The Getting a Grip Duet: Complete Box Set (#MyNewLife)

by M. E. Carter

  A laugh escapes me. “Seriously?”

  “Ask Isaac. He was there. It sounded like an explosion in the back of my pants.”

  I smile and shake my head. “I know I’m being ridiculous. I’m just not sure how to break the news to her. How do you say to someone, ‘I know we broke it off completely six months ago because it was too painful, but surprise! I’m your new neighbor now!’?”

  “You really don’t think she’ll be happy to see you? From everything you’ve said, it sounds like she loves you.” Joie taps her fist on my knee gently a couple of times. I put my hand over hers. Even though she’s obnoxious, she’s still my anchor when things get rough. She’s a good sister that way.

  “I don’t know. Just give me a couple of days to sort it out, ok?” I give her a stern look. “No going over there and making BFFs yet. Promise?”

  She huffs, but nods. “Fine. But I will meet her at least once before I go home, no matter what. Back at you promise?”

  I roll my eyes. “Fine. Like I could stop you anyway.”

  She responds with an evil, big-sister grin.

  I’m so screwed.

  Chapter Three

  Elena

  “You’re gonna go, right?”

  I knew that would be Callie’s response when I told her about Tripp. She’s been supportive of my feelings since Greg left, but it was inevitable that she would pounce the second there was even a possibility that I would get laid again. It’s exhausting having someone live vicariously through you.

  “I don’t know, Callie.” I check my hair in the rearview mirror while I wait for the light to turn green. Jordan, my hair dresser slash Callie’s husband’s sister’s niece, added a bunch of lowlights to my highlights the other day. I still can’t decide if I like it or if I look like a zebra. “He’s nice and all. He’s just so young.”

  “Listen.” I can practically hear her waving her hand around, getting ready to make a point. “Once you’re old enough to drink, age doesn’t matter anymore.”

  I roll my eyes and take my foot off the brake, moving along with the rest of the shmucks trying to make our way away from the office to home for the weekend. “I’m going to respectfully disagree based on the fact that I’ve been to my fair share of frat parties, and legal drinking at twenty-one is way different than legal drinking at forty-one. Ask the porcelain gods.”

  “Who said I want you to drink with the guy? I’d just like you to get laid.”

  See? Pouncing like the horny lioness she is.

  “I’m not going to say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind,” I admit, as I turn into my neighborhood. “He sure did flash me his, um, assets today when he walked out of the room.”

  “Mmmm…. Put his hands in his pockets so his pants would pull tight, did he?”

  “How did you know that?”

  “I love that move. It’s like a mating call for millennials.”

  “And therein lies the big problem. I’m not even close to being a millennial.”

  She sighs in the overly theatrical way that says she’s frustrated I’m not seeing her point. Oh, I see it alright. I just don’t know if I want that point in my bed quite yet.

  “Look, I know how to make you feel better about this whole thing,” she tries again. This ought to be good. “The cougar range.”

  “The what?”

  “The cougar range,” she says again. I wait for a few seconds, humoring her and letting her have a weird dramatic build up before I finally bite.

  “And what is the cougar range?”

  “I’m glad you asked.” I shake my head and look to the heavens, also known as the ceiling of my car, silently praying for patience with my exasperating best friend. “Cougar range is a mathematical equation to determine if someone is in the right dating age range for you.”

  “And what, pray tell, is the equation?”

  “Ok first, you need to stop working at a school. You’ve used the words ‘therein’ and ‘pray tell’ in the course of this one conversation and it’s freaking me out.”

  I look up again, this time being silently thankful my new car has Bluetooth technology so I don’t get frustrated and throw my phone.

  “Oh hey look, I’m home.” I’m not. But if she thinks I am, she’ll hurry up and get to the point. It’s been a long day. I need to stop peopling for a while.

  “Fine! I’ll hurry. The cougar range is half your age plus seven.”

  “Wait… so you mean it’s socially appropriate to date anyone who is at least twenty-seven?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Tripp is twenty-five,” I remind her. “He’s still too young.”

  “Close enough.”

  “Well, that’s up for debate still, but I really am pulling into my driveway.” Lies. I’m pulling onto my street. “I need to go relieve my mom from babysitting duty.”

  “What’s the rush? She only has Max. Max is easy.”

  “She had everyone this afternoon. The girls had early release for teacher in-service day, so they went home at noon.”

  “Oooh. Now it makes sense why you’re openly talking about having sex with some whipper snapper.”

  I gape at her, even though she can’t see it. “I am not! You’re the one who brought it up.”

  “Pfft. Semantics. Anyway…”

  Seriously. I’m too tired for this. Especially now that I see a U-Haul in the driveway next to mine. Well, this is unexpected.

  “… are we still on for the park tomorrow?”

  Even with me going back to work, we still try to do playdates every other week. Instead, we go on the Saturdays I have the girls, and I bring all three with me now. The park is a little more crowded than it used to be on Thursdays, but extra kids means more friends for Fiona and Maura to play with.

