I’ll admit, I was nervous when I called my folks to tell them about the engagement. All I could think about was their disastrous first meeting with Dylan. But a lot had happened since then, a lot of years had passed, and as my family kept reminding me, I wasn’t getting any younger, so all I heard on the other end of the line were congratulations.
My mother even suggested the two of us start looking at wedding halls. Wedding preparations shoved any thoughts of finding a job out of my mind. For now, I could live off my emergency fund (the one marked only to use in case of wedding), and I was marrying a guy who’d put over a decade into building a strong financial future.
My mother, of course, wanted me to get married at her church, with a reception at their country club. But to her credit, she agreed to consider halls near me. I called places where my girlfriends had gotten married and booked appointments. Over two marathon days, she and I visited seven different halls. We walked the grounds, sampled the food, and even heard two wedding bands. That first night, my mother took Dylan and me to dinner, and the meal was all superficiality and smiles, as both Dylan and my mother bent over backwards to not say anything that would renew the tensions of years before.
The second evening, my mother drove home, and I went out with Dylan alone. My smile collapsed, and I was in tears before the appetizers arrived. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Everything is so damned expensive.”
“How bad?”
“Really bad.” I blew my nose into my napkin. “You ever watch that show, Shark Tank?”
“Yeah. So?”
“There’s that guy who calls himself Mr. Wonderful. He’s always investing in wedding stuff because he says weddings and funerals are the two occasions when people will spend just about anything. That’s how it feels here. It’s like everyone is charging a fortune for every little thing because they know they can get away with it. I so want my parents to get to the point where they can retire without my father having to kill himself or diminish his lifestyle, but this wedding’s going to set them so far back.”
“Amber, we’re in pretty good financial shape, we can pay for the wedding ourselves if you like.”
I shook my head. “You don’t get it. I come from a traditional Italian family. Where I come from, people take out second mortgages on their homes to marry off their daughters. It’s a point of pride. My father will insist on paying for it.”
“How high do you expect it to get?”
“Given the size of my family and the level of luxury my parents are accustomed to, I’d be shocked if they pulled it off for less than $40,000.”
Dylan looked like a deer in headlights. “What!”
“All the decent places charge at least $100 a head.”
“How many heads can there be?”
“My family alone is over 200 people.”
“How’s that possible?”
“We’re Italian, Dylan.” My hands danced in the air as they always did when I was with my family (or talking about them.) “That’s one of the reasons I was thinking of getting married here rather than near my parents. Every Italian within a five-mile radius is somehow related to us. By the time you add in my father’s business colleagues and friends from the club, we’d be looking at 400 guests from my side alone.”
By this point, all the blood had seeped out of Dylan’s face. Even his Ecuadorian tan seemed to turn a pale shade of green. “My whole family,” he said, “including cousins, is like twenty people.”
“Dylan, let’s get real. We’ve got all our college friends, my sorority sisters, my colleagues from teaching, your construction and real estate buddies...”
“Do we have to invite them all? Can’t we elope?” Dylan tickled the back of my neck, which usually helped me relax, but now just made me cringe.
“Right. And have my parents disown me? I don’t think so.”
“Didn’t you say your sister got married at your parents’ club?”
“Yes, at their country club where they charge closer to $200 a head. That’s the other reason I wanted to get married here. I thought we’d find some cheaper venues. A wedding there could cost us $75,000 or more.” My shoulders shook, and I started crying again.
“Forty grand is a ton of money but not impossible. Do you know how much your parents have in savings and investments?”
“I know they pulled out a little over $500,000 when they sold their house, and I expect they have at least that in other investments, but they still say they don’t have enough to retire on.” I crossed my arms over the table and crumpled into them. “Frankly, I don’t even know how much they need.”
Dylan rubbed my back. “Breathe, Amber, we’ll figure this out.”
I felt the warmth of his hand sink into my skin. “Oh? Can you tell me how much they need to retire on?”
“I can make a strong guess. Have you heard of the 4% rule?”
I tilted my head towards him. “Another rule?”
Dylan moved his hand up to my neck, massaging away the tension. “If you invest your money in the market, you should be able to pull out 4% of the total each year, and the rest would keep growing at the rate of inflation.”
“Not following you.”
“So let’s say someone retires with $1,000,000 invested and it’s growing at 8%. That should produce $80,000 a year in returns, right?”
I nodded.
“But if they spend all $80,000, then sooner or later, they’ll be in trouble.”
“Why? Won’t they still be able to take out $80,000 each year?”
