The Highest Bid

It was 2016, and I had just moved into my husband’s childhood home. We had recently sold our first house as we were considering expanding our family and needed more space. The problem was that even in 2016 in Nashville, Tennessee, there was nowhere to go once you sold, and bidding wars were becoming the new norm. So, there we were- my husband, my two-year old son, my in-laws, and myself all under one roof. Now, I consider myself pretty lucky as I actually like my in-laws. I know… call me crazy, but they are always there to lend a supportive ear and make sure my wine glass is filled to the top. It only got a little awkward when we found ourselves folding one another’s underwear.

My husband, Taylor, and I had already lost out on two houses we attempted to buy. One seller wouldn’t budge an inch off their top selling price (because they knew they didn’t have to), and we came in third place in a bidding war on the other. Looking back, I’m really glad we didn’t end up with either house, so it all worked out.

After a few expensive nightmares with frozen pipes bursting and floors being redone at our first home, I had gotten to know my local plumbers very well. By 2016, they were like family to me, and when we finished our repairs, I sat down with Jeff, the plumber, and asked him, “If you were me, and you were looking to move in Nashville, what type of house would you suggest? I can’t keep dealing with issues like I have been with my first house.”

Jeff was firm and honest with his answer. In his thick country accent, he responded, “Well, you don’t want a house that’s too old-like this one here ya got. And you don’t want a house that’s too new. These chicken houses going up in Nashville aren’t being built like they used to be. So, if I were you, I’d go with a good, solid brick house built in the eighties. Those are the ones we see the least problems out of.”

“Really?”

“Yep. A brick house built in the eighties is your best bet. We hardly ever have to fix em.”

I thought about what Jeff said and truly appreciated the suggestion. Jeff and I said our goodbyes (thankfully for the last time), and I went to tell my husband about the conversation I had with or favorite. friendly plumber.

“So, Jeff told me that when we look for houses, we need to get a brick house built in the eighties.”

“Okay. Sounds good to me.” Taylor was so laid back he was seconds away from flipping over. I knew I wouldn’t get too much feedback from him.

I continued on, “and if I had to choose, I’d like a garage, a playroom, and a formal dining room.”

Taylor perked up. “Then I want a water fountain.”

“A water fountain?” I replied in confusion.

“Yep. I’ve always wanted my own water fountain at my house. And maybe a urinal.”

“I draw the line there, Taylor.” I would never live in a house with a urinal.” That would be a true nightmare. With my lifelong fear of public bathrooms, it would always be a very hard NO.

A few months later, our first house was sold, we moved into the in-laws, and our search for the perfect home officially began. We lost out on the first two, as I mentioned before. Now, I learned to pray very specifically from an older lady at work named Portia (that’s a story for a different day), so I did what any good southern girl does and prayed for a brick house built in the eighties specifically within our budget with a playroom, a garage, a formal dining room, and if He felt like throwing it in there for Taylor…a water fountain. I also meditated, stood on my head, created a vision board and did just about any enlightened thing I could to manifest our perfect house.

Every night before bed, I would scroll through recent real estate listings or Facebook in an attempt to unwind. I kept getting ads from a local auction company and kept ignoring them. However, in either a state of exhaustion or a state of desperation, I eventually clicked on the ad. The local auction house would be auctioning off a red brick home built in the eighties, right in the heart of Green Hills, on April 28 (which just so happened to be my wedding anniversary). I skimmed the ad and what pictures were available, then decided it was most likely a scam but would call my realtor in the morning.

After I dropped my two year old at daycare the following morning , I called my realtor and asked her to investigate the auction. She had never dealt with buying a home from an auction house, so she put her detective hat on and starting calling around. A couple of hours passed, and I eventually heard back from her. Stan and John from the auction house assured my realtor the home was not a scam and gave her the details. The owner of the home had recently lost her mother and was a family friend of the auctioneers. The woman was the only owner who had ever lived in the home, and she didn’t want to have to deal with the stress of selling a house before she relocated to her mother’s, so she decided to enlist John and Stan to take it off her hands. We could view a full inspection report via email and could tour the house two hours prior to the auction. The only thing we had to have was ten percent down the day of the sale and a letter from the bank. And since I had just sold my first home, I actually met the requirements.

That night, I told my husband and in-laws about the upcoming auction. Everyone fully supported me, but my husband informed me I would have to be going solo as he had a mandatory meeting that afternoon. The auction adventure would only be had by me and the realtor. I agreed as I didn’t really think anything would come of it, but made sure my check book was in my purse just in case. The home viewing would begin at four with the auction starting promptly at six. My realtor and I signed up that night, and we were set for April 28.

