Chapter Text
Rey almost cupped her hand to her ear and asked the old woman to repeat her price. No way in h-e double hockey sticks had Maz Kanata given her the correct number.
Instead, she echoed the price given to her. “One dollar?”
“One dollar.” Maz folded her arms tight over her smock and nodded.
They stood together in Maz’s quaint kitchen, where Rey executed a slow, full turn. She noted the original craftsman cabinetry and deep, single-basin sink. She lusted after the pantry with the sliding barn-designed door, and its contents -- jars upon jars of homemade relishes and sweet preserves and dried herbs for cooking. Beyond the kitchen’s pass-through, the view of Maz’s cozy sitting room with its wooden fireplace called to Rey.
The rose and hibiscus wax melts in the tealight burner. The granny square quilt draped over the sofa. The padded-seat window nook looking out at Lake Bespin. Maz was willing to part with practically all of the aesthetics.
This old woman was offering to sell Rey a furnished dream cottage and surrounding property, including a substantial garden and orchard, for one dollar.
One. Dollar.
One hundred pennies, for lakefront property totalling about forty-five hundred square feet.
“Do the chickens convey?” Rey looked out the kitchen window above the sink. Maz had several Delaware hens and a Brahma rooster pecking around in a custom-built pen. “And the bees?” The three-tier hive where Maz harvested honey was located on the far left edge of the property.
“And the gazebo, too?” Rey asked next, feeling braver with every item ticked off in her head. The octagonal structure, on the far right edge near the garden, featured flower boxes on every ledge and a cupola-topped roof, on which a butterfly weathervane indicated winds coming from the south.
Fresh honey. Newly laid eggs. Leafy plants. A quaint gazebo bordered by a beautiful thicket of fruit and nut trees. Rey reached around to pinch her other bicep to check if she was dreaming this.
“Well, of course, child.” Maz sat and poured the tea, then pushed forward the bear-shaped plastic dispenser of said honey for Rey’s consumption. “Plus the feed and all the supplies that go with them. And the victory garden and gazebo, too. Those are permanent. I certainly can’t bring bees and chickens with me to Florida, either.”
Rey joined her. “I guess not.” The management of the retirement condo villa where Maz planned to spend her sunset years might frown upon that.
Maz took her Earl Grey unsweetened. “I am only taking from this house what two suitcases can fill. Mind you, they’re not large suitcases,” she told Rey. “Everything that’s left would be yours to keep or donate, trash, or repurpose to suit your needs. I’m not building a pyramid to store earthly belongings to take with me to the next life. Sign the agreement, give me a dollar bill, and it’s all yours.”
Rey wanted to laugh at the old woman’s conviction. A sense of guilt washed over her with the possibility of Maz experiencing a “senior moment” that inspired this too generous of an offer. “Your cottage is everything I’ve wanted in a home,” she said. “Seriously, one dollar for the lot and your possessions is so little to ask.”
“What need do I have for your money, dear? I have a healthy pension, Social Security, and I spent so little on myself when I was your age.” Maz shrugged, clutching her teacup with both hands. “I sympathize with your generation. So many young people still live at home because they can’t afford to strike out on their own. I get that it’s comfortable being with family, but a woman needs personal space in which to thrive.”
Rey said nothing. Having lost her parents young, subsequently bouncing around foster homes, she never had her own room, much less a place to call hers. Presently she couch-surfed and house sat when opportunities arose.
Maz shrugged. “Anyway, I’ve enjoyed my privileges, and my finances are set,” she said. “I own this home and the lot outright. I have no heirs, and I’ll price it as I wish. With the recent addition of the WiFi service for convenience, it’s perfect for you.”
She lowered her cup and pierced Rey with a dark yet golden gaze that belied her age. Within the depths of the woman’s eyes, Rey saw verve and joy, and a wicked sense of humor. For years, the two were nodding acquaintances at a coffee shop in town. Rey often planted herself there to work remotely, while Maz brought a book or people watched. One glance at a magazine opened to an article on cottagecore design sparked a conversation that led them to this moment.
