new listings

After a year of COVID-mandated telework, few things dig under your skin as efficiently as the ding of an email notification. This time it isn’t work—it’s Zillow. The house we were “eyeing” has sold. They are in the other room working after hours—easy to do when the commute is barely the recommended social distance. I call out with the news and we laugh together at the loss of the lavish future we envisioned in this high-dollar home as we ignored our real budget, our real student debt, our real future, our real present, the real weight of societal expectations. In this light, fleeting, almost mundane moment, a million realities come and go. Time stops and also stretches. We stand together at the precipice, where we’ve been for what feels like eternity. One of us will have to bend, but who? When? How did we get here? We’ve built a whole life together. We’ve built whole careers together—but apart. Now what? Is this our real future? Our real present? Who gets to decide? Me? Them? Our gendered roles? Society expects me to just bend, give up, follow. But do you?

The laughter fades. Time begins to move at a normal pace. What is a normal pace anyway? Zillow loads: “Three new listings in your search!”

By E.N. Smith