Is This Really Okay?
Is this even okay?
I've lost my mind.
I've lost my mind.
I've completely lost my mind······!
The real-estate office—some twenty desks or more, divided by partitions—was packed and humming with people.
It all felt strangely unreal. Why was I even sitting here?
Should I say I needed to think it over again?
But the agent who had shown me the house had already introduced me to a new staff member and left. Apparently they split the work—one person for showings, another for contracts.
“······.”
With a different person sitting across from me, it suddenly felt harder to say that my mind had changed. Was that the whole point of the system?
Sitting between the clean white partitions lined up in neat rows, I felt as if I were being evaluated.
Whether she knew about the chaos in my head or not, the staff member—sharp bob, thin glasses—was chatting casually with the landlord on the phone.
“Yes, that gentleman today······. He seemed quite taken with the place. Yes, yes. A young, put-together looking man—he'll be moving in with his child······.”
She went on covering whatever other conditions the landlord had requested, handling the call and the paperwork at the same smooth pace.
Ordinary questions were going back and forth when, out of nowhere, she glanced at me with a small smile and put a question to the landlord.
“He asked whether, if he moves in, you'd be putting in new built-in appliances. What would you like to do?”
Huh? I never asked that.
The showing agent had pointed out the built-ins as standard options. I hadn't found anything particularly wrong with them······.
Whether she noticed my startled expression or not, she kept going with the landlord.
“Yes, you lived there yourself, so you know—you'll end up replacing them one by one within a year or two anyway. In that case, putting in all new units now would make it much easier for me to present to the new tenant······. Yes, of course. Just the basics will do.”
Her eyes sparkled as she spun the pen in her hand.
“Fridge and gas range, living-room air conditioner. Ah, and the washer, dryer, and finally the dishwasher······. Understood. Then I'll draft the contract and send the original······.”
Wait—so everything's going in brand new?
I still had no idea what was going on and could only sit there, blank.
One thing was clear: I was the one who ought to be happy about this, yet the staff member looked even more pleased than I did.
······Ah. Did her commission go up with the deal size?
I was staring, half hypnotized, at her flashy pen-spinning when she hung up with a polished smile, eyes bright, and tidied the contract.
“All done. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“Ah—no, it's fine.”
I forced an easy smile.
“Then let's fill out the contract now. Yes—move-in date on this day, deposit and balance······.”
She ran everything so smoothly that I didn't ask a single real question. I just signed diligently wherever she pointed.
“Thank you. We'll see you on moving day. Bye-bye, little one!”
“Bua!”
Luca's vigorous babble crossed with her bright smile.
“······.”
When I came back to myself, I was standing outside the real-estate building with a folder of signed papers clutched to my chest.
In the cold winter evening air, the city lights shone with a piercing clarity.
I called Anastasia first to thank her—because of her, the housing problem had worked itself out.
Then I checked that the stroller cover was fastened tight against any leaking wind, and walked for a while along the sidewalk, trying to settle my unsettled heart.
That morning I'd packed the necessary documents just in case, but I never imagined I'd sign a contract on the very first day of looking······.
Finding a place usually meant at least a few more days of grinding work. That was what I'd expected.
Honk! Honk!
Murmur and chatter.
BEEEEEP!
The real-estate office sat in the heart of Downtown, so the lights were flashy and the noise never stopped. Crowds everywhere, the air thick and acrid.
Far from clearing my head, it only made me more frantic.
After five minutes of walking I turned toward the bus stop and caught the bus home.
Luckily it wasn't rush hour yet; the bus was nearly empty.
I buckled the stroller into its dedicated space, sat down beside it, and took a breath.
Exhaustion rolled in. My body seemed to sink into the seat.
I didn't feel good about any of it.
“······.”
The negativity I hadn't felt in a long time swallowed me in an instant.
How many times—how many years—had I ridden this same bus while living in my current place?
Forty-five minutes to work every day for a day's wage, then forty-five minutes back home with nothing special to show for it, then sleep. Over and over.
An infinite loop of a life.
Had that been my best? I didn't know. I'd thought I could just keep living that way until I grew old and died, and it wouldn't have mattered.
······The streets of Old Town had been so clean and beautiful that morning. Even without the lights on, the house had been bright, warm with sunlight pouring in.
A place like that······.
Clunk, rattle······.
“······.”
Clunk, vroooom······.
The farther we got from the city center, the worse the roads became, and the streets faded into the familiar gray.
As the yellow sparkle drained from the avenues, my mood sank just as fast.
Then anxiety closed in.
Could I even handle a place like that?
For now—sure. I could scrape by somehow.
But someday I'd hit a wall. A neighborhood like that was never meant for someone like me in the first place.
A few stops later my body hit the stop button on pure reflex. I had to get off at the next one.
For a moment the empty house of the old days rose in my mind, and my heart dropped hard.
If I went back and opened the front door right now, that desolate space would be waiting for me again. That was what my home was.
“Not getting off?”
The bus had already reached the stop. The driver had the front door open and was calling to me.
I jumped up to get off—and he shouted again, sounding exasperated.
“Hey, you're leaving the kid?”
“What? The kid?”
“The stroller!”
“······Ah!”
I scrambled back and groped for the stroller.
I yanked the closed canopy open. Inside, a baby slept soundly.
“Luca······.”
It felt like I'd lost him and found him again in the same breath.
My legs nearly gave out, but I managed to unbuckle the stroller, push it toward the front, and get off.
