The sparkly was ready, chilling in the fridge. Only cider, not even alcoholic, but perfect for the occasion, a recent gift from a wedding-attendee. The carbs were even counted to make room in the daily allotment for a restricted serving. All in the household were gathered after work to toast the new house closing. The phone was checked and rechecked for missed calls, for voicemail left. All we needed was the official pronouncement: the closing had occurred as scheduled.
Nada. Zip. Silence.
The realtor had promised to call. The closer at the title company had promised to call.
Allowances had been made all day for the two-hour difference in time zones, now that we were on CDT and Arizona on Mountain Standard. 10:00 here? They likely hadn't opened the doors yet. Noon? Still early. 3:00 PM? Maybe a later afternoon closing. 6:00 PM? Still time left to squeeze it into their work day. 8:00 PM? Hey, wait a minute here!
I checked on line to see if anybody had thought sending email would be sufficient.
I called the realtor, got voicemail, left a message.
We decided to celebrate anyway. After all, if I had the cider now, I could have my nightly ice cream at bedtime. Steve opened the bottle, poured it out into three colored plastic glasses (I got the bright red kid's glass), and we made artificial clinking noises as we touched glasses for the toast.
At 10:00 PM I called the other of the husband-wife team of realtors we had used. He answered promptly, couldn't believe nobody from the title company had called. His wife was currently on a plane, had let him know from the airport that it was completed, so at least he could verify it to me. But apparently everybody thought somebody else was going to make the call, even though each had promised me that they would.