by Didi Oviatt
I lean my back against the front door and catch my breath. What the hell am I supposed to do now? I won’t be able to sleep, or even to read, now that my heart is racing, and my mind is on a reel. Plus, I left my book outside on the chair. What the hell was I thinking, to spy on my new neighbor anyway? Of course, I was bound to get busted in the act, and it just had to be that particular man-boy too. The sexy guy that I shouldn’t have ever noticed in the first place has likely now put me on some sort of a hit list.
“Stop it, Carla,” I tell myself before stomping to the kitchen to make a cup of tea and search for a comfort snack. Maybe a hot drink, something with chamomile, and some food will calm me down.
With nervous, slightly shaky fingers I prepare a small plate of cheese, crackers and pepperoni while my tea steeps in the water. Then I take my goods and retreat to the couch, rather than my room with its door so close to where I was caught spying. I debate pushing something heavy in front of the bedroom door, just in case of a break-in, but talk myself out of it. If anything terrible really were to happen, at least I’ve given my children a heads up on who the detectives should question. Not only that, but the rest of the other people between me and him must have heard him yelling as well. It would take a fool to seek out any sort of wrongdoing after such a boisterous outburst, surely the whole shoreline was awakened by his tantrum, right?
“Carla,” I tell myself as I scroll through a few mindless reality television shows, “You have nothing to worry about.”
Finally, I settle for a nature channel, something far from scary or suggestive. I watch until my food and tea are gone, and over time I fall asleep. As I wake in the morning the sun is shining into all of the east-facing windows, its golden light pouring over the house plants. It’s beautiful, and although I didn’t sleep in the room that I was previously so excited to stay in, I still feel refreshed. I try my darndest to push away thoughts of the neighbor down the way, with his foul language and horrible temper.
Choosing something for breakfast is a little hard, and it makes me miss having Marsha around to cook. The weight of a brick suddenly rests in my stomach, making me wonder if this is what it feels like to be homesick. I wind up settling for a mere piece of toast and black coffee, before vowing to make this summer worth the time away. I reach for the notepad that Sarah had left my welcome note on, rip off that top page and set to making a checklist of a few things to work toward during my time here.
The list includes a variety of genres that I want to read, a certain amount of workout routines I want accomplished such as how many pushups, squats and sit ups in one go by the end of summer. Which reminds me to find and enroll myself in a gym. I also challenge myself to make a few friends, go on at least three social gatherings of sorts, and to spend at least one day per week on the beach -- be it directly outside the condo or at the public area--whether I feel like it or not. Once I’m satisfied with my list, I turn on some uplifting music to blare through my new bedroom - a room that I’ll be sleeping in from now on, period. I jump in the shower, ready to charge the summer ahead.
Now that I’ve been living in this glorious condo for a couple of weeks, it’s time to meet my neighbors. I’ve purchased a couple of treat baskets that I intend on taking to the neighbors directly on each side of me, clearly not the one three doors down, but have yet to deliver. I’ve grown to quite like the serenity and the peace and quiet. I’ve even finished a couple of books from Timothy’s library, saving the antique shopping for when I run out of comfort in my solitude. I still have two and a half months of my three months left, and the lack of a checkmark by the making friends line on my list isn’t going anywhere. This condo is amazing, and thus far I’ve chosen to spend my committed beach time at the local bay, avoiding the back patio and private seaside view all together. It’s calling to me though, and I may have to brave the notion of spending more time just out my own back door. I can’t avoid the summer menace down the way much longer; it’ll ruin my entire stay.
When I finally decide to deliver my neighborly gifts and introduce myself, I nearly trip on an object that’s been placed on the front porch. It catches my toe with a pointy spike, making me cuss, gasp for a breath and nearly drop my baskets. It didn’t hurt, but it scared the shit out of me. I look around my armful of goods to see a pineapple, wobbling around after its disturbance, and there’s a card sitting beneath it. I set the baskets down on one of the decorative wicker chairs on the porch and reach down to pick up the fruit and card. I rip open the top and pull out a recipe card. It’s for a hollowed-out pineapple and rum punch. Sounds amazing. I make a mental note to go straight to the liquor store after delivering my baskets. I flip over the recipe card to find a handwritten note on the back.