“Yes, but as inflation goes up, the amount they can buy with that $80,000 will go down, and they won’t be able to keep up the same lifestyle. But if they only take out $40,000 a year and add the other $40,000 to their investments, they should be able to keep pace with inflation.”
“Which works as long as they’re able to live on $40,000 a year. My parents probably spend over $100,000 a year, which means they’d need retirement savings of at least $2,500,000. I don’t think they’re anywhere close to that. And even if we do the wedding here and it only sets them back $40,000 as opposed to the $75,000 at the club, it will still be a serious blow to their savings.”
“I’m sorry, Amber. I know this is hard for you. But I have some news that might help you get your mind off it.”
I was not excited by the typical ‘let’s get the girl distracted and avoid the major issue at hand’ routine. But much as it annoyed me, I couldn’t deny it was effective. “What’s that?”
“My title search guy called today. He tried to reach you but couldn’t get through.”
“I had my phone off while looking at halls.” I sat up and wiped my face. “What did he say? Is there still a mortgage on it?”
“Nope. The foreclosure’s on the first mortgage.”
“So that’s it?” I whispered, hoping not to jinx the news. “I get the place free and clear?”
“Not quite. There are some back taxes due.”
“How much?”
Dylan took a paper out of his pocket, unfolded it, and laid it flat on the table. It was a statement from the IRS. At the bottom, it said, Amount Due: $3517. Adding the expense of renovations, this house would cost me less than $20,000.
“The Dump is mine?” Amazing how much buying a dump could brighten my mood. I was definitely not the same girl I was a few years earlier. “You said I’d be getting around $600 in rent?”
“Yes, but assume half of that will be lost to taxes, maintenance, and management.”
“So I’d be making $3600 a year.” I calculated the numbers in my notebook. “And if we’re conservative and assume this place costs us a total of $20,000, that’s an—.”
“18% return on investment.” Dylan finished.
My shoulders slumped. “It’s not enough to pay for a wedding, though.”
Dylan leaned into my shoulder. “Alternatively, you could flip the house and probably make $10,000 or more.”
I shook my head. “My parents wouldn’t accept the money anyway. I might as well keep the place and live off the cash flow it brings in.”
Dylan held up his wine glass. “To your new dump.”
I touched my glass to his. “To The Dump.”
I closed on The Dump a week later. Dylan and I went to the house and toasted. I relished every sip of the excellent champagne. “This might be the first time anyone has spent more on the champagne than on the house itself.”
Dylan held up his glass. “A testament to my taste in wine and your ability to spot a deal.”
“What do I do with this place now?”
Dylan held up a finger. “First, pay off the taxes. No use buying a house and then losing it again.” A second finger went into the air. “Then, hire a contractor to fix the place up.”
The thought of hiring an outside contractor had never occurred to me. “You’re not going to oversee the renovations?”
“Not a chance. You need a contractor from the neighborhood.”
“How come?”
“We’re in a high crime area. The locals will be far less likely to mess with the property if it’s being renovated by one of their own. The same goes for the property manager. Get someone local who knows the territory and is respected by the neighborhood kids.” Dylan pulled out his measuring tape, pencil, and pad. The town registry didn’t have the schematics for this house on file, so we had to take our own measurements.
“You don’t think I should manage it myself?” I grabbed the end of the measuring tape and backed into the corner. “I figured without having income these days, I could…”
“You invested in a D neighborhood, Amber. You’re out of your league. Don’t try to nickel and dime it around here.” He wrote a number on his pad, asked me to stay in my corner, and headed to the perpendicular wall. “Self-management will probably only save you $50 a month. It’s not worth the danger, the headache, or even the gas money.”
Next, we measured the kitchen, including the countertops, refrigerator gap, and ceiling height. “You think I can trust the local contractors and property managers?”
“Don’t build relationships based on trust. Base them on incentives instead.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s say the lowest bid comes in from a contractor at $10,000, and he asks for 50% up front. What do you do?” Dylan led me upstairs.
“Let me guess: giving him a check for $5000 is the wrong answer?”
“You’re damned right it is.” Dylan smacked the banister for emphasis. “This guy might have twenty jobs he’s juggling. What’s his incentive to work on yours if he’s already got your money in his pocket?”
“Can’t you put a completion date into the contract with some penalty if he doesn’t finish on time?”
“Those rarely work. There are always so many moving parts in one of these jobs; the contractor can always blame someone else. He’ll say the job was late because the city inspector didn’t show up on time, and good luck proving it was his fault. Besides, you’d have to take him to court to enforce the penalty.”
“So what do I do?”
