We did it. Nick and I bought ourselves a house in Franklin, Tennessee. I’m telling people that we’re sort of semi-retiring here. The real truth is that, ever since we left Wilmington, North Carolina in 2004, I have been longing for a place in the South, a place near my family, a place to spend summers, an escape from Southern California. Franklin, located just south of Nashville, right between my family in Kentucky and Nick’s in North Carolina, felt like the perfect place to land.
“I guess we’ll eventually have the house in Sylva,” Nick said, soothing himself, when we decided to start looking at real estate in Nashville. We loved the months we’d spent at Nick’s mom and dad’s house in the mountains this past year and we were hoping to eventually take over the place. (Who knew Nick’s favorite activity would be dragging sticks around the 13-acre property with a golf cart?) But Jim and Marie realized that they needed to be at the house more often than anticipated and Nick and I needed a place to go for part of the year.
“Yes, when your mom and dad don’t need it anymore,” I agreed. “And until then, we’ll be close enough to drive down for a long weekend. And you can still get your stick-dragging fix.”
Once we had made up our minds to settle in Franklin, things fell into place quickly. In July, Nick went to Nashville to open for his comedian friend, Rodney and decided to see a few houses. He put me on Facetime while he looked so I could give the thumbs up or down. By the end of the weekend, he was determined to make an offer. He saw a great little 1972 ranch house in our price range that he thought I would love because it was small and “modest” in his estimation. He liked the half acre lot surrounded by trees and the street reminded him of Woodmere Lane, the street where I spent many happy years at my Grandmom’s house. When I gave the okay, he made an offer which was accepted within the hour and we scrambled to get approved for a loan.
Now, forty-five days later, here we are. In an empty house I’ve never seen in a town I had only driven through. It’s kind of hard to get my head wrapped around it.
“How are we going to furnish a whole house?” Nick asked after our official closing last Wednesday. We both stood in the middle of the living area, stunned.
“It will be fun?” I said hopefully.
“It will be expensive,” Nick said.
“We can shop on Facebook Marketplace,” I told him. “We can piece it together slowly.” Luckily, I had sent Ted a link to the Homesnap listing showing photos of the house right away, before I had even told Nick to go ahead with the offer. “It’s lovely,” he said. High praise coming from him. “See if you can buy the furnishings.” Genius. The seller agreed to leave us the master bed, the dining table and chairs, the barstools and the 65” television mounted above the fireplace. Not a lot, but a start.
The next day I bought a coffee maker, pillows and towels at Bed, Bath and Beyond.
Then two camp chairs at Lowe’s. I found a spool in the garage to use as a coffee table and turned two large boxes over for nightstands.
“It’s like you’re young again,” Rodney said. And it did feel a little bit like that, sitting in our camp chairs watching Netflix, setting our beers on our spool.
It took about twenty-four hours to get addicted to Facebook Marketplace.
“Here’s an Ethan Allen sofa for $100,” Nick said after scouring the app for deals.
“A hundred dollars?” I said, looking over his shoulder at the post. “Yikes, that’s not going to be good.”
“It’s Ethan Allen,” Nick said. “And I like that rounded back.”
I’m the one who picks out the furniture in this family. And I never pick out anything without consulting with Ted first. But the sofa is the one piece of furniture I let Nick have a say in. He is very particular about his sofas. He can’t stand a sofa on which he must sit upright. “You and Ted need to pick out a sofa that’s not perchy. That first sofa we had in Burbank…” and here he does an imitation of an uptight Brit with pursed lips and pinky extended, sipping tea from a teacup at the edge of the settee. “You had to perch on it.”
“Okay…” Ted said, his voice dripping with boredom. “He wants something he can roll around and drool on. Let’s get Nick a sofa specially made for wallering.”
These used Facebook Marketplace pieces were just going to be placeholders anyway. I had already discovered that quality custom-made furniture was twenty weeks out so we couldn’t have permanent furniture for six months. I figured I’d let Nick have his way on this.
After contacting Adam and getting his address, we headed over in our big rented Chevy truck (which makes us look a lot like natives. Does everyone in the South drive a white pickup?) He showed us into the garage where his belongings were crammed because he’d moved in with his girlfriend and she didn’t want to use his stuff. Well, yeah, of course. The sofa was pretty dirty, but could maybe work after a good steam cleaning. Nick was so excited by the $100 couch that I said fine, let’s take it.
