The Man Next Door: Orchard Heights Book 2 - standalone

by Roya Carmen

  “I’m doing what’s best for Madison,” I argue. “She’ll still be with family.”

  At this, Colette becomes even more enraged. “You don’t have kids, do you? If you did, you wouldn’t be doing this.”

  No, I don’t.

  “What’s going on here?” George breaks in, grabs my arm and pulls me away from Colette.

  My pulse is still racing when we reach the parking lot. He asks if I’m okay, and I tell him I am, that I’ve done this many times before.

  But the truth is, I’m not.

  I toss and turn that night, thinking about Colette. My sleep comes in fits and starts, and I dream about Madison.

  She cries. And I cry.

  I wake up in tears, wishing Noah were by my side.

  We don’t remember days, we remember moments.

  I read that somewhere once, on one of those inspirational plaques people hang on their walls. For the life of me, I can’t remember where or when it was, but the quote has stayed with me ever since.

  The moments I remember are often the most bittersweet. One such memory was Christmas Eve. I was fifteen and three quarters. I’d come to think of my age in quarters, eagerly awaiting my sixteenth birthday, when I would be old enough to make my own decisions, to get my driver’s license, to be with Gavin.

  I’d made Gavin a few presents, and I was bursting with excitement. I’d taken much care in wrapping them just so, and couldn’t wait to see his expression when he opened them.

  Restless, I stared at our pitiful artificial Christmas tree, haphazardly decorated with cheap ornaments. I waited until my dad was laughing and fully engrossed in a rerun episode of Seinfeld to sneak out.

  I was all smiles, arms full of gifts when Gavin opened his back door.

  “Wow… are those all for me?”

  “Of course.”

  He welcomed me in with a big grin. He was in his usual outfit of sweats and a plain white t-shirt. I quickly shed my jacket and boots, and followed him down the hall to the kitchen.

  He opened the refrigerator door. “You want a hot chocolate or cider, or egg nog?”

  My eyes grew wide. “You have egg nog?”

  He smiled. “I take it that’s your choice?”

  “Hell, yeah. I asked my dad to buy some but he never did.” I stepped into the living room, and placed the gifts under his tree, an addition to the three wrapped boxes already there. Gavin’s tree was a real pine with twinkling white lights and wooden ornaments, beautiful in their craftsmanship.

  “Coming right up,” he called out. “How ‘bout a dash of nutmeg on top?”

  “Sure.” I held an ornament in my hand, a toy soldier, and studied it closely. “These ornaments are really nice. Are they antiques?” I knew they were certainly not cheapies from the dollar store like ours were.

  He handed me my glass of egg nog with a smile. “I made them.”

  “You did?” I was certainly impressed. I knew he enjoyed woodworking, but didn’t realize he was so talented.

  The wood stove fire was roaring, and we both stood in front of it, cupping our egg nogs. It really felt like Christmas.

  “Thanks for coming over, kid.”

  I smiled. “Thanks for having me.”

  “You didn’t have to get me all those presents,” he said. “You’re too sweet.”

  “That’s why you love me,” I teased.

  He surprised me when he replied, “That I do.”

  My heart warmed. “Me too… I love you too, Gavin.”

  The declarations were not exactly romantic, simply two friends admitting that they loved each other.

  He drained his egg nog. “I feel kind of bad… I only got you one gift.”

  My chest swelled at the thought of opening a gift from Gavin. “You got me something?”

  “Of course.” He rose and reached for one of the gifts under the tree.

  I’ve seen some beautiful sights in my life. I’ve had the privilege of traveling abroad with Daniel and witnessed stunning landscapes; sunsets in the Savannah, the Paris cityscape at night, the beaches of Maui at sunrise, amongst many others. But the most beautiful thing I’ve seen to date remains Gavin’s smile that Christmas Eve when he handed me my gift.

  I was absolutely giddy when I tore into it. My heart stopped at the sight of it, an exquisitely carved box.

  “For all your precious girly things,” he teased.

  I laughed. “I don’t have that many girly things,” I told him. “Izzie could use this more than I could.”

  He grinned. “I’m sure you’ll find some stuff to put in there. Open it.”

  My heart hammered against my ribcage as I popped open the lid and ventured a look inside. Something was wrapped in red tissue paper, and I scrambled to unwrap it, all thumbs. It was a beautiful ornament, just like the ones I had just admired, a pretty rocking horse, painted in reds and greens and shades of white. I knew I would never hang this on our family tree. It was too precious to be nestled amongst those cheap plastic ornaments. No, it would be kept in my room.

  Years later, I would eventually hang it on my tree every Christmas. Off season, it sits on a bookshelf in my bedroom, next to the box, where I can glance at it all year round. In the box, I keep memories from my youth, friendship bracelets and a BFF necklace from Izzie, letters she wrote me, full of her quirks, and silly photos we’d taken at photo booths. I rarely open the box because as precious as it is, it’s also full of heartbreak.

  I threw myself at him and gave him the biggest hug possibly known to mankind. “I love it!” His laugh was nervous as he gently pushed me away.

  “I’m sorry… this is just so nice,” I tried to explain. “No one has ever made me anything this special… Well, Izzie made me friendship bracelets but they were nothing like this.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” he said matter-of-factly, silently settling me down. I couldn’t be jumping on him like that.