Thank God there were no other passengers.
I turned and thanked the driver. He looked me up and down, tossed out one line, and shut the door.
“Listen—no matter how hard it gets, if you've got a kid, keep your head screwed on tight. All a kid's got is their parent.”
“······Yes. Thank you. Really.”
After the bus pulled away I stood frozen for a moment. The cold wind slapped me awake.
“Luca, sweetheart······.”
This time I opened the canopy carefully. He was still deep asleep.
I felt like crying, but I pressed my mouth shut and swallowed it down.
I closed the canopy properly again, checked that I hadn't left anything on the bus······.
Once I'd confirmed everything was where it should be, I squared my shoulders and pushed the stroller firmly toward home.
And the moment I opened the front door, the overflowing clutter of our life hit me, and I let out a hollow laugh.
That desolate space had already disappeared a month ago.
I took off my coat and laid Luca on the bed.
Then I dampened a soft towel with lukewarm water and gently wiped his face, his hands and feet, and his hair.
“You worked hard today, little one.”
The whole time I cleaned him he barely opened his eyes, murmuring in his sleep.
Watching him, I was still worried about what came next.
Even so, I was honestly relieved that finding a new place had finished today.
I gently woke him before he sank too deep, fed him his bottle, and put him back down.
Only then did I sink onto the sofa, stretch my legs out, and stare blankly around the apartment.
Usually when people move, they sit with the good and the bad of the place they're leaving and let the memories come.
I had nothing from the past few years in this house worth looking back on.
Before I met Luca, the only memories this place held······.
I tipped my head back and looked at the ceiling.
Yeah. That ceiling.
Morning or night, weekday or weekend—every memory of this house was just that ceiling, stared at from this sofa.
A gray ceiling with rough, uneven paint.
I squeezed my eyes shut and buried my face in my hands for a moment.
······That's all in the past now.
I scrubbed my face dry.
Thinking about what had almost happened on the bus still made me dizzy. From now on I really had to keep my head on straight.
I steadied myself, stood up from the sofa, and looked around the living room washed in the soft glow of the mood lamp.
Another hollow laugh escaped me.
How am I ever going to pack all this?
The next morning.
The second I opened my eyes I sat at the table with paper and pen. From here on, I had to move strategically.
I decided not to call what I'd done yesterday a crazy stunt. I would call it a courageous challenge.
After all—hadn't some part of me believed I could pull it off somehow?
I was still young. I had a steady job I'd stuck with. I had the stamina to take on side work.
Even if the beginning was hard, keeping a good living environment would help me score well later when it came to the adoption review.
If it got truly impossible, I could always find a roommate and cut the rent in half.
Plenty of people in Downtown lived that way.
But a roommate was a last resort. First I needed to sort out the situation as it stood.
“Hmm······.”
The thirty-five hundred dollars I'd get back for the deposit and moving costs was going straight into the new deposit.
The first month's rent was waived, so I had roughly two months before the first real payment—but you never know.
Even with Luca's foster subsidy coming in any day now, I'd still need money to bridge the gap until my weekly pay resumed after I went back to work. And moving costs still had to be counted.
The fastest way to get cash was still the building-manager gigs.
But whether Tony and Andy had lost a lot of money that week or not, the calls weren't coming in the way they used to.
“I just need a few hundred bucks to get by for now.”
I had a decent pile of points saved in the Manito App, but those couldn't be turned into cash.
And spending points on living expenses was the same as burning buffs—a long-term loss.
“······.”
Was there anywhere I could borrow money?
Everyone around me was in roughly the same boat. There was no one to ask.
What was I supposed to do······.
Brrrring!
“Ah—!”
No one should have been calling this early.
[Incoming call]
“······.”
A name I hadn't expected at all. Fear jumped in my throat. Why was she calling out of nowhere? Don't tell me she wanted Luca back.
Brrrring!
Brrrring!
There was no avoiding it. I answered in a voice that barely made it out of my mouth.
“······Hello.”
"It's already been more than a month and a half since you took the baby. I was wondering how you've been getting on. Everything all right?"
“Ah—yes. Luca's healthy. We're fine.”
"Then why do you sound like that?"
“That's······. It's nothing else, just······.”
"Jun. Keep it simple and clear. Just the facts, please."
“······.”
That afternoon, after a phone call that had felt more like an interrogation, Mother Superior called again to say she would be arriving at my door shortly and that I should come outside for a moment.
Vrooom.
I hurried out with the stroller—and in the distance a classic Ford Mustang was rolling toward us.
“······.”
Mother Superior, tapping ash out the open window, saw us and put out her cigarette.
Screeech.
“For someone who said he was struggling, you look remarkably well.”
“Do I? Thank you.”
But why are you here?
I didn't ask that. Instead I invited her in for a cup of tea while she was here.
She declined without ceremony.
“I'd love to, but I don't have the time today. The child looks healthy and bright, so that's enough.”
“Bubu-bubu!”
Mother Superior glanced at Luca, who was flailing his arms and legs and babbling, then pointed her chin at the back seat.
“Check the bag and take it.”
“Sorry? Take what?”
She didn't repeat herself. She simply unlocked the rear door.
“······?”
On the back seat sat a large, old-looking leather bag.
I carefully opened the brass zipper—and saw a thick pile of cash.
I was so startled I stopped mid-open and yanked the zipper shut again.
“M-Mother Superior. This is······.”
“Offerings,” she said.