  “Yeah, I was planning on it.” As I pull into my driveway, I look for a car, or something. Anything that will give me an insight into who these new neighbors are. The sweet old man who used to live there died in his sleep about three months ago. We didn’t see him often, but Mr. Blitman was always smiling when we did cross paths. He lived alone, but he decorated for every single holiday. Christmas was his favorite. And his house was really popular on Halloween, too. Probably because he gave out the full-sized candy bars.

  I’ve been wondering who bought the house since the “sold” sign went up last week. Whoever it is, they must have paid cash for them to be moving in less than two weeks after it went on the market.

  “Do you mind if I invite my friend Deborah?”

  “Who? What?” I check out the house through my car window but don’t see anyone going in and out. Hmm. I wonder if they’re done already. That was pretty fast.

  “Deborah. My new RowRow Apparel teammate? You’re not even listening to me are you?”

  I snap back into the conversation. “Sorry, no. I’m eyeing the house next door. Someone’s moving in, and I’m trying to figure out who.”

  “Mr. Blitman’s house?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow. That was fast. I hope mandatory distribution of full-sized candy bars was written into their sales contract or there are going to be some very angry children on Halloween.”

  Climbing out of my car, I stretch my arms and legs. “Leave your eggs at home, lady. I’m not bailing you out of jail for egging his house if they don’t give in to your chocolate cravings.”

  Glancing again at the house, I barely register Callie talking about me being a buzzkill. I’m too busy noticing someone peeking through the blinds. Hmm.

  “But, yeah, that’s totally cool if Deborah comes. As long as she doesn’t think we’re too crazy, I’m good.”

  “Don’t even worry about that. She’s as crazy as we are.”

  “Maybe we should warn the people at the park.”

  She laughs. “Maybe so. Ok, go take care of those sweet girls. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Bye.” I shut my phone off and grab my purse and bag off the passenger seat before locking all my car doors and
heading toward my front door. As I glance at the house next door again, the person peeking out suddenly disappears. That was odd.

  Seconds later, the blinds snap closed.

  I just shake my head. I can pretty much guarantee Callie won’t be getting her beloved candy bar this coming October. Looks like weird neighbors moved in.

  Fantastic.

  Chapter Four

  Elena

  No one would ever say that I’m very spatially aware. I’m the person that either tries to shove way too much food into a small Tupperware container, or the container only ends up half full and the food rots because of all the extra air. My mother gives me grief about it all the time.

  So I should have known better than to try and fit a cooler into the back of my new car. The trunk is a lot smaller than the SUV I had, but did I bother to notice that before trying to shove the Igloo in? Nope. And now it’s stuck.

  “Come on, Mom!” Fiona yells from her seat as the car bounces up and down every time I tug. “We’re going to be late.”

  I grunt out a response. “I’m… going… as fast… as I can.”

  She sighs so loudly I can hear her back here, and I’m positive she rolled her eyes. I’m not sure when my sweet girl turned into a bossy pants, but I could have sworn puberty isn’t supposed to start at eight years old.

  “Oh my goodness, do you need help?” A woman, who I assume is the new neighbor, comes racing across the grass. The first thing I notice is that she has a beautiful smile. Her bright white teeth are accentuated by her light brown skin and her dark hair is held back by a tie-dyed bandana. I haven’t even spoken to her yet and she already seems to exude happiness.

  This is completely contrary to the weirdness that happened in that house yesterday. Maybe she has a special needs child living with her. Or maybe a drunk uncle. Or a Norman Bates. I shiver thinking about how creepy the house is going to be at Halloween. Those big candy bars may not be worth it this year.

  I realize I’m completely bonkers with this line of thought, but hey, you can never be too careful.

  “Are you trying to get it in or out?” she asks when she reaches my driveway.

  “Out. I misjudged the size of the hatch.”

  She giggles and I immediately like her. Especially when she says, “I do that all the time.” It’s nice to know someone understands me since my own mother would laugh at me for this.

  I also realize she looks strangely familiar. But before I can inquire as to if we’ve met before, she grabs hold of the cooler. “Ready?” I nod and grab the other end. “Pull on three. One…two…three…”

  We pull and jiggle and pull some more, but in less than a minute, the cooler is back on the driveway, us huffing from the exertion. “Thanks,” I puff out.

  “Oh it’s no problem. I’m Joie, by the way.” She reaches her hand out to shake mine.

  “Elena. Nice to meet you.”

  “You, too.” She leans over and peeks in the window of the car. “And these are your girls?”

  The way she says it gives me that creep factor again. I can’t tell for sure, but it almost seems like she already knew I had girls.

  “Um… yes,” I say slowly.

  She looks at me, realization dawning on her face, but then she smiles. “The realtor mentioned you had little girls when I said my niece would be staying over sometimes. I asked when I saw the swing set.”

  “Oh, of course.” I feel like a fool because her explanation makes complete sense. I would be curious about children in the neighborhood if I moved, too. “Do you not have children?”

  “I have a son, Isaac, but he’s off at college now.”

  “Wow, you don’t look old enough to have a college kid.” I wouldn’t have pegged her to be older than thirty-five, and even that’s pushing it.

