House Cooling

We had a moving-away party. The idea was this would be a nice way to say goodbye to our Columbus friends. We’d have pizza on paper plates and drinks in plastic cups. We’d set ourselves up out in the backyard (because the house is full of boxes), and we’d urge people to take something with them when they left. A plant, books, garden supplies we’re trying to get rid of before the movers come. 

But it rained. Actually, it was the rainiest day I can remember in a long time. 

That morning I was roaming around the mostly boxed up house in despair. I had casually invited a lot of people. I had no idea how many of them might show up and how many pizzas should I order? Should we even be throwing a party in a house that we no longer technically own? 

Pivot, a friend told me, and move the party inside. 

Pivot is a big word with this friend. Okay, this friend is my daughter. It was her idea that we have the party. A House Cooling, Mom, she said. Get it? Like, the opposite of a House Warming. No one's going to judge the state of your house. They just want to get together one more time. You want that too, right? 

I wanted that. So I pivoted and drove out in the rain to the pizza place to put in the order. The order taker was a guy named Nick. Nick was excited when I said how many pizzas I wanted. He also talked me into chicken wings and salad. He’d supply the silverware, he said, and I’m so glad he said that because the idea had literally never entered my mind. 

When I offered him my credit card, he waved it away. Just pay when you pick it up, he said. I walked back out into the rain. I was thinking, I don’t have any kind of receipt for this order. I don’t even have Nick’s phone number. The reason I’d driven out in the first place was because I couldn’t figure out how to do an order like that online. And now, what did I have to show for all the food we might need for this party, but a guy named Nick saying he’d take care of it? 

I told my husband when I got back to our soon-to-be-not-home. He said, You’re going to have to trust him. I said, But you know how hard that is for me. 

Not trusting people is baked into my soul. I am working on this! But it’s hard when you grew up in a world where you learned, repeatedly, if you trust people, you’re a stupid idiot fool. 

Put it this way, my husband said, Nick also has to trust you. 

That seemed like a fair point. It kept raining. The dog was following me through the maze of boxes around the house and I was catching her anxiety wave and/or she was catching mine. What are we going to do with her during the party? my husband said. 

Another thought that had never entered my mind. It was thirty minutes before the party and our lovely neighbors said, Don’t worry about the dog. She can stay at our house. I wanted to hug them. 

Then my husband went to pick up the pizzas. He said the workers were high-fiving each other. He could hear Nick in the backroom going on about how great his team was for getting this stranger Jody’s pizza order all put together on time.

By now people were knocking on the door, closing up their umbrellas, kicking off their wet shoes. Somehow there was enough room inside and enough pizza. When the party was over and everyone left with the leftovers and books and plants, I couldn’t remember what all the stress was about. These were my friends, are my friends. 

I am so glad we had one last chance to say goodbye.