“The other bidders hated to withdraw, but they had already offered more than their limits,” he said. “So the house is yours now.”
I looked down at the piece of paper where I had tried to jot down how much the offers were as we went along. But after 7.5 million, my handwriting became illegible and I appeared to have started drawing hobbits instead.
I wondered if it would be socially acceptable to ask him how much we had ended up agreeing to pay.
Probably not.
“Do you want to discuss the move-in date now, or should we do that at the contract meeting?”
“Could I maybe call you later?”
“Sounds great.”
I put my head down on the desk and tried to think.
What was the last offer I remembered making?
Nothing. Apart from the offer that was supposed to have been the very last one, which was 7.25 million. But on my piece of paper it said 7.5 million. That was way too much. And that was also a lot of minutes ago. Many, many, many minutes.
I called the real estate office and gave the man who answered a fake name. I told him I was wondering if the house had been sold and, if so, what it went for.
“I’m not sure,” the man replied, “but I can transfer you to the listing agent if you’d like?”
“Oh, no. That won’t be necessary,” I hurried to say. “Couldn’t you just check for me?”
“Sure. Please hold for a moment.”
Pause.
“It went for eight point two million kroner.”
I concentrated on breathing.
Breathing was incredibly important. The brain needed oxygen to live.
So I breathed in.
And out.
And in.
And out.
I was still practicing breathing when Bj?rnar called at noon.
“We’re taking a break here now,” he reported. “Has the bidding started?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the price at?”
“It’s over.”
“It’s over?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Well, then, how much did it go for?”
“Eight million two.”
“Eight million two!”
He laughed and I could picture him shaking his head.
“Hope the buyers have a lot of money. How many people were bidding?”
“Only three.”
“Three? How long did you stay in?”
“A long time.”
“How long?”
“Until the end.”
“All the way until the end?”
“Yes.”
“Well, how high was your last offer then?”
I held my breath.
“Are you still there?”
“Yes.”
“How much was it?”
“What?”
“Your last offer?”
“Eight million two.”
There was silence.
“We bought the house?”
“Congratulations?”
“You’re kidding me now, right, Ingrid?”
“No.”
He hung up, and I started to cry.
Two minutes later he called back.
“I had to step out. What in the world have you done?”
“I don’t know? I got caught up in the excitement.”
“Do you know what this means?”
“I—”
“It means we have zero money for repairs, zero money for whatever unforeseen expenses there might be, zero money for vacations, and that we’re going to have to think long and hard the next time the kids need winter coats or skis or bikes. Have you heard of living beyond your means?”
“Yes?”
“That’s what we’re going to be doing now!”
“Don’t yell.”
“I’ll yell if I WANT to!”
“OK.”
There was silence.
“I have to go,” he finally said. “We’re starting again in five minutes. You call the bank and explain what you did.”
“Couldn’t you—”
“No.”
“I’ll call them. I’m sorry.”
There was more silence.
“To be or not to be?” I tried.
“Don’t even.”
I sat there all day staring at my computer screen without understanding any of what was on there. I went to the real estate site once and looked at the page for the house. A little yellow note in the corner now said “SOLD.”
I gulped, and the tears crept out of the corners of my eyes.
At the same time there was a small part of me that couldn’t help feeling happy as I looked at the pictures. This was all ours now. Even if we had to live off oatmeal and charity, we were the ones who got to have the yard, the “children’s wing,” and the attic.
I didn’t want to think about how all of this commotion had probably also awakened Tehom.
The main thing was that this was a home, our home, where we would grow old and keep our dentures, each in our own glass. It was marvelous.
It was after six when Bj?rnar’s car finally pulled into the driveway. The two older kids were using their iPads, while Alva was watching cartoons. I was waiting for him when he walked in the door, but when he saw me, he looked down and waved me away with his hand.
“I’m tired,” he said. “I’m not up to talking about this now.”
“We don’t need to.”
“But what were you thinking?”
“I don’t know. There were so many numbers, and it all happened so fast. I was trying to take notes. And then I tried to do a few calculations on my own . . .”
He shook his head, but didn’t say anything.
“I had the thought that we might be able to call the second runners-up and see if they were interested in taking over at their final offer price,” I said. “Then we could just make up the difference?”
“Yeah, we might have to do that. I’ll have to do some calculations, but I’m beat right now.”
“But maybe we could keep it? That would probably be best.”
“You’re probably not actually qualified to evaluate what the best course of action would be.”
“No . . . Did everything go all right in court?”
“I had a little trouble concentrating after lunch. What were you thinking?”
“I . . .”
“We agreed, right? Didn’t we agree?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t want someone else to be living in our house! You know? Well, at least not Ms. Shabby Chic. I bet she drives an Audi. Or the ‘children’s wing’ people.”
I made my airhead face and added air quotes.
He sighed.
“Do you want a glass of wine?”
“We can’t afford wine anymore.”
“But we already bought it.”