“You supply materials, that’s it. Then compensate him for labor costs as he expends it.” Dylan and I pulled the tape across the hallway. “Everything else is paid at the end of the job. If you want to have a target date, rather than penalizing him for missing it, add a bonus for hitting it.”
“Wow, I never realized how careful you had to be doing business in a D neighborhood.”
“The neighborhood has nothing to do with it. I’d recommend the same cautions with any contractor.”
“So how do I find these people?”
“Remember, real estate is all about networking. I’ll ask around. With the market so slow, you should have no problem finding contractors to take your business at a good rate.”
We squished into the bathroom, and I pinched my nose. “You think they ever flushed the toilet?” Cigarette butts were floating in cloudy, brown water.
“The contractor will take care of all that. They’ll bring in a cleaning crew to sand, strip, and sanitize this place to death.”
“Or back to life, as the case may be.”
Jade finally came through with a triplex I could house hack. It was a cash-only deal for $170,000. I’d have to also pony up her $5000 fee, plus closing costs, and at least $20,000 to fix it up. My CD had finally matured, so I had enough money, if only barely. Still, I didn’t know what to do. Did I blow all my cash when I didn’t have a steady paycheck? In some ways, the purchase made sense. It would bring my rent down to zero. Combined with the fact I already owned my car, my taxes were almost nothing (because I had next to no income), and the place would bring in a few hundred dollars of monthly cash flow, so I’d probably be able to get by on the few hours of tutoring I still did each month.
Even though I’d have to buy the triplex in cash, once I fixed it up, it would be eligible for a mortgage. Of course, banks were being pretty tight these days, would they lend to someone without a steady paycheck?
Another problem with these dumpy houses: you could never be sure how much work they’d need. What if there was some sewer pipe issue that no one discovered until after closing, and I was suddenly out another $10,000? Where would I get that money? Dylan would probably give it to me, but until we were married, I knew better than to treat him like my piggy bank.
I’d learned that lesson years ago when my older sister first got engaged. My father told her over dinner one night, “You’re not family until you’re family. I don’t care how much you’re planning on building a future with this boy, until you’re married, you keep your money separate from his.” It had been good advice—that engagement got called off three months later—and though I had no doubts about my future with Dylan, I continued to heed my father’s words.
In the back of my mind, I knew there was another reason I was hesitating. It was the same reason I waffled about picking a wedding hall and choosing a date, despite always hating the idea of a long engagement. I was still hoping to spend some of that money on my wedding, even though I knew my parents would fight me on it. It didn’t seem right for my father to sacrifice his retirement and health for one night, especially when I could afford to pay for it myself.
I called Dylan and downloaded the whole dilemma.
“Buy the triplex,” he said. “The numbers on it look good. If you can get it fixed up and financed before we get married, then it allows us to own two properties on primary mortgage loans, rather than one.”
“But what about the wedding?”
“I’ve got thoughts on that…”
“Oh? Do share.”
“Not yet. Just don’t let your folks put a deposit down on anything without confirming with me first.”
Dylan blindfolded me, spun me around twelve times, and helped me climb into the passenger seat of his pickup.
“Where are we going?”
Dylan kissed my ear. “If I wanted to tell you that, I could’ve skipped the blindfold.”
We drove for about twenty minutes, then stopped. “Can I take off the blindfold yet?”
“Nope.” He took me out of the car, spun me around again, then loaded me back in, and drove us for another ten. It was a good thing I hadn’t eaten breakfast yet.
The last stretch of road was particularly bumpy, and I was relieved when we finally stopped. “Now can I take it off?”
“Nope.” He helped me out of the car, walked me a good twenty paces, and drew off the blindfold. “Now, you can see.”
I stood looking up at the Haunted House. “What are we doing back here?”
“This time, we’re going inside.” He pulled a silk bag out of his back pocket and handed it to me.
I opened the bag and peeked inside. “Garlic?”
Dylan had woven a necklace of fresh spring garlic, like the kind they sold at the farmer’s market. He drew it over my neck. “For the vampires.”
I bit my tongue to stop myself from asking what this was about. I knew enough not to ruin a good surprise.
There was a large gargoyle knocker on the door (of course). Dylan knocked three times. The door swung open, seemingly of its own accord. Candles lit the dark interior, illuminating what looked like a severed head on a side table in the foyer.
I didn’t know whether to cringe or laugh. “You went all out.”
“What’s the point of buying a haunted house if you can’t have fun with it?”
My hands went to my hips. “You didn’t buy it, did you?”
