The New Normal

by Brogan, Tracy

  “Uh, if you want to call it that.”

  She shook her head and blushed. “I’m sorry. I guess it’s none of my business. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

  Ben laughed. “No, it’s not that. Not at all. It’s just that only in the loosest terms imaginable would I categorize that evening as a date.”

  She set down her martini glass. “Okay. Now you have me intrigued.”

  “Veronica DeMarco,” he said and took a hearty gulp of his microbrew, because this story required liquid sustenance. “An old friend of the family who I’d pretty much forgotten about. Our parents had cottages next door to each other on Lake Michigan, and Roni and I used to run around and hunt for frogs and grasshoppers and beach glass together. Then the summer before eighth grade she, um . . . developed, and suddenly I wasn’t cool enough for her anymore.”

  He chuckled at the memory, because if there was anything he did remember about Veronica DeMarco, it was that seeing her in a bikini that June made him realize just how difficult it was to hide a hard-on in a swimsuit. He’d spent almost that entire summer standing in cold, waist-deep lake water while she’d frolicked on the sand.

  “She dumped me for Braden Buckley because he was two years older than us. And he had a chest hair.”

  Carli burst out laughing. “A chest hair? Singular?”

  “Yep. Just the one, but it was enough to impress her.”

  “Naturally,” Carli said.

  “Anyway, my mother sent her my way recently because Veronica comes from good stock. And of course, by good stock I mean lots of old money and minimal family scandals. But as it turned out, it wasn’t so much a date as it was an impromptu intervention. She drank two bottles of merlot and then proceeded to tell me all the reasons why she hated men. It was super entertaining.”

  “Sounds awesome.”

  “Right? And then when I suggested that maybe she should eat some of the food we’d ordered and maybe not have another drink, she informed me in no uncertain terms that I was every bit as controlling as her ex-husband. Who is currently on trial for tax fraud.”

  “So much for minimal family scandals.”

  “Yeah, not sure how that one got by my mother. Anyway, after that, I’d planned to drive her home, but she said she absolutely had to tinkle. She actually used the word tinkle and said she couldn’t possibly last the whole drive to her place and could we just go to my place. It actually got worse from there.”

  “Worse?” Carli’s big, dark eyes grew bigger still.

  “Yep. She passed out on my bathroom floor.” He didn’t add the part about how her skirt had been pulled up to her waist and her panties were down around her ankles. He kind of wanted to, because he was sure Carli would get a kick out of that. But it just wasn’t fair to Veronica. He could joke about someone drinking a bit too much or being generally obnoxious, but that last part was pretty damned humiliating.

  “Oh my gosh. So what did you do?”

  “Well, I couldn’t very well drive her home. For one thing, she was in no condition to be left alone, and for another thing, I had no idea where she lived. I just put her to bed in my guest room and let her sleep it off. Man, was she grumpy the next morning.”

  He’d actually sat in a chair next to the bed for a while to make sure she didn’t puke, less from concern about her and more because he had brand-new carpeting. It was a great night, made even greater by his having to pull her panties up and her skirt down while trying not to look at anything between her waist and her knees. Not only was he a gentleman that way, but he just kept imagining how embarrassed she was going to feel the next morning. Oddly enough, she was less horrified than she probably should’ve been. Mostly she was pissed that he’d suggested she take an Uber home.

  “I’m guessing she had a bit of a headache,” Carli said, her tone equal parts amusement and sympathy. “I hate wine hangovers. They’re the worst. I’m glad to say I haven’t had one in ages.” She knocked on the wooden table.

  “You are very lucky. I’ve had several hangovers during the past few months, compliments of my divorce.” He raised his glass in a toast. “But here’s to not having one tomorrow.”

