6857 Kantina Street

There are a few things I looked for when buying a house, and a dedicated eating space was one of them.

So when our agent let us into the house on Kantina Street, I knew almost immediately the house wasn't going to work for us.

"There's no dining space." I wandered out of the kitchen and into the only other room on the main floor, which had been set up as a living room. "There's no room for a table. How are we supposed to have dinner parties?"

I could see it now: me, an Italian who loved to cook, rushing around the small kitchen with its flickering fluorescent lighting (which my dad joked made the perfect setting for a horror movie), with nowhere to place all that delicious food I'd be preparing.

In fact, the fluorescent lighting would make the perfect backdrop for this nightmare. I'd call it The Dining.

Our real estate agent, Rita, put one hand on her hip while chewing a nail on the other. "You could...hmm...hmm..."

My dad marched down the hall and stopped at the other end, just by the front door. "Michelle, honey, you could place a really long table along the hallway for special occasions."

I knew my dad was being sarcastic. Rita did not. "Yeah, would that work?" she asked.

I arched an eyebrow, exchanging a look with my dad. "Hmm, no," I answered, trying to be polite. "Not quite."

My mom's face paled, probably as horrified as I was that Rita actually thought we'd enjoy hosting parties in our hallway.

My dad opened his mouth, maybe to explain the joke to Rita, but then shook his head. "I agree. I don't know why I said it. I think I'm getting desperate."

Rita put one foot on the staircase and beckoned. "Onto our next adventure! Let's see what the second floor has in store."

Justin waited at the bottom of the stairs for me while my parents went on ahead.

"The lack of dining space is a no-go, isn't it?" he asked, his eyes full of concern.

I took note of the smooth banister beneath my fingers as we hurried up the stairs. "Yeah, there's no way I'm hosting dinner parties in the hallway. And where will you and I eat every night? On the couch?"

{Note: we actually do eat most of our meals on our couch...}

"Speaking of dinner." Justin sniffed dramatically. "Do you smell that? It smells like pickles up here." He sniffed again. "No seriously." He ran up the stairs. "Maybe there's a table upstai—"

And then two things happened simultaneously.

The first: we heard a timid voice from one of the upstairs rooms squeak, "Oh, hello!"

The second: Justin's eyed widened and he took off down the stairs, nearly slipping near our imaginary dinner table before he bolted out the front door.

"Oh, you must be the homeowner," I heard Rita murmur. "Sorry, we thought no one was home."

My parents were both standing in the hall with their eyes wide, hands cupped over their mouths.

I looked back at the door, where poor Justin was probably cowering. I sighed. "Well, as Rita would say, onto our next adventure!"