Rey wanted out of the city and into a quiet retreat of a home through which she might live with some self-sufficiency. Maz was moving closer to family. “If I wanted to profit from this place, Rey,” she said, “I’d have handed the keys to a Realtor and let them field a bidding war.”
Maz sipped her tea, and smiled. “This is more than a house to me. It’s a legacy in need of a like-minded soul to care for it,” she said, and nodded toward the backyard. “That gazebo out there… it’s a thing of magic. Five private weddings took place there, and four of them were mine.” Maz gave Rey her full attention again and winked. “There’s still a bit of life in it, and it’s good to accommodate many more unions. I feel you are the person capable of making that happen.”
“I’m flattered, but I have zero prospects on that front.”
“There’s time,” Maz said. “My last wedding was five years ago and I’m as old as that lake out front.”
Rey pictured bridal flowers and silk bunting draping the lattice work of the hand painted gazebo. A large expensive wedding never appealed to Rey. This setting was perfect for whenever the time arrived.
Rey then smoothed her hand down her ankle-length denim skirt. Five bucks at the thrift store; she stopped buying new clothes years ago. This skirt would cost more than this whole house. If anything, she’d have an interesting story to tell at parties.
The idea of underpaying Maz still bothered her, though. “At the very least, though,” she said, “have an estate sale and --”
Maz scooted her chair back and rose from the dinette table. The woman’s blank expression spoke to Rey of possible irritation, and Rey silently chided herself. She’d said too much, gone one more step than necessary and insulted the old woman. Damn it. Opportunity blown thanks to her big mouth. Back to sleeping on her friend Rose’s couch, she supposed.
Rey set aside her tea and was about to excuse herself when Maz grabbed a sheaf of papers from the kitchen counter.
“Where are you living now, Rey?” she asked, sitting opposite Rey again.
The older woman knew the answer. During their initial conversation over the article, Rey mentioned in passing how she was currently rooming with Rose, in a one-bedroom efficiency. It wasn’t an ideal arrangement. Rey pitched in with the rent, but her presence cramped Rose’s style when the boyfriend stayed over.
“No need to answer, of course. Sleeping on a friend’s couch, surrounded by her possessions, doesn’t leave you much space.” Maz waved her hand. “The point I’m making, child, is you’re coming into this home with practically nothing. If I have a yard sale, you’re starting from scratch. Tell me honestly, would you part with anything in this kitchen?”
Rey scanned the walls. A high shelf above the sink held a ceramic teapot in the shape of an octopus, with tentacles for the handle and spout. Beside it sat a pair of kissing cherub salt and pepper shakers. Hanging on the lemon-pattern wallpaper to the right were three vintage copper-plated molds.
A lobster, a rooster, and a pineapple. The trifecta of kitchen kitsch. Rey wanted everything in its place.
“I see your point,” Rey said, and sipped her honey-sweetened tea.
Maz leaned forward, pushing the papers closer. “One dollar,” she said. “If you have it now, you can move in tomorrow. Today, if you want. I can leave anytime.”
“You seem so eager to get out of here. Are we sitting under a sinkhole?” Rey meant it as a joke, but the more she thought about it… When something is too good to be true, it is.
Maz shrugged. “I worked in hospitality all my life. I’m in the happiness business.”
Rey met the woman’s eyes, falling into a near thrall. She pictured herself snuggled in that granny quilt, rocking on the back porch and looking up at the stars. Too good to be true, her conscience nagged, yet she reached for the stack of documents and searched for the catch.
If one existed, it wasn’t here.
“Rey,” Maz said, her smile falling slack, “before we finalize the paperwork --”
Rey fought back a groan. Here it comes. The attached string, now wrapping around her throat.
“-- I’ll confess I haven’t been completely honest with you about my property.”
“There’s a sinkhole.”
“There isn’t.” Then Maz revealed the true reason behind the quick sale. Thankfully, it also didn’t involve rusted pipes or abandoned mines in the backyard.
“Is that all?” Rey asked after the old woman finished her story.
“Are you sure you’re okay with that condition, Rey?”
Rey opened her purse. “Can you change a five?” she asked.