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  She clinked the rim of his hearty beer mug with her delicate martini glass and then took a sip, and he tried not to think about her lips pressing against the edge of that glass, or the tiny dimple that appeared near the corner of her mouth when her smile was wide, because these thoughts of his were getting out of hand. What was wrong with him tonight? Why the fixation on her? It’s not as if she was the most remarkably gorgeous woman he’d ever met, or the most scintillating conversationalist. She didn’t flaunt her sexuality or pretend that he was anything other than a friend. So what was it? He had no interest in Veronica DeMarco or any of the other women who’d contacted him over the past several weeks, but he was going to have to take somebody up on an offer soon, if only to blunt the irrational and inconvenient feelings he had brewing for his next-door neighbor.

  “It’s not really that surprising,” Ben’s sister said to him the next day, as she helped him shop for new light fixtures and window treatments. “Carli is sweet and nonthreatening. She’s like a touchstone and represents everything you thought you had with Sophia. A wife, a mother, a friend. And to be honest, you guys have kind of been playing house.”

  “We haven’t been playing house,” Ben replied, thinking that meant sex. There’d been no sex. Not even a hint of it.

  “I mean playing house like helping each other with chores and things. Decorating for Halloween, talking about parenting, playing with her dog. Stuff like that creates intimacy. Maybe not physical intimacy, but certainly emotional intimacy.”

  “Emotional intimacy sounds very complicated,” he said. “I’m not really up for that. I just need some straight-up . . . transactional intimacy.”

  “Then I’d suggest Tinder,” she said dryly, tossing two zigzag-patterned curtain panels into the shopping cart.

  “Tinder? Seriously? Is that a therapeutic recommendation?” He took the curtains from the cart and put them back on the shelf. He didn’t like the colors.

  Kenzie put them back in the cart. “Those panels are for me, and no, it’s not my therapeutic recommendation. As a therapist, I’d encourage you to spend some time alone to get comfortable with your own company. Or if you can’t handle that, go out with some buddies, get lots of exercise, maybe volunteer at an animal shelter or something, and wait at least a year before getting into a new relationship.”

  “A year?” That seemed like a long time.

  “Yes, that’s the clinical recommendation, but in the real world, I realize life gets lonely and that this is a time when you want some . . . fun to distract you. So . . . Tinder. Someone else looking for a casual hookup. Not your next-door neighbor. You are not in a good space for something significant, and she doesn’t seem like the transactional-intimacy type. I don’t think that would be fair to her, so I suggest you look elsewhere.”

  Okay. So he’d look elsewhere.

  But Tinder? God.

  Chapter 22

  The Tenth Annual Monroe Circle Halloween Hayride was its usual rousing success, and even Ben seemed to enjoy watching cartload after cartload of kids roll by on their way to Renee’s house. Gus had participated, wearing a set of moose antlers, which made every kid that rode by wave and laugh. And since the hay wagon was pulled by a tractor instead of horses, the dog retained his privilege of being the biggest animal in the neighborhood.

  “See, I told you it would be fun,” Carli said to Ben as they walked down the street to the posthayride party. Gus was now safely tucked inside his crate with a chew toy the size of a brontosaurus femur, and she and Ben were going to get their obligatory cider and cinnamon sugar doughnut. Mia and Tess were already there, having been coerced into riding with some of the little kids.

  “Hey, you two,” Renee called out as Ben and Carli arrived. “If you need a little splash of Captain Mo
rgan in your cider, let me know.”

  “I definitely need that,” Ben said. “Where are the cups?”

  “I’ll get you some,” Carli answered, following Renee into her house. As she’d suspected, Renee pounced the minute they were inside her kitchen.

  “Sooo, what’s going on with you and the delectable Mr. Chase?” she asked, pulling two red Solo cups from a stack and filling them with ice from the refrigerator. “I know you keep saying there’s nothing there, but Lynette said you two are constantly hanging out in your yards and that sometimes you disappear into each other’s houses for suspiciously long periods of time. Why do I have to hear this from Lynette? Why haven’t you told me yourself?”

  Carli laughed as she leaned against the quartz countertop. “First of all, are you really getting your intelligence briefings from Lynette? Shame on you. And second, I haven’t told you anything because there’s nothing to tell. We’re just friends. I should have that printed on a T-shirt.” Carli picked up the fifth of spiced rum from the counter and opened it.