  She giggles again and her infectious laugh puts me at ease. How does she do that? One minute I’m thinking I live next to a serial killer, the next I want to be invited to her house for tea. This is how they do it, I think to myself. This is how they draw you in and make you trust them.

  I really need to stop watching the Investigation Channel before bed.

  “I was really young when I had him,” she explains. “But he turned out great. Plays football for Flinton State now.”

  “That’s not too far away.” I grab the handle of the cooler and drag it over to the passenger side. Once I move the front seat back, I know it’ll fit. Max won’t have any leg room, but she’s short. She’ll be fine.

  “Far enough away for him to have a life, but not so far that I never see him. It works.” She helps me heave the container into the car and what do you know? There’s too much room and I have to move the seat forward again.

  There’s either too little room in the trunk or too much in the front. Just like with the Tupperware. I should never be in charge of packing a moving van.

  “Anyway,” she says as I shut the car, “I’m sure you have a busy day. I wanted to introduce myself.”

  “Yeah, I’m glad you did. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

  Watching her walk away as I climb into my car, I still can’t get a good read on her, but I can’t shake the feeling that I know her from somewhere. The entire ride to the playground, in between answering eighty bazillion “why” questions and breaking up a few fights over leg room, I think about where I’ve seen her before.

  By the time we get to the park, I’m no closer to the answer. But I am closer to lunch time and I’m getting hungry. Coffee for breakfast doesn’t seem to cut it anymore.

  The girls take off running with excited shouts while I heave the cooler out of the front seat and drag it to the picnic table Callie has commandeered. It doesn’t surprise me she showed up early. Keeping Christopher contained at home for too long always results in something breaking… a knickknack, a favorite toy, spindles of the staircase when his head gets stuck.

  “Hey,” she greets me, clicking off her phone and putting it down to help me unload. “What did you bring?”

  It was my week to bring lunch for everyone but after working all week, I didn’t put in much effort. “Peanut butter and jelly.”

  She crinkles her nose in disgust. “Ew.”

  “I made us ham and cheese,” I clarify.

  The look on her face immediately changes. “Yay!”

  “Please. You think I’m going to eat P-B-and-J? I practically have a gag reflex smearing the peanut butter on the bread.”

  “Then why do you make your kids eat it?” she asks through the bite she just took. “Mmmm,” she moans, eyes closed as she enjoys.

  “It’s a rite of passage,” I respond, tossing the rest of the sandwiches on the table along with apple slices and a giant bag of barbeque chips. “My mom tortured me with it when I was a child, so I’m torturing my own kids with it.”

  She shrugs one shoulder. “Plus it’s cheap.”

  “Exactly.”

  She swallows and takes a drink before speaking again. “Did you meet the new neighbors yet?”

  My turn to crinkle my nose. “Yes.”

  “What? You say that weird. What’s wrong?”

  “She seems nice, but…” I trail off, trying to figure out how to explain myself.

  Callie looks at me for a few seconds, finally shaking her head slightly with impatience. “But what? She’s drunk? She’s loud? She’s got a glass eye?”

  “What does having a glass eye have to do with anything?”

  “It doesn’t. I just thought you were trying to be politically correct or something.”

  I roll my own non-glass eyes. “No. No glass eyes. I just can’t get a read on her. She knew about the girls, which was really weird. And yesterday I saw her peeking out the window, but as soon as she saw me looking, she disappeared and the blinds snapped shut.”

  Callie stares at me without blinking before finally speaking. “You’ve been watching the Investigation Channel again, haven’t you?”

  “Shut up,” I laugh and toss a package of napkins at her, which
she easily deflects.

  “Give her a chance. She probably saw the girls outside yesterday. Your kids aren’t exactly quiet.”

  “I know. And she did say the realtor had told her about the girls. But I swear I know her from somewhere.”

  “Maybe. You do work at a school. You see a lot of people.”

  I shake my head. “Her son is in college.”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe she came with a friend to pick up the friend’s kid. Maybe she’s a stalker. Or maybe you’re completely off your rocker.”

  I stick my tongue out at her. “What’s your problem? You’re ultra snarky today.”

  She sighs and leans her arms on the table. “Ben and I are fighting again.”

  I groan. “What is it this time? Wait…” I hold up my hand so she doesn’t speak. “Let me guess.” I tap my finger to my chin as if I’m actually serious about my guesses. Because lord knows, Ben argues over the most ridiculous things. “You used vegetable oil instead of olive oil in last night’s dinner, so obviously you’re trying to give him a heart attack from cholesterol.”

  “Nope,” she says with a shake of her head. “He threw out the vegetable oil last week.”

  “He did?” I ask, getting sidetracked momentarily.

  “Yep.”

  Shaking it off, I get back to my guessing game. “You only vacuumed under the couch, but not the underside of the couch.”

  “That was last month’s fight.”

  “Ah. Well then, I’m out of guesses.”

  She takes a deep breath. They’ve been married for seven years and I know the constant fighting wears on her sometimes. No matter what she does, it’s never good enough for him. “I’m spending too much money on my inventory.”