It’s addressed to me but doesn’t say my name. It says:
To the beautiful woman looking after this condo,
Sorry for the disturbance a while back, I think we got off on the wrong foot. Based on your dress the first time I saw you, I have a feeling you like pineapples. If you need anything at all, you know where I live.
Yours, Blake
I read it about five times over. Blake, Blake, Blake. I think of his face, the distinct jawline and sharp icy blues, the name fits. The tips of my fingers begin to get a little numb, and I can feel my cheeks heat up as I recall the crazed look on his face after he’d shattered a bottle and caught me spying on him… with binoculars no less. He totally just acknowledged it too. He knows that I know where he lives. He isn’t mad about my spying either, he got me a gift. Unless it’s a trap. Oh my God, what if it's a trap? I shake the crazy from my mind. It can’t be. We all have bad days. Even with as unsettled as I felt that night, and with the strange aching in my knees right now as I read the small yet impactful note over and over and over again, I manage to talk myself into seeing the good.
I think of all the drunken phone conversations I had with Bradley during our divorce. I’m pretty sure I even screamed those exact words into the phone before. I’ve never downed an entire bottle of rum and then slammed it against the cement, but that’s not to say Bradley never did. I draw in a calming breath, set the pineapple and note in the second wicker chair and get back to my business at hand. I have baskets to deliver, and friends to make, why the hell am I obsessing over this handsome young stranger, yet again? I’ll tend to the liquor store and make myself this drink later.
I deliver both baskets and introduce myself. To the right of me is an elderly couple, very friendly, but I could smell the stench of cat pee the very second the woman opened the door. In the two weeks of my stay so far, I’ve yet to see a cat, so they must keep them inside always. As soon as the door swings open, I gag and have to play it off like I’m feeling under the weather. I decline her offer to come inside for tea. She calls her husband from across the room to greet me at the door. It takes him a good three minutes to make his way there using a walker. He is kind, and sincere, and I feel kind of bad about not taking them up on a cup of tea. Sadly, I’m not too confident in my ability to ignore the smell of their home. I see at least five different cats passing the entrance, and when they invite me a second time, I say no again and turn away as kindly as possible. I don’t mind cats, but the smell of too many, is well, too much. I think I can safely check these neighbors off of the possible friend list.
The couple to the right of me seems to be a bit more up to my speed. It’s the husband who answers the door. His smile is genuine and friendly, and the way he has their sleeping baby draped over his fairly narrow shoulder tells me practically everything I need to know.
“Tyler,” he says, extending a free hand for me to shake before relieving me of the basket.
This time I accept the invitation inside but insist that I can only stay a few minutes. I don’t want to press my welcome. No sooner than he hollers a kind “Jacklyn,” up the stairs, I’m nearly taken out by a wizzz of a speeding toddler in a wheeled baby-walker. The little one maneuvering it has short red pigtails, a giggle that instantly warms my heart, a
nd a pink sippy cup of juice in her hand.
“Don’t mind that one,” Tyler says with an upbeat chuckle. “She practically lives in that thing. She can almost walk on her own, but we just can’t bring ourselves to get rid of it yet. Keeps her contained while we manage the twins.”
“Wait, twins?” I ask, the joy in my center building. Just as I open my mouth to tell him of my own twins, Jacklyn graces us with her presence. She walks carefully down the steps as the baby in her arms is concealed by a breastfeeding cover. It’s tucked neatly around her on every side, keeping herself and the baby concealed, and her unoccupied arm is out ready to shake my hand. It’s a firm, confident gesture much like her husband’s.
“Jacklyn,” she says with a smile. “You must be Carla! Sorry we haven't made it over to introduce ourselves. Sarah told me all about you, she just adores your children. You have twins the same age as Stephany, right?”
