Page 2 of Say Yes to the Hot Mess

Carter:Video chat in a minute?

I smile as I respond with two thumbs up. Talking to Carter is always great. He’s always been a solid support system—or a well-intentioned support system, at the very least—and I need that in my life.

Because I’m still figuring things out, you know? Figuring out if it’s cheaper to buy dish detergent in bulk, or if I can function on three hours of rest since Archer doesn’t sleep through the night, or if I can eat apple pie for breakfast and call it a balanced meal—becausefruit. I’m still getting my ducks in a row.

Or trying to, anyway. Right now my ducks are not in a row; they’re wandering drunk in a parking lot somewhere. So I’ll take all the advice and support I can get.

Of course, once Ireceivethat advice, I then have to sort through it, just to make sure it’s valid. I’m not trying to play the blame game, but Carter was firmly on board when Uncle Frank invited me to move to Florida, and look how that turned out:

I am currently living in a senior citizen community.

That’show it turned out.

So here’smypiece of advice: When your kind, well-meaning uncle invites you to turn your brief Florida vacation into a more permanent living situation…ask questions. Asklotsof questions.

Don’t just focus on the obvious stuff, either. Sure, cost of living and crime statistics and whatnot are important, but dig deeper. Find less-intuitive questions to ask—questions that might even seem weird.

Questions likeIs this neighborhood part of a retirement community?andAm I allowed to move in here if I’m under the age of fifty?

Ask those weird questions, because here’s what will happen if you don’t: After you break off your engagement to the world’s worst fiancé, you’ll go on a quick vacation to sunny Florida so you can visit your uncle, who’s the closest thing you have left to a parent. Over the long weekend there you’ll fall in love with the palm trees and the distant sound of the ocean, which you’ll find strange since you hate seafood. When you’re getting ready to leave, your uncle will point out theFor Rentsign in the yard of the duplex across from his. He’ll tell you he’s worried about you being pregnant and alone, and then he’ll ask if you’d be interested in living in Florida. You’ll give a tentative maybe, and one week later he’ll call to tell you that if you want it, that duplex apartment across from him is yours, pending completion of paperwork. Never at any time will he tell you that only retirees are supposed to live there, and you won’t think to ask.

And that, my friends, is how you end up accidentally moving into a retirement community at the ripe old age of twenty-one. Or, as of earlier this month, twenty-two.

Don’t get me wrong—it’s beautiful here. Warm and beachy and punctuated by way more palm trees than can possibly be natural. I love it. I’m right across the street from Uncle Frank, and the other unit in this duplex is empty, so I don’t have to worry about waking up any neighbors with Archer’s crying or nighttime feedings.

But still. I’mtwenty-two. And according to the Sunset Horizons website, this is twenty-eight years too young.

I appreciate the place, though. I really, truly do. This community and this apartment have been a complete godsend. The rent isn’t terrible, for one. Between my web and graphic design work for a company in St. Louis and renting out my house to Carter, I manage. And I get access to all sorts of helpful things. There’s a neighborhood shuttle service that comes around a few times a week to take people to the grocery store and even up to the community center. I use it when I’m feeling particularly sleep deprived. The massive shower lets me bathe Archer at the same time as I bathe myself, and the stair lift is great for helping me carry things up the stairs.

My only complaint is that maintenance drags their feet, which means I’ve been without a dryer now for a week. I’ve just been hanging my clean clothes out in the backyard—so it’s a good thing I don’t have a duplex neighbor. We would share the space back there, including the hot tub, and the hot tub is one of my favorite places to be.

Because it may be only late March, but it’s late March inFlorida, and it’s ahottub. So three or four days a week after Archer is down for the night, I bring the baby monitor back there and just soak. The water and bubbles are soothing for my tired body.

I could use some of that now, actually, but I don’t really have time. I make my way to the family room, which is small but nice. This place came furnished—though not equipped for a baby, so I still had to find a crib and rocking chair plus a few more items—and the couch is actually surprisingly comfortable. It’s squashy enough that I wonder about the other units in the neighborhood and if they have the same one, because I could see it being difficult for older people to get off of a couch that sucks you in so thoroughly.

Me and my tired body love it, though. It’s perfect for a nap when Archer is sleeping. So I let myself flop sideways before rolling to my back and making myself comfortable, my eyes drifting shut immediately. I’ll just rest until—

Until my phone rings, the warbling, echoing sound of Carter’s incoming video chat.

I sigh, bidding farewell to the idea of a nap and answering the call. “Hi,” I say to Carter—and also to his girlfriend, Sam, who’s sitting right next to him on what looks like the couch in the house Carter’s renting from me.

“Hi,” Sam says, smiling cheerfully.

The first words out of Carter’s mouth, however, are, “Oh, wow, you look tired.”

“Carter!” Sam says exasperatedly, jabbing him with her elbow as I try to examine my tiny, grainy picture in the corner of the screen.

“Ow!” Carter flinches away, glaring over at her. “What was that for?” he says, rubbing his side.

“You can’t just say that to someone!” she says. “It’s rude.”

“I wasn’t trying to be mean,” he protests. “She just—” He looks back to me. “You look tired. I didn’t mean you lookbador anything—”

I find myself laughing, and it’s a welcome feeling. “It’s fine, Carter,” I say, moving from my back to my side and letting my head rest on the arm of the couch. “You’re right. Iamtired. I’m really tired.” Which explains the dark circles under my eyes and the slightly wild hair.

“Archer still waking up at night?” Sam says sympathetically.

“Very much so,” I say with a snort. “It’s fine, though. We’ll survive.”

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