“Will you take $60 for it?” Nick asked. Unbelievable. Adam agreed because I’m sure his girlfriend wanted him to get his crap out of the garage and the guys loaded it into the truck. Getting into the spirit of the sale, I made a scan of the rest of the room and asked Adam if he had anything else he wanted to get rid of. By the time we drove down the driveway, we had the sofa, a big, heavy rustic pine table with iron accents that we thought Nick could use for a desk, a large wool rug and a queen mattress. We looked like the Beverly Hillbillies, but we weren’t even self-conscious because… well, after all, it’s Tennessee.
The next day, Nick found a pair of slip-covered swivel and rocking armchairs that he liked. The owner of the chairs was asking $100 for the pair so I made an appointment for us to go see them. Stacy told us her address and gave me the code to the entry gate. When we drove past the sign announcing River’s Edge and entered the gate code, we entered a kingdom of castles, lit up like individual mini-country clubs on acres of rolling hills all surrounding a large central lake. We murmured “Oh, wow” and “Look at that one,” and “This is amazing.” It was Beverly Hills for Southern folk.
We got buzzed in and drove up the long driveway to the limestone mansion. We could see a humongous grand piano on slabs of black marble through the plate glass front of the house. A friendly and down-to-earth Stacy opened the heavy, 10’ tall steel and glass doors and welcomed us through two living rooms and out to her ginormous screened-in porch where a huge Restoration Hardware sectional took up the corner across from the two Crate & Barrell slipcovered chairs she wanted to sell for $100. They were pretty dirty from being exposed to the elements and Stacy said she’d never even attempted to clean them before. I was pretty sure I could save them. We had a nice chat in the driveway, told her we had just bought a house in Franklin. She was from Ontario. She and her family were buying a farm. They wanted lots of animals and wide-open space. We were pretty sure her chairs were a win for us.
“And did you notice I didn’t even haggle?” Nick said on our way out. I was busy looking at Zillow, googling prices of homes for sale in River’s Edge. Five to six million dollars.
The next day, I suggested we stop in the Goodwill store situated next to our neighborhood Kroger.
“Now this is what I’m talking about,” Nick said the moment we opened the door to the spacious and bright space filled with junk. We went straight back to the furniture section and he pointed to a big orange price tag, saying, amazed, “We should have come here first. We could have gotten a couch for $50!”
He wanted a $25 fake leather recliner, a rickety metal arc lamp, a stack of mismatched and cracked dishes, some beat-up non-stick pans for a dollar each. “No,” I said. He was in hog heaven. It was the first time I’d seen him actually happy since we had closed on the house. I’d given him a lecture just that morning about being grouchy and in a bad mood all the time. I agreed to the $15 shark vacuum and a cute brushed brass floor lamp for $7. When I tried out the vacuum later in the day, I realized there were no attachments and the vacuum action seemed to work in reverse, spitting dirt out instead of sucking it up. I did find a half-priced shade for the lamp, so $14 well-spent.
On our way to Home Depot after, Nick marveled at his success. “We furnished our whole living room for $174. Pretty amazing.”
“Yeah, we did get some stuff that will hold us until we find some good things.”
“That stuff is good. What are you talking about? Sometimes cheap stuff is good,” Nick said.
“That’s true. But cheap doesn’t equal good.”
“My buying cheap is the reason we’ve got so much money now.”
“No,” I countered. “Me not letting you buy a two million dollar house is why we have money.” I’ve always been the voice of reason regarding big expenditures.
“Well. I love buying shit for cheap. I’ve got an eye.”
He really does have an eye for cheap stuff. The first time he took me out on a date, he asked me if I’d like to get a bottle of wine and told me to choose one. When I pointed to my suggestion on the menu, he pointed to a different one and asked, “What’s wrong with this twenty two dollar bottle?” I appreciate this quality in him. I wouldn’t want to change it. I, myself appreciate a good bargain. I was raised by a Grandmom who said, “At this price, you can use it once and then throw it away.”
But, when he goes out of town, Ted and I will be shopping for real furniture and accessories for the house. Yesterday, after setting up our living area, Nick looked at it with satisfaction and said, “Okay, I’m done cheaping out now. You can buy what you want.” The minute Ted arrives in Franklin, the spending begins!
