Brent Mason: A new listing

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It was getting to be time. They’d each arrived at that conclusion over an indeterminate period, sometime over the past year. They’d alluded to it conversationally, but it was after Christmas that they’d made up their minds.

The kids had come home, and for a brief period of a week or so life had resembled what it had been for so many years. What had seemed like would be forever at the time. The three of them back in their now vacant rooms, laundry and dishes piling up and the re-engagement with the teasing, insults and site-specific humour that most families have; that fertile ground of collective experience that includes all the victories and defeats and absurdities of sharing life together. Christmas morning had been wonderful, all of them gathered by the tree. They joked about how the piles of gifts used to be much higher, the rise and shine to see what Santa had brought much earlier; “Remember when we woke mom and dad up at 4 a.m.?” Only the waiting for dad to finish his poop before the gift opening to begin seemed to be the same as it ever was; the howls of, “hurry up, dad!” now employed for comic effect.

Then it was over. Two of them off to the airport to get early fights west so they could be at their current homes in time for New Year’s Eve, the other jumping into a car with some friends and heading back to university. They had walked him out, helped him with two bags of freshly washed and folded laundry jimmied into the trunk, and stood together waving as the car went down the driveway and out of sight. They went back inside, the door shutting with a finality that seemed louder than usual. Without words, she went upstairs to the bedrooms to strip the beds, and he hauled the plastic boxes in from the garage and started to take the ornaments off the tree. Everyone had mentioned what a beautiful tree it was, so much better than the artificial ones.

Of course, she was the one to initiate calling the realtor. From the very beginning of the marriage, anything to do with financial matters had been her turf. It’s not like things weren’t discussed between the two of them, but as far as the details of banking, bill paying and management of all accounts, it had always made more sense that he stay out of the way. It had worked well over the years; everything was paid for, and they had a nice nest egg of RRSPs as well. The realtor came by, looked around, and they settled on a price that reflected the insane rise in real estate value that had swept over the region, concurrent with the pandemic. They’d had no idea when they bought the place that it would more than quadruple in value. It took three days to sell, with a bidding war that came in 10 per cent over the ask.

The offer they put in on a small garden home was accepted. The days had a mind of their own as they moved towards the closing date, the culling of all their possessions facilitated by friends, relatives, online offerings, and even a physical yard sale that had both of them biting their tongues to the point of severance as the tire kickers and low ballers did what they do best. She had insisted everything must go, apart from some art and a very few items with some sentimental value, all to do with the kids. It had been a lot of work and time, but on the last day of their occupation of the house, it was all but empty, save for the major appliances.

They stood together in the living room, looking out on the view of the river that had both sustained then and had come to be taken for granted after 25 years. “Well, I guess this is it, eh” he said. His voice echoed in the empty room. She moved closer to him, and took his hand. “Yeah, this is it. Hardly feels like we were here at all, does it? All those years, all that work…” Her voice broke just a little, so she stopped speaking. He pulled her close. They stood looking out the window for the longest time, running the reel of their life together through their minds in silence.

Brent Mason is an award-winning musician and writer living in Saint John (www.brentmason.ca). Mason’s Jar is a column featuring short, fictional musings largely, but not exclusively, set in New Brunswick.