Love is in the details

“Okay, okay, open your eyes and tell me what you think.”
“Is our new home behind the dilapidated trailer?”
“Johnny, I told you it isn’t a trailer. It’s a manufactured home. Do you see any wheels?” John hated it when she called him Johnny. You’d think that after four years of his incessant bitching she’d have gotten the message. Stephanie lived in a world of her own. “Do you want to go and check out the inside?” Stephanie had already disappeared into the house before John had the chance to reply.
“Might as well get inside before the inbred neighbours come by to say hi.” He followed her into the house. The place smelt life cat piss, the carpets where dingy and the walls were what appeared to be fake wood panelling. The previous occupant, a cat lady he presumed, had placed garbage bags over the windows so that the only light you got was of the forty or sixty watt variety. All of the door hinges sagged preventing the doors from ever shutting properly, the kitchen was minuscule and the bathroom was disgusting. John looked at Stephanie trying to get a sense of agreement on the place, some kind of camaraderie on their predicament. There was none, she was happily prancing from room to room. He could tell that she was already planning the next fifty years of his life.
John returned to the living room and paused to check that the couch was safe before throwing himself down dejectedly. Once the dust had settled he noticed that he was sitting on one those monstrosities that where popular in the seventies, covered in wagons and ranch houses. He had known a guy in high school who had lived in a trailer. The guy was a dealer who specialised in high volume low quality pot, so John had dropped by every few weeks to stock up. That place had smelt like cat piss too. He also remembered that it was like an oven in the summer and absolutely freezing any time after mid October.
. “These places get really cold in the winter.” He yelled, addressing the back end of the house where Stephanie would be measuring for a crib that he hoped they’d never need.
“Then I guess we’ll just have to snuggle up extra close .” He couldn’t penetrate her logic; the girl was a terminal optimist. John sat sulking looking at the floor.
“Oh for Gods sake it isn’t even flat.” The floor sagged noticeably in the middle, probably from water damage. John knew before long he would find himself waist deep in that floor, struggling to free himself. Stephanie would find it adorable and joke that he needed to lose weight.
This was the kind of place a guy like him, a second rate broil cook at a third rate restaurant and the proud recipient of a GED, should live. But not her. She was smart, almost done with college; her parents vacationed in Europe. She had skied in Aspen, was familiar with the classics and knew what fork to use and when. She was amazing in every way, she was his princess. But this place, this place was…well. Stephanie waltzed into the room, patted him on the leg, and waltzed on into the bedroom, smiling like an idiot. John thought about that smile. She had introduced him to it on their first Valentines Day, when he could only afford an original poem and a kit-kat. She brought it out again when he had presented her with a Cracker Jack like engagement ring, and on many other occasions to numerous to remember let alone mention.
John no longer cared about the smell or the floor. He entered the bedroom, put his arms around Stephanie’s waist, and they just stood, still, quiet, happy. She was his princess, and this, well this was his palace.