I finally bought my dream apartment and planned a special housewarming party to celebrate with my family. For the first time in my life, I had a front door with my name on the buzzer, hardwood floors that didn’t creak under some landlord’s rules, and windows that cupped the entire city in their frame. I wanted my parents to see it, to see me, and finally understand that I had built something real.
I signed the papers on a Tuesday afternoon in early fall. The lawyer slid the folder across the table, and when I scrawled my name on the last line, my hand shook. On the way out of the office, I stopped on the sidewalk, the city air cool against my face, and called my mom.
“I did it,” I told her. “I closed. It’s mine.”
There was a pause.
I could hear the television in the background, my dad’s laugh, the murmur of my brother’s voice. “That’s… nice, honey,” she said finally. “We’re just in the middle of something.
Text us the address later.”
When my brother had closed on his place, they’d sent photos from the parking lot before he even got the keys. They’d made a banner that said WELCOME HOME, GOLDEN BOY and stuck it to his garage door with painter’s tape. I knew because I’d been the one holding the tape.
This time, I slipped my phone into my pocket, looked up at the building with its brick façade and black-framed windows, and decided that even if no one else made a big deal out of it, I would. I spent my first night there on a mattress on the floor, eating takeout straight from the container and staring at the ceiling. The city hummed below my window.
Somewhere in the hallway, someone’s dog barked twice and then went quiet. I fell asleep thinking, This is mine. No one else gets to take credit for this.
By the time the housewarming rolled around, I’d been living there for six weeks. I’d painted one accent wall in the living room a deep, calm blue. I’d found a mid-century coffee table on Facebook Marketplace and sanded it down in my living room, spreading a sheet over the floor and streaming old sitcoms while I worked.
I sent the group text three weeks in advance. Housewarming at my place next Saturday, 6pm. I want you all to see it.
I’m cooking. My sister replied with a thumbs-up emoji. My mom sent, Sounds fun.
We’ll see. My dad and my brother left it on Read. I told myself not to read into it.
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