THE GOLABKI CLUB

“Thanks for coming, and we look forward to seeing your estimate!” I close the door behind the contractor, gingerly trying to keep the knob from falling out again.

Mac and I have spent the past few days interviewing general contractors, because the extent of the termite damage is far too much for us to take on by ourselves. Apparently those ravenous little bastards have been going at all the wood in our house so long and hard that we have to install new subflooring in some areas. We also have to replace floor joists and reinforce support beams.

FYI? I don’t actually look forward to seeing the estimates for these repairs, despite Mac’s rejoicing in his vindication when he found out weakened floors were the reason he kept dropping toilets into my office.

Yes. Because having to take out a second mortgage because of structural damage is totally cause for celebration.

The good news is, we’re really enthusiastic about everyone we’ve interviewed, and we’ve narrowed the field down to three contractors who are the most top-notch. Not only do these three all have the highest ratings from the Better Business Bureau and are Best of Angie’s List, but each one just slayed us with how they answered the interview questions.

We found an amazing resource on the Internet that advised us to lob a few “question grenades” during our fact-finding process, like whether their business was involved with any charity work. I was so impressed to learn how all of Bob’s Builders employees get two paid weeks off each year to work for Habitat for Humanity. When I checked professional references for Larry Lambert Homes, I had to laugh when one of his suppliers was all, “Wait. Lambert’s got an opening in his schedule? Tell him I need a sunroom!” And I loved how organized Miranda — owner of Do It Herself, Inc. — was, especially when I snuck out to take a peek in her truck.¹¹³ Plus, she doesn’t use any subcontractors and she’s a huge proponent of going green. When she expressed her passion for sustainable building materials, I could suddenly envision a kitchen filled with bamboo flooring and agrifiber-based cabinets.

I tell Mac, “We’ll have a tough decision on our hands. All of them seem completely competent, they each have impeccable references, and when I think of people I wouldn’t mind having in my house for the next month, I’d be hard-pressed to find fault with any of them.” Bob was just salt of the earth, Larry was hilarious, and Miranda was a globe-trotting Peace Corps volunteer before she started her company and she seems like she’s got tales to tell.

Mac agrees. “Our decision will ultimately come down to price. All things being equal, we’re going to go with the lowest-cost provider.”¹¹⁴

I collect our dirty Starbucks cups and napkins, tossing all the refuse in the trash before I catch myself. Oh, shit, if Miranda works here, I’ll have to be a lot better about remembering to recycle.

I wipe off the perpetually gritty table and tell Mac, “Honey, we’ve got about twenty minutes to get ready to go to the airport, so if you’ve got to use the bathroom, I suggest you go now.”

“Hey,” Mac says from the doorway of the kitchen. “In a completely unrelated question — do we happen to have any straightrazor blades? Also, how long would you estimate it takes a person to”—he makes air quotes—“ ‘bleed out’? Can this be accomplished in twenty minutes or less? I ask for no particular reason.”

“I don’t like car,” Babcia says with a sneer when she sees Mac’s Mercedes at the arrivals curb.

“Because it’s German?” Babcia’s not a huge fan of the Germans, having developed those feelings when she lived in Warsaw during WWII. Her opinion of all things Axis-power related explains why she also despises the Japanese, Italians, Hungarians, and Romanians. Of course, I’m hard-pressed to explain what she has against anyone who’s from England, Canada, Mexico, China and Hong Kong, France, Vietnam, North and South Korea, or Switzerland. She has a particular affinity for the Swedes, though. I suspect that has more to do with the $2.99 meatball platter at IKEA and less with any sociopolitical aspect.

Babcia continues to scowl as she inspects the car from hood to trunk. “Is too fast-making.”

As I settle her in the backseat, I say, “I promise Mac will drive home slowly.”

I can see Mac blanch. I suspect he was planning to pilot this thing like the Batmobile on the way back, just to lessen their time together in such an enclosed space.

“How was your flight?” Mac gamely ventures.

“No talk while drive,” she replies icily.

He gives me a desperate look while I offer a small shrug in return. “Babcia, does that mean no one talks or just Mac can’t talk?”

“Warehouse.”

“Warehouse? I’m not sure I follow you, Babcia.” A little Babcia 101 for you? The question you ask often has little to no bearing on the question she’ll answer.

“Warehouse.”

“Do you want to go to Costco?” I probably don’t even need to mention how Babcia feels about their liberal free-sample policies.

Or how she’s since been banned from all Miami-Dade County locations after the whole Foreman Grill unpleasantness.

“WAREHOUSE.”

“I think she’s asking where the house is. We’re about half an hour from here, depending on traffic, Babcia,” Mac interjects helpfully, only to be met with a steely glare and a bony finger pointed in his direction. Realizing the error of his attempt to interpret, he slinks down so low in his seat I wonder if he can even see over the dashboard.

Then Babcia reaches around the seat in front of her and takes her bony finger and pokes me in the stomach so hard I think she hits my spine. “Why fat, moja zabko? Is baby?”

You know, it’s possible this visit wasn’t my best idea.

“I need you now!”

His desperation is palpable.

“Mac, let me finish getting the coffee together. You can spend thirty seconds alone with her.” I roll my eyes and leisurely pour the carton of half-and-half into a white ceramic cow-shaped creamer. “Last I saw, she and Daisy were hanging out together on the couch in the living room, thick as thieves. How could that possibly be problematic?”

“Oh? Oh, really?” he questions me, his arms wrapped around himself in a very protective, albeit somewhat feminine position. “Then you’re not at all concerned about her squeezing Daisy’s hindquarters and muttering things like ‘tender’ and ‘make delicious.’ ”