For years I had heard about my father’s dream of buying real estate, diversifying his investments so that one day he might build some wealth. But he did not do anything with those dreams for a long time because my mother had a phobia of any sort of commitment. And certainly, any expenditure she deemed “unnecessary” was the root of all evil.

Somehow my father was able to convince her, and once they started, they hit the ground running, renovating houses like nothing I had ever seen them do before. The first property was dainty, cute, and unmistakably full of hope. I enjoyed helping my mother select paint colors and tile styles. I could feel my parents’ pride in their work and in the passive income that would soon come their way.

But somewhere in the sunbaked heat of those June days, the excitement and anxiety that sprung from a new property on Thames Drive was all that invaded my ears.

My father and I had been going to breakfast and running errands together on Saturday mornings since what felt like the beginning of my time. Instead of being taken up by work and the problems of the world, he was focused on me. I cherished him so.

One particular Saturday, his attention was very obviously elsewhere, and I knew he was discussing Thames with the little voice in his head. He was not looking at me or listening to any music. His eyes were glued to the road, driving on autopilot. Though he was only a few feet away from me, I missed him.

“Do you want to visit the new place? Mama Sue is having a garage sale there today,” he said, already driving in the direction of the property. Thames’ previous owners also happened to own the bar my father frequented, and they had become good friends over the years. “Sure…” I replied hesitantly, not at all sure what I was getting myself into.

“Just… don’t talk to your mom about what you see,” he made sure to add. I scrunched up my face at him in suspicion. Ma always had our best interest in mind. “Just trust me,” he said plainly.

At Thames, a small sprinkle of people were browsing through the most sellable of the items that had been scattered about the house. The house itself was larger than my parents’ other rental property; it was neither dainty nor cute. It was shaped so that the driveway became a part of the house. The garage door was open, and it overflowed with tools and nonessential electric cords. I couldn’t tell if they were for sale.

Before I had the chance to actually enter the house, Mama Sue stood in front of me, blocking my access. Her white hair dangled into her eyes and her skin had definitely been kissed by the sun when she was younger. But I still thought she was beautiful. “Oh, hi sugar. I’m sorry for all the junk and mess,” she said in a smoker’s voice, moving a bag of trash to her other shoulder and enveloping me in a hug only a grandmother could provide.

“Hi Mama Sue,” I said after we parted. “How’s the garage sale going?”

“It’s all right,” she said, letting out what appeared to be a long-held breath. Three people had come and gone, empty-handed both ways, in the five minutes I had been there. It was not alright.

“Well, there’s more inside the house, dear heart,” Mama Sue told me. “Go on in. Your daddy should already be there.”

I entered and regretted it immediately. The house had a terrible smell, one of animal excrement aged multiple years that Mama Sue had very obviously tried to mask with artificially scented sprays. I looked down at the dark brown carpet, which was covered in debris of all sorts. Yes, that was undoubtedly the source of the stench. Years of constant cigarette smoke had made the formerly cream-colored walls look dingy. I had to assume that no one had lived in this house for years, and it was just the place where Mama Sue and her husband kept all their junk and trash. No one could legitimately survive these conditions.

But boy, was I wrong. I shut the back door with a loud SLAM (which my father and I would both go on to complain about extensively during the renovations) and escaped back into a breath of fresh, unaltered air. I saw someone who looked remarkably similar to Mama Sue sitting beside her. The bags under her eyes and the stains on her clothes wore her down, telling a story of this disgusting house that words could not. My father was conversing with them both, and he too was wrestling with poorly hidden discomfort.

“Oh, there you are!” Mama Sue exclaimed. “This is my sister, Ruth. She’s been livin’ here.” She pointed at her doppelganger, whose eyes could not focus on me.

I exchanged a horrified glance with my father, my mouth wide open in disbelief. Someone really lived here. Someone made Thames into the horror film scene that it was. My heart ached with pity for whatever put Ruth in that position. I prayed that her new apartment might restore her to her former loveliness, and that I might be able to retain my own.

My father had had enough of Thames for one day. His hands wandered to his cheeks, rubbing his eyes. He was cursing himself for putting us in this position. As much as he might have wanted to wash his hands of this, the house was his now. Per the contract he’d signed just two days prior, the crusted carpet, odd figurines, and vintage children’s toys were his as well. And because they were his, they were mine. I wished this phase of our lives away. I knew that the next few weeks would be nothing more than four dumpsters stuffed to the brim and that my arms would be heavy with bags full of old, useless letters and paychecks. It would be months before Ma and I selected a paint color or a bathroom tile.

I didn’t hear my father, but I assume he gave some excuse to Mama Sue as to why we already needed to go home. As he drove home, giant crocodile tears fell into the sleeves of my hoodie. I knew that my family and I were entirely unprepared for the duties that would befall us. I had to wrestle with the fact that someone was hopeless enough to call Thames her home. My grief poured out of my eyes in little rivulets on my cheeks, but my father, whose little voice in his nervous system was still chattering away, declined to comment on them at all.