The day finally arrived a few weeks later. My realtor and I showed up promptly at four to view the home, as we still didn’t know if we would actually stay for the auction. It was a gorgeous day, the azaleas were in full bloom, and the neighbors had set up a lemonade stand for the event on the quiet cul-de-sac. Children ran throughout the common greenspace, as I pictured my toe-headed two year old joining in the fun. We parked the car and ventured inside to find a family home (in need of a few cosmetic updates) with a garage, a playroom, and a formal dining room. I could see the vision of what it could be, then turned to my realtor and said, “I think I want to bid on it!”

“Really? I think you should, too,” she replied.

“Yes! I’m going to do it.” I texted Taylor to let him know the game plan as he was in his mandatory meeting.

Since we had an hour and a half before the auction officially started, my realtor and I did the most logical thing- we went to the bar down the road and had a couple of glasses of wine. If anything, it was a relaxing distraction given that I was a tad nervous about what I was getting myself into.

As five forty- five rolled around, we headed back to the auction site. By this time there were about thirty people standing in the small front yard. “Oh gosh, I’ve got some competition. There’s no way I’ll get this house,” I thought to myself. We also noticed a small truck/wagon had pulled up to the edge of the drive way with the auction house logo on it and two men with megaphones standing inside. I assumed it was John and Stan, and I assumed correctly.

Six o’clock hit. I could feel my palms sweating as I was given a small square of paper with a number on it. “Do I hold this up to bid? Like in the movies?” I asked my realtor.

She laughed, “I think so?”

There we were- two young women ever so slightly buzzed off a couple of glasses of sauvignon blanc, standing in the front yard about to bid on a brick house built in the eighties, not knowing what the hell we were doing. Then it began. John held the mega phone as his very professional and speedy auctioneer voice bellowed through. He announced the starting bid, and while I was trying to understand the numbers he was saying, I found myself raising my arm with the card I was given in hand. I had jumped in feet first.

The bidding was going at a rapid pace, and the next thing I knew, only me and the random tall, blonde man from California (I had eavesdropped on him earlier during the tour to size up my competition) were left. It was neck and neck. All my realtor could do was laugh hysterically, not really believing what was going on. She grabbed arm, “Oh my God. Oh my God. Is this happening?” I could hear her through her clenched teeth.

“Going once…going twice…Sold!” I looked around and realized Stan and John were looking at me. In fact, everyone was looking at me. I had just bought a house standing in the front yard at an auction on my anniversary without my husband. I was in shock and disbelief as the tall, blonde man from California came and shook my hand in a congratulatory display of good sportsmanship.

The next moments were a blur. Around six-thirty, my phone rang. It was Taylor. I answered and simply said, “Well, happy anniversary. I just bought us a house.”

“What?” Taylor replied then fell into a fit of laughter. I signed my paperwork, and it was a done deal.

After everything was wrapped up with John and Stan, I met Taylor for dinner at our favorite steakhouse, Sperry’s. Our waiter, Scott, congratulated us on our anniversary and our winning bid as I relayed the story to both him and my husband. Champagne and their well-known bananas foster were served in celebration. We eventually made our way back to our temporary home as our in-laws were waiting up for us in excited anticipation to get the details of the story.

The next morning, Taylor and I made our way over to the house, as he had never seen it in person. We walked through the home, talking about what upgrades we would do with what was left of our budget. I pointed out the playroom, the formal dining room, and the garage. As we ventured outside, we wandered through out courtyard patio, then through the gate of our neighbor as our new home thankfully backed up to an elementary school. I knew my child could play there since he didn’t have much of a yard. As we walked through the gate, my husband smiled.

“Look,” he said as he pointed to the fixture right outside the gate. “There’s my water fountain.”

I laughed as I realized we had specifically been given everything I prayed for, meditated on, or manifested. “Well, thank God it’s not a urinal.”

Our home- this painting was a gift from our realtor, and I couldn’t love it more. I do not know who this particular artist is, but if you are ever looking for a beautiful watercolor of your house, visit my friend and incredible artist, Amanda Norman’s page. They make great gifts as well!

Scenes from the actual auction.

Wrapping up the final paperwork for our new home.

Looking for something to take your dinner to the next level? Try this seasoning from our favorite steakhouse in Nashville. And if you go to the restaurant for dinner, make sure you ask for Scott.

Taylor and his beloved water fountain.