fast; hadn’t Ron told her it was good for a few years? Or was that something else? She fanned herself with the envelope, blinking away her exhaustion. It was so hard to remember what had happened in that cubelike, acoustic-tiled room so long ago. She recalled bouncing Elliot in her arms until her shoulders ached, but that was about it.
She squared the edges of the piles of envelopes, arranging them in a symmetrical pattern on her desk. Clearly, she couldn’t make the new payment. It was absurdly high—and with virtually no warning! But wasn’t there always room for negotiation? She’d been scrupulous about making payments on time, which should count for something. She pulled a colorful envelope out of the recycling bin: “REFINANCE TODAY!” Of course—that’s what you do. She vaguely remembered hearing Ron tell her this. She looked at her watch. Five fifteen. She could call him in four hours.
***
“Well, hey, Sophie! Of course I remember you. How are those kids?” Ron’s voice had the same cheesy-but-reassuringly-bouncy quality Sophie remembered. She explained the letter, the new payment.
“Yep,” he said. “Well, as you probably remember, we went for the one-year ARM, ’cause you were looking for a lower payment at the time, while you got your business going again. And I got you that awesome promotional rate at the time…I do remember that.”
“Okay, but this is ridiculous. We can’t pay this. We need to refinance.”
“I hear ya. I hear ya. You did an option ARM, right?”
“Yes.”
“Have you been paying the whole enchilada every month?”
“Well, the minimum. It’s all I can do right now. I haven’t missed any.”
“You did some work on the house, right? Any new bathrooms? Add any square footage? Deck?”
“We did a lot. Took care of the lead paint, fixed some walls, did the roof. Finished the floors. Electrical stuff.”
“’Kay. ’Kay. Tell you what. Why don’t you call the lender, explain your situation, see if you can put your heads together and craft some kind of solution.”
“Craft—but can’t you help us refinance?”
Ron coughed. “That’s not gonna be an option for you. Look, I don’t have access to your account, but it sounds like you’ve been tacking interest onto your balance this whole time. Your home’s worth less than a year ago, your balance is higher; you’re in, you know, you’re in a tough spot. It sounds to me like you might be underwater.”
“What?!” Sophie cried, her sluggish thoughts flailing. “Our house is not worth less. We put every penny of our savings into it; we did the electrical, the pipes. You should see the floors! You haven’t seen it, Ron. You don’t have any idea!” Her throat tightened, and tears moved into position.
“Hey—I’m just sayin’,” Ron protested. “The market’s tanking. I’m sure you’ve done amazing work… Just call your loan servicer. I’m only the broker. I want to help you, but I can’t. ’Kay?”
“Okay.” She tipped her head back and looked at the ceiling, noticing a threadlike crack in the plaster.
“It’ll work out. Call your lender, all right?”
“All right. Thanks.”
She was always doing that—thanking people who didn’t deserve her gratitude. It was a dumb habit. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
That night she lay awake for hours, turning the situation over in her bruised mind. She was an idiot, agreeing to those terms. She’d barely skimmed the application before signing it. And this, after promising Brian she could take care of things! Why didn’t she ever learn? She shouldn’t be left to handle important matters on her own.
And the house. The house was supposed to take care of her family, and she had promised to do the same in return. Could it really be taken away from them? The very idea seemed ridiculous. It was a problem of math, a matter of shifting balls in and out of cups a little faster. She’d call the mortgage company tomorrow. There was time. A good two
She squared the edges of the piles of envelopes, arranging them in a symmetrical pattern on her desk. Clearly, she couldn’t make the new payment. It was absurdly high—and with virtually no warning! But wasn’t there always room for negotiation? She’d been scrupulous about making payments on time, which should count for something. She pulled a colorful envelope out of the recycling bin: “REFINANCE TODAY!” Of course—that’s what you do. She vaguely remembered hearing Ron tell her this. She looked at her watch. Five fifteen. She could call him in four hours.
***
“Well, hey, Sophie! Of course I remember you. How are those kids?” Ron’s voice had the same cheesy-but-reassuringly-bouncy quality Sophie remembered. She explained the letter, the new payment.
“Yep,” he said. “Well, as you probably remember, we went for the one-year ARM, ’cause you were looking for a lower payment at the time, while you got your business going again. And I got you that awesome promotional rate at the time…I do remember that.”
“Okay, but this is ridiculous. We can’t pay this. We need to refinance.”
“I hear ya. I hear ya. You did an option ARM, right?”
“Yes.”
“Have you been paying the whole enchilada every month?”
“Well, the minimum. It’s all I can do right now. I haven’t missed any.”
“You did some work on the house, right? Any new bathrooms? Add any square footage? Deck?”
“We did a lot. Took care of the lead paint, fixed some walls, did the roof. Finished the floors. Electrical stuff.”
“’Kay. ’Kay. Tell you what. Why don’t you call the lender, explain your situation, see if you can put your heads together and craft some kind of solution.”
“Craft—but can’t you help us refinance?”
Ron coughed. “That’s not gonna be an option for you. Look, I don’t have access to your account, but it sounds like you’ve been tacking interest onto your balance this whole time. Your home’s worth less than a year ago, your balance is higher; you’re in, you know, you’re in a tough spot. It sounds to me like you might be underwater.”
“What?!” Sophie cried, her sluggish thoughts flailing. “Our house is not worth less. We put every penny of our savings into it; we did the electrical, the pipes. You should see the floors! You haven’t seen it, Ron. You don’t have any idea!” Her throat tightened, and tears moved into position.
“Hey—I’m just sayin’,” Ron protested. “The market’s tanking. I’m sure you’ve done amazing work… Just call your loan servicer. I’m only the broker. I want to help you, but I can’t. ’Kay?”
“Okay.” She tipped her head back and looked at the ceiling, noticing a threadlike crack in the plaster.
“It’ll work out. Call your lender, all right?”
“All right. Thanks.”
She was always doing that—thanking people who didn’t deserve her gratitude. It was a dumb habit. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
That night she lay awake for hours, turning the situation over in her bruised mind. She was an idiot, agreeing to those terms. She’d barely skimmed the application before signing it. And this, after promising Brian she could take care of things! Why didn’t she ever learn? She shouldn’t be left to handle important matters on her own.
And the house. The house was supposed to take care of her family, and she had promised to do the same in return. Could it really be taken away from them? The very idea seemed ridiculous. It was a problem of math, a matter of shifting balls in and out of cups a little faster. She’d call the mortgage company tomorrow. There was time. A good two
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