  “Friends who go out to dinner at the Woodfire Grill? You didn’t think anyone would see you there?” Renee set the cups down next to the sink and took the bottle from Carli.

  “Totally platonic. We were hungry after putting up the Halloween decorations. And if there was something going on, do you think we’d show up at the Woodfire Grill?”

  Renee rolled her eyes. “If things are totally platonic between you two, then you’re dumb, because he’s a catch.”

  Carli laughed again and felt her cheeks heating up. “I’m not dumb. I’m the opposite of dumb, in fact. He’s a good guy and a good neighbor and a good . . . friend. Listen, I’m not going to pretend that I haven’t thought about it because, come on. Who wouldn’t? There’s even been a moment or two when I thought he might be thinking less than platonic thoughts, but we’re in different spots in our lives and neither of us is ready for any kind of . . . romantic entanglement. I’m too busy with my kids and work and the dog, and he’s busy with his divorce and his company and all that crap. Trust me. He’s a high-risk candidate, and I am a low-risk kind of gal.”

  Renee crooked a dark brow. “High risk, high reward. Honestly, even if it ended in disaster, what a delicious disaster it could be. You deserve a little fun.” Renee poured a generous splash of rum into each cup. “And then you could tell me all the scandalous details and I could live vicariously through you. Rob and I are having a bit of a dry spell, and I need something to spice it up.”

  “Maybe you need a vaginal rejuvenation. I hear it’s all the rage.”

  Renee’s movements paused even as her eyes went wide. “A what now?”

  “Oh, just something I learned about at work. From what I’ve gathered, it’s like a facial for your hoo-ha.”

  Surprise turned to skepticism. “Yeah, I’m not going to do that, but I am willing to hear all about your escapades, especially if you decide to get a little crazy with Mr. Right Next Door.” She topped off the cups with apple cider.

  “I will be of no help to you there, I’m afraid. You know me and my vanilla sex life. Steve’s idea of wild and crazy was to do it in the living room instead of our bedroom.”

  “Sure, Steve was boring, but I’ll bet that sexy neighbor of yours has some tricks up his sleeve. Or down his pants. Whichever.”

  “Ah, great,” said Carli, accepting the cup Renee offered. “Now I’m going to spend the rest of the afternoon thinking about what’s in Ben’s pants.”

  “You and me both, honey. You and me both.”

  They were laughing as they walked out the front door to find Ben standing with a group of husbands, who were also laughing. It was hard to be too serious when surrounded by little kids in Avenger and Frozen costumes. Carli approached the cluster and handed him his drink.

  “Renee’s a heavy-handed bartender, so consider yourself warned.”

  Ben took the cup with a smile. “Thanks.”

  “So that’s the second weekend of December,” Rob said to the group, continuing on with their conversation.

  “What is?” Carli asked.

  “This year’s Holly Trolley.”

  The Third Annual Monroe Circle Holly Trolley Pub Crawl was a newer event created by the dads in the neighborhood who felt their needs had been underrepresented by the social committee. This night of revelry included a party bus that took them all around Glenville, stopping at various pubs and microbreweries before ending the evening at an all-night bowling alley. Carli had gone on this a handful of times but never made it past the third or fourth bar before having to call it a night and get the babysitter home. Steve always managed to last until the very end and typically came home with outlandish stories of what went on after she’d left. True stories, but outlandish nonetheless. One year DeeDee’s second ex-husband (before he was her ex-husband) had come home wearing a stinky Santa costume that he’d bought right off the back of some equally stinky guy at the bowling alley—a mall Santa who’d just stopped by the alley for a (another?) drink before heading home.

  “Holly Trolley, huh?” Ben said. “That sounds pretty fun. Count me in on that one. Even better if I don’t have to bring a dish to pass.”

  “Mom, where’s our Ouija board?” Tess shouted from beneath Carli’s deck, where Carli was sitting with Ben, Erin, and Erin’s husband, Rick. They were surreptitiously monitoring the activities of Ethan’s backyard bonfire while giving the illusion of not actually acting as chaperones. At one point, there’d been upward of forty kids, but as the midnight hour approached, most of them had left, and now only a handful of Ethan’s closest friends were there, along with Mia, Tess, and three of her girlfriends. Oddly enough, Becca Sturgis was a no-show, and Carli had to wonder if she’d actually gotten the invitation.

