If You Were Here by Jen Lancaster

guidance.
    Irina, my mother, grew up under this same philosophy, which she then manipulated to convince Babcia that it was the universe telling her to marry that Italian steelworker.
    By “universe” what she really meant was “pregnancy test.”
    They got married anyway, despite conflicting signs.
    They’re divorced now.
    Universe—1, Mom—0.
    I continue. “Here’s the thing, Trace. I’ve spent the last twenty-five years obsessed with all things John Hughes. I mean, I want to live in the AC just to be in the environment that used to inspire him. So when Jake Ryan’s house practically falls into my lap—much like Samantha Baker’s ill-fated sex quiz fell in front of Jake in study hall—divine will is sending me a message and I can’t ignore it.”
    “I’m curious. Is the universe telling you to take out million-dollar mortgages? Is the universe suggesting that you burn things? Does the universe send you secret messages about your neighbor through your dogs?”Tracey queries.
    Kara and I both fold our arms in soundless solidarity.
    “I’m simply saying that sometimes the universe is an asshole.” We continue to scowl. Or Kara does, anyway. Then Tracey shrugs her shoulders and picks up her menu with great resignation. “Fine. I’m not going to be able to convince you otherwise. So, I guess ... mazel tov and let me know how I can help.”
    “Thank you,” I say, squeezing her hand. I go through the motions of reading the menu, but I’m pretty much having the exact same feta cheese plate with a side of chicken I’ve been ordering for the past four years. 57 But something still bothers me.
    “Tracey, do you mean to tell me you really weren’t into Jake Ryan?”
    She arranges her face in a moue of distaste. “Not so much.”
    I think about that long and hard.
    “Is it because he didn’t have an AARP card?”
     
    “Do you love it? You love it, right? I already love it but you need to love it.”
    Mac leisurely and deliberately takes in the view. “I’ve been here for fifteen seconds and I’ve only seen this one spot. We probably need to have dinner and go to a couple of movies before we decide if we want to take this relationship to the next level.”
    We’re with Liz, standing in the gracious entry hall of Jake Ryan’s house.
    Okay, maybe it’s not so gracious anymore.
    Maybe it looks a bit like the lobby of a transient hotel, with all the weird black and white octagonal inlaid tiles and grimy windows. The only thing that’s missing is a Plexiglas cashier’s booth and a sign detailing hourly rates.
    Every other time we’ve viewed a home, we’ve had to slip on the blue booties before embarking on the tour, but the pile of shoe covers has long been abandoned on the other side of the hall. I guess people walked in, saw the state of the floor, and decided that a little mud could only improve the situation.
    “You have to use your imagination,” I assure him. “Don’t be like all those assholes on HGTV who won’t buy a house because of the wallpaper. It’s not load-bearing wallpaper, people! All you need is a steamer and some elbow grease! Please, Mac, just clean it all up in your head. Do a little mental mopping. I bet that’s why no one’s snapped this place up yet. They don’t have our kind of vision. You can’t let an ugly floor distract you from the vaulted ceiling. Picture a beautiful crimson Persian rug in the middle of this room and a nice round table that would be handy for mail and keys and stuff. We could do this up like a Four Seasons lobby, with giant sprays of fresh flowers. Gorgeous!”
    “When you showed me the listing online, I couldn’t comprehend how this place could possibly be in our price range,” Mac muses. He touches a closet door and it immediately falls off its hinges. We all jump. “I have a better understanding now.”
    We proceed to the left and enter a two-story ballroom. “A ballroom, for crying out loud! We could have balls!” I exclaim. Okay, fine,