I’m surprised at how instantly comfortable I am around Jacklyn and Tyler. I’m drawn into their family charm. “I do! They just turned twenty last fall, but I can remember answering the door with one sleeping while the other one used me like I was his binky, like it was yesterday.”
“You too, huh?” She rolls her eyes but follows it with a light smirk. “It’s easier to let him stay attached all the time than to listen to him cry all day.”
“I know the feeling exactly. My Dean was the same. Although, if he knew I just told you that he’d be gunnin’ for me.” We laugh it off, but little do they know, the last time I embarrassed him over something harmless and silly, he happily returned the favor. He played practical jokes on me for a week. He and Marsha got quite the kick out of putting flour in my blow dryer especially.
They talk me into sitting down in the kitchen and joining them for a quick glass of wine. The banter between the two is comfortable. The toddler, who’s name I learn is Lola, circles us around the table and crashes into the wall a few times. She also talks a lot of gibberish, somewhat sing-song style, and she likes to throw her sippy cup against the kitchen cupboards. She’s aiming for the sink. Apparently Tyler made a game of it, hoping that eventually she’d make it in, which meant cleaning up after herself, but it really only slams the cupboard below, splashing juice from its rim all over the place. Before I know it, my quick glass of wine has turned into a full hour of getting to know my rambunctious temporary neighbors.
Tyler is a networking engineer. He gets paid a salary, and only spends a few hours a week at work. Most of his stuff can be done remotely from home. This comes in handy as their twins are only four months old and Jacklyn spends the majority of her time with the chubbier boy, Hoss, attached to the boob. This leaves Jaxx, the less demanding of the two, needing little more than Tyler’s shoulder for draping himself over to sleep.
“It’s his favorite spot,” Tyler giggles, and turns to the side so I can see the little one’s face all squished up and resting on his tiny arms, just at the base of Tyler’s hairline. “It actually works out okay. I’ve learned to bend at the knees anytime I need to pick anything up. My balance is improving by the day.”
Tyler’s even made a makeshift sling of sorts to help hold the baby in place. What once was a mommy wrap, meant to hold the newborn gently against a parent’s chest, is now a shoulder drape. It’s wrapped from one side of Tyler’s neck, over the baby, and tucked carefully under his opposite armpit.
Jacklyn, for only thirty-two years old, has quite the success story of her own. She passed the bar at twenty-five and landed a job in a very prestigious firm in Seattle. The two met when his previous company was contracted to do some work on the computer systems at her firm. After two moves together, a beachside elopement, and running her own small family practice she decided on a temporary leave so that they could start a family together before she got any older. The very month she quit taking her birth control they were pregnant with Lola, and life still hasn’t slowed for the adorable little family in the making.
“So, you’ve been here for two weeks already?” Jacklyn asks. “We spend quite a bit of time out back on the beach, why haven't we seen you out there?”
“Yeah,” Tyler adds, “I remember when we first moved here. We practically lived out back. Our beach is beautiful. There’s even a family of dolphins who stick around close. We haven’t had a shark scare, like, ever.”
What do I say? I have a weird, inexplicable secret crush on the guy who lives a couple condos away, one that’s closer to their age than mine, and who likely has the dangerous temper of a menace well-worth avoiding? Even just considering the fact in mind, I realize how dumb my reasoning for avoiding my own back yard is. I also realize that picturing the boxer line under his swim trunks, and even his angry tantrum is making me kind of wet between the legs. Blake, tell them Blake is the reason you’ve avoided the most beautiful part of your summer condo, Carla you wimp. I know exactly how gorgeous and perfect the beach really is, so my excuse is no excuse at all. I drum my fingernails nervously on the tabletop, and down the remainder of my drink in one filling gulp.
“Sorry,” I can feel the skin of my cheeks darken as I lie, “I guess I’ve been shy. I went to the public area by the peer a couple times, it’s easier to hide in large groups. Spending beach time just outside the condo feels too surreal in a way.”