“Not yet. But I tracked down the owners. No one’s lived in this house for twenty years, since the old owners ditched it to retire down in Florida. They’ve long since passed away, so the place now belongs to their kids, who haven’t been here since their parents died and couldn’t be bothered to pay the taxes. They knew the government was eventually going to seize the place but didn’t care. They’d have to dump tons of money into it to get the resale value to anything decent. So when I contacted them and told them why I wanted it, they were willing to let it go for next to nothing.”
I wiped a cobweb out of my hair. “But you said it wouldn’t be worth the money you’d have to put into it.”
“True. As a rental, we’d never get that back.”
My eyes narrowed as I faced my fiancé. “You don’t mean for us to move in here, do you?”
“Maybe eventually.” His face was all mischief. “But not now.”
“Then why buy it?”
Dylan ignored my question. “Right this way.” Dylan led me to giant double doors coming off the foyer. Just before he reached them, they opened on their own. At the same time, Here comes the Bride blasted out from the other side. Balloons hung from the chandeliers of the giant ballroom.
“Your parents might insist on paying for the wedding. But what if there’s nothing to pay? What if you insist on getting married in the place where you got engaged, in a house that you and your fiancé own? Could they really object?”
I walked down the aisle to the music. The whole experience gave me chills. “But buying this place, even if it’s just the taxes, has to cost a hell of a lot more than renting out a wedding hall. And that’s before we’ve fixed it up.”
“True, but that money would be ours, not theirs. And there are other ways we could make money on the property.”
“Like what?”
“Like renting it out as a wedding hall.”
The great doors to the ballroom slammed shut, and I jumped. “Or as a haunted house,” Kyle said. I spun to see him dressed in a suit buttoned up over his head, like a headless butler. That explained the severed head in the foyer.
“Or as a place to hold seminars.” Libby, dressed up as Morticia, came out from behind the moth-eaten blinds. “This is a great, old house. There are tons of things you could do in a space like this.”
I turned to Dylan. “The renovation costs aren’t going to be insane?”
“Yes and no.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“One whole wing of the house, where the roof caved in, is a mess. We’d have to gut and rebuild the entire thing to make it livable. But the other wing and the central area with the kitchen and ballroom are in decent shape.”
“Show me.”
The four of us walked through the scary old mansion, which wasn’t all that scary. The section where the roof gave out was filled with mold and water damage. But the rest of the house was charming, with a giant kitchen clearly intended to handle large parties. The appliances were rusted old dinosaurs, but with the right modifications, it really could be used to cater events, and the space was perfect for seminars like the ones Dylan wanted to run on building Cash Machines. But that would be for another time, far in the future. As we completed our walkthrough of the house, a more immediate plan formed in my mind.
“You said you haven’t bought the place yet.”
“The owners gave me two weeks to look around and bring an inspector if I want to.”
“Bring the inspector. I’ve got an idea brewing about this wedding.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Let’s call it a Wedding Hack.”
The inspection, of course, was a disaster, mostly because of the water-damaged wing, but also due to the outdated plumbing and wiring. Getting this place in shape would cost a fortune. However, the foundation was solid, and that was our biggest concern.
The purchase price was next to nothing, since the heirs were about to lose the place anyway. We sold them on our story of getting engaged on the lawn and wanting to be married in the house. We even promised to send them invites. They ate it all up, and the three siblings agreed to sell us the house in exchange for $1000 each. Dylan paid off the overdue taxes the day after we closed.
That night, I emailed out a Save the Date, which included the following statement:
In the old days, weddings were a cooperative affair. Friends and family would pitch in to send off the bride and groom. There were no fancy wedding halls, nor were guests expected to bring lavish gifts. Rather, each person contributed as they wished, and anything that may have been lacking in splendor was more than made up by the feelings of love and connection created by everyone working toward one goal. This is the feeling we wish to create at our wedding. So, we request our guests to abstain from bringing gifts and to instead contribute to the wedding itself.
Dylan proposed on the lawn of a stunning old house. Despite it’s being abandoned and dilapidated, we fell in love with the place, decided to buy it, and hope to one day raise a family there. We can think of no better location to hold our wedding. Given the current state of the house, there will be quite a bit of work to do to prepare the location, the food, the decorations, and other important details. You’ll find a link below to a sign-up sheet, and everyone who wishes to do so can choose the contribution that feels most natural.
We look forward to having you join us as we start our new life together.
Amber and Dylan
My parents were going to flip out when they saw the message. As soon as I hit send, I turned off my phone and went straight to bed. By the time they managed to reach me, it would be too late to change anything.
