It’s been seven months since we’ve moved back and we are still house-hunting. By now, we’ve probably toured over thirty houses, a third of them decrepit tear-downs, a third outrageously overpriced flips, and a third that were in decent or even great shape, but location-wise, not where we wanted to plant our cosmopolitan toes.
Last week however, we found a flip that we actually liked.
It was more than a tad over our desired budget, but by now we’ve realized our desired budget isn’t feasible in our desired neighborhood unless we want an extremely undesirable house. We walked through the gleaming kitchen with actual wood cabinets (but across engineered wood floors), ran our fingers over the porcelain countertops (cheaper than quartzite or granite but apparently easy to maintain?), and cooed over the custom-built breakfast nook. We admired the simple fact that there were railings in the closets, instead of nothing, which some developers insultingly advertise as “ready-to-customize.” There were five bedrooms, a common-sense, open but not-too-open layout, and ample natural light. There was also a sizable lawn in the backyard, a built-in-barbecue, and, a major plus for us, a pool. The description bore a caveat: the pool likely needed resurfacing and the pool pump possible replacing. Flippers are, after all, flippers.
So, far from 10/10, because searching for that in any major category of life is a fool’s errand, but compared to some of the hot garbage houses we’ve toured, this one was pretty good.
We got in the car, called our agent, and discussed our plan. We saw it before the open house so it made sense to wait for the actual open house to gauge interest and gain some intel.
That same evening, poring over the photos on Redfin again, it dawned on me something key was missing: a dining area, never mind a dining room. The developers had, to fit the now-requisite massive island, expanded the original kitchen, which no doubt had been smaller and separated from a more formal dining area, and narrowed the second living area/den due to bringing the laundry inside from the garage. In appreciating the house’s new open-plan cohesiveness, we failed to notice that a dining area suitable for hosting sit-down dinners was nowhere to be found. The breakfast nook, which looked like it could comfortably sit four, max, would not suffice.
Now, I like a big kitchen island and in-house laundry as much as the next homemaker, but no dining area! This was, I’ve read, a rising trend, but even more than a backyard barbecue pool party, Tom and I have long loved to host people for big sit-down dinners around steaming roasts and stews. There’s nothing cosier than, say, a handful (or two!) of your nearest and dearest, gathered around a gleaming table, all facing inward toward sumptuous food and delightful drink, laughing and cheers-ing each other. Even in our 600 square-foot Hell’s Kitchen apartment we managed to have a “dining area” from which we held countless dinners ranging from four to eight sit-down guests, some on stools and folding chairs.
Our table didn’t expand, but when the occasion called for it, the space itself seemed to swell with raucous camaraderie and embrace everyone with the arms of a good time. It was a small apartment with a big heart, not least because we made some magic around that dining table. Now we were seriously considering a 2500 square-foot-house, one which ticked many of our boxes except for a very crucial one.
“We just need to go back and see it again,” Tom said. Our agent agreed and made the arrangements to see it again with us on Tuesday. In person again we could assess the living spaces and see perhaps where we’d be able to squeeze a table in. Perhaps in front of the fire place, in the main living room just off the kitchen? Or perhaps in the family room, a half level down from the kitchen, just in front of the doors to the backyard, for some sort of inside/outside situation? But that room seemed too small.
“It doesn’t make sense to worry about it until you can see it again,” said Tom on Sunday.
“It’s a lot of money to spend on a house with no dining area,” I said. I liked a lot about the house, but worried I’d get bitter buyer’s remorse every time we threw a dinner party and hauled out folding tables from Costco. Finally having a house to host in, and using folding tables! Insanity! These were my thoughts throughout Monday.
On Tuesday morning, I woke with hopefulness. Maybe this was the house. Maybe once we stepped back inside, we’d see exactly where the dining table should go, and after all, a rectangular room was a rectangle and there were lots of ways you could arrange furniture. Our search would be over and despite having paid the flipper’s premium we’d save months if not years of renovation headaches.
An hour before we were set to leave the agent texted. The house was now pending. The agent had called her a few minutes before and told her they’d gotten an offer “significantly” over asking and the seller did not think they could turn it down.
“I didn’t expect it to go this quickly at this price point,” she said.
Neither had we, but then again, California’s real estate market continues to defy logic.
“Maybe it’ll fall through,” she said. “I’ll keep communicating with the agent and keep you posted.”
“Ok,” we said. But in a way I was relieved. I had studied the photos and revisited my memory of the place and really did not see a spot for a dining table. Not one that would be cohesive, anyway.
I thought of what my mother always said about things like this, about life in general. What’s meant to be yours will become yours. We sighed and went back to arranging life in our three-bedroom apartment (Tom’s twentieth rental and my eighth!) in Irvine, into which we’ve just moved in and which, despite being 1200 square feet smaller than that house, still has an obvious dining area. For the time being, we needn’t think about breaking the lease.
P.S. If you haven’t seen this hilarious SNL skit about the millenial obsession with Zillow/Redfin, here you go. You’re welcome.
VERY HIGHBROW 