My fingers continue to drum.
Jacklyn and Tyler glance at each other, their looks of speculation mirroring one another perfectly. They can obviously see through my bullshit, but lucky for me they don’t call me on it. Jacklyn’s eyes open wide and a full grin pulls her face upward. She even bounces on her seat a little in excitement which causes little Hoss to belt out a squeal of disapproval from beneath her cover. She reaches under to adjust him, likely sliding her human pacifier back in his mouth, and after a little shoulder cringe as he latches, she finally reveals the reasoning behind her sudden happy thoughts.
“You should join us this Friday!” she says. “We’re having a barbeque outback! A few friends are coming, nothing too big. We had one last year to bring in the summer, and it was a big hit. So much fun! My parents will be coming for a visit to keep the kids inside and put to bed properly, so that we can relax and let loose a little.”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly impose,” I begin and put my hands in the air, as if I’m gearing up to defend myself for some reason.
“Nonsense!” Tyler almost shouts, causing Jacklyn and I both to jump and her to giggle in response. The sleeping baby on his shoulder doesn’t budge. “Jacklyn hasn’t had a drink since before she was pregnant. It’s exactly what we both need, and you’re definitely invited. Our friends are welcoming, you’ll have a great time.”
I shake my head a little, but before I can say another word they say in unison, “We insist!”
“Well, I think my kids will be coming out for a visit. I planned on going home for the weekend to see them, but they’re insisting on coming here. Maybe we’ll swing by, but only for a little while, I really don’t want to press my welcome.”
And with that, almost like a warning siren, little Jaxx begins to wiggle and squirm before bawling out a scream suitable for a toddler, rather than a newborn. This child really has a healthy set of pipes on him. I use his begging scream for a change as my cue to leave, and after having thanked them for the drink and their warm hospitality I bid farewell and break for the door. I speed walk down the sidewalk, up my walkway, then I grab my pineapple and note on my way to the door without so much as looking down the road. I don’t want to know if Blake is out, and I don’t want to be caught looking in his direction again either… ever.
This little gathering on Friday will happen whether I make up some excuse to get out of it or not. The wine they’d fed me was delicious and has me feeling a little tipsy, so naturally I’m questioning every one of my thoughts since finding the damn pineapple. There will be no reading on the patio yet again tonight. Even just a note from this Blake human has me on edge, especially as I’m holding it.
Less than two hours ago,
I’d convinced myself that he’s normal and nice. Now, the possibility of him gracing a random social event with his presence has the blood in my veins lit ablaze. Tyler and Jacklyn didn’t even mention it being a neighborhood party; they said friends. Maybe I should have asked? But then, how would that have looked? Wow, I’m really losing it, and for what? No, for who? I don’t even know him, but I’m obsessed. Maybe I’m just bored, and there’s no one else around to obsess over.
I’m grateful to have made friends, especially such laid-back ones… and with twins, how exciting is that? I’d be a fool not to attend their party. But, what if he’s there?
I groan, drop myself into a heap on the couch and throw my head back. “Damnnit Carla, what’s wrong with you?!”
Chapter 5
Friday morning rolls around quicker than I’d have liked it to. I’m a nervous wreck, and after a vicious game of mental Ping-Pong, back and forth for days, trying to decide whether or not to go to this silly barbeque, I’ve made up my mind. I’m going. I’m taking my kids for support, even though they know nothing about Blake, the pineapple-gifting anxiety maker. It’ll help to have them there. I’ve marked off making friends on my list, as Jacklyn has even stopped by here since my introduction to bring a treat basket of my own to return the favor.
She stayed for a couple of hours, until Tyler called for help with all three kids screaming at him in the background. It was a second nice visit, and she’s an amazing baker. All the more reason to go through with the party. I’m sure talking my kids into going will be no trouble at all. The mention of a beachside barbeque, practically in the backyard, will surely give them both reason to celebrate the very second they walk through the door, which should have been by now, come to think of it.