  Carli stood up and leaned over the railing to see her daughter. “I have no idea where the Ouija board is. Somewhere in the basement, probably. Why?”

  “If I find it, can I take it over to Ethan’s? A couple of us want to go in the woods behind his house and give it a try.”

  “That sounds terrifying to me. Ben, are you okay with them doing that?” She looked back over her shoulder at him.

  “Where do they want to go?”

  “Back behind your house.” The wooded area along the rim of their backyards was about fifty yards deep and ended at the property line of a grouchy old neighbor who’d lived there forever. He liked to wander into Carli’s yard and complain about people having parties, traffic near his house, moles, rabbits, deer, power lines, water towers, government conspiracy theories—pretty much every word that came out of his mouth was a complaint of some sort.

  “I haven’t really looked around back there. Is it safe?” Ben asked. “Any quicksand or werewolves or things that go bump in the night?”

  “As long as they don’t get poison ivy or run into skunks, I guess it’s safe,” Carli answered. “Except for the part about going into the dark woods to summon spirits and get advice from all sorts of underworld demons.”

  He shrugged. “Okay, then. Sounds like fun to me.”

  Carli turned back and called down to Tess. “That’s fine, but if you turn in the wrong direction and end up in Mr. VanderBrink’s yard, all his floodlights will go on and he’ll probably start waving a shotgun at you, so how about if you don’t go too far away from Ben’s yard. You’ll need some light to see anyway, right?”

  “Sure, Mom. Thanks.” Tess ducked under the deck, and Carli could hear her opening the sliding glass door that led to the basement. She was back out in minutes and ran over to Ben’s yard.

  “They’re totally taking that thing deep into the woods. You know that, right?” Ben said as soon as Tess had left Carli’s yard.

  Carli nodded. “Probably, but at least I did my part in warning them. And Mia’s over there. She’s usually the voice of reason, and maybe she’ll keep them from wandering too far.”

  “Well,” Rick said, standing up and stretching. “I think that’s our cue to leave. You know, befo
re they conjure up something evil? I’d like to get home before the ghosts start appearing.”

  Erin stood, too. “I think seeing a ghost would be kind of exciting. As long as it was, like, a friendly ghost.”

  “A friendly ghost?” Ben asked.

  “Yeah, you know. Like Casper or the Ghost of Christmas Present, or something like that. None of those scary ones who moan and rattle chains and shit like that.” She shuddered. “Damn it, now I’m going to be thinking about scary ghosts, and we have to walk all the way down the street past everyone’s Halloween decorations.”

  “I’ll protect you, honey,” Rick said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

  She kissed his cheek. “I know you think that, but if you saw an actual ghost, you would run so stinking fast, you’d be nothing but a blur as you left me in your dust.”

  “Well, that may be true, but let’s hope we never find out.”

  Rick and Erin were what Tess would call relationship goals, and they were the one couple who gave Carli the slightest hope that one day she might, maybe, possibly, perhaps find a man to share the rest of her life with. Not now, of course. But later. Sometime much later. When she was ready.

  She hugged her friends as they said their goodbyes and watched as Rick and Erin walked down the steps of the deck, vanishing into the darkness. Seconds later Rick let out an evil-sounding mwah-hah-hah, and Erin’s laughter floated out along with it.

  “Are you ready to call it a night?” Ben asked. “I can chaperone the kids from my own porch if you’d like.”

  “That’s okay. There are two of mine out there, so I’m happy to sit here a bit longer. Unless you wanted to go back to your house.” She didn’t want him to go to his house. She wanted to stay outside on her deck, where the chilly night air made everything feel crisp and fresh and invigorating. She’d left her outdoor lights off, so they were sitting in the shadows with only the house lights to illuminate the area around them, and the glow of the bonfire from his yard next door made everything feel cozy and private.