  I bounced off the sofa. “I made you stuff too,” I said, eager to show him. I reached for the three boxes and handed them to him. “Open the small one first.”

  He obliged and tore at the small flat gift. He smiled when he saw it; a bookmark I had made at school in my Media Arts class. I like big books and I cannot lie, it read, an inside joke of sorts.

  “You know, because you like big books so much.”

  He laughed. “I get it… thanks, this is great.”

  “Now open this round one.”

  He eagerly unwrapped the Christmas tin, full of chocolate peanut butter balls I’d made to satisfy his sweet tooth. My brothers had bitched when I wouldn’t let them eat the whole batch, when I’d told them I was saving some for a friend.

  He eagerly popped the lid open. The scent of peanut butter filled our nostrils instantly. “I love it… chocolate balls.”

  “Chocolate peanut butter balls,” I clarified. “My mom’s old recipe.”

  He wasted no time in indulging in one, closing his eyes and moaning at the sweet taste.

  A satisfied smile traced my lips. I wasn’t allowed to please him physically, but I’d certainly found other ways to. “Open the last one,” I urged.

  He dug into the last gift, his mouth still full of peanut butter ball. His eyes grew wide when he finally laid eyes on it; a photo I’d taken of his Mercedes. I’d added a cool filter in Photoshop, and made it look even cooler than it already was. I’d also framed it in a sleek matted black frame I’d bought at Walmart. “This is fantastic, Abigail. I fucking love it.”

  “I made it in my Media Arts class,” I said proudly.

  He reached for me and gave me a perfectly socially acceptable hug. I wished it could have been closer, more intimate.

  I polished off my egg nog, and we chatted for a while. He was heading out to his friend’s. They were going to a club. I asked him if he had a family, and he said that he did. Two sisters and a father who had no time for him. His father was a drunk like my dad, and I realized how much he and I really had in common. Fate had brought us together beca
use we needed each other. It had never been any clearer than it was that night.

  I didn’t want to leave, but I had to. He was going out, and if I wasn’t back by nine o’clock, my dad would be suspicious.

  He gave me another squeeze just before I left. I was wrapped up in a heavy winter jacket, but still, the warmth of him filled me, made my body ache for more. “Merry Christmas, Abigail,” he said softly.

  “Merry Christmas.”

  And that was it.

  The wind was strong and the temperature low as I trudged through the snow and rounded the corner.

  My dad stopped me dead in my tracks.

  He was standing there, in his warmest jacket and toque, smoking a cigarette. “What have you been up to, girl?”

  I stopped breathing for a good ten seconds at the sight of him. I’d been caught. How was I going to get out of this? What excuses would I make?

  I attempted to ignore him, and walked right past him, but he grabbed and jerked my arm. “What the fuck were you doing at Foster’s? I told you to stay away from him.”

  “Uh… I was… I was bringing him chocolate peanut butter balls,” I told him, happy to not be lying. “Like I do everyone else.”

  He shook his head, full of anger. “I think you were giving him more than peanut butter balls, girl… you little slut.”

  I wasn’t,” I scoffed. “We’re just friends.”

  He chuckled at that, his laugh a loud cackle. “Oh yeah… just friends… that’s a good one, Abby. He’s at least ten years older than you.”

  Yes, ten years exactly.

  “I know exactly what men like that want. He wants to get into your pants, Abby. And you’re too stupid to realize it. And it’s not because you’re pretty either. It’s because you’re sweet young pussy. Perverts like him love virgins,” he went on, and with every word, I sank deeper. He might as well have buried me in the snow. “Are you even still a virgin?”

  I ran off, not able to take any more of his abuse.

  “You’re grounded, girl,” he called out. “For a fucking month, you little slut.”

  I ran and ran. I didn’t run back in the house. There was no way I was going to stay anywhere near him. I ran to Izzie’s instead.

  The place I always ran to.

  23

  Noah wraps his arms around my waist as I stand over the stove, flipping his crêpe. Truth be told, he’s distracting me but I’m certainly not about to complain. He smells good, like he always does in the morning, a very subtle male scent. He kisses my neck, distracting me further.

  I shrug and giggle like a junior high school girl. “Do you want me to burn your crêpe?”

  “Oh… you know what I want.”

  “Again?” I blurt. “Already?”

  He laughs. “Yep.”

  I flip his crêpe onto a plate and turn on my heel, wanting to take in this beautiful man I’ve recently had the luck of discovering. I want to take it all in; his beauty, his energy and exuberance, and most of all, his unapologetic youth. I eye him dubiously. “How old are you?” I ask, baffled by the fact that I don’t already know. We’ve had sex three times now, and I still don’t know much about him.

  “Uh…” he falters. “Twenty… eight. Why do you want to know?”

  God… he’s eight years younger than me. My friends were right. I’m such a cradle robber. I don’t volunteer my own age, no way in hell. “When’s your birthday?”

  “Uh…” He seems taken aback by the inquisition. “Uh… November 10th.”

  Oh crap… he’s a new twenty-eight. I’m almost nine years older. “So you’re a Scorpio?” I ask with a playful smile.

  He shrugs. “And you? What are you?”

  “I’m a February baby,” I tell him. “I’m an Aquarius.”

  A smile stretches across his face. “You follow astrology? Are Scorpios and Aquarius compatible?”

  I grin playfully. “Well, we’re definitely compatible in bed,” I point out. “What else is there?”

  He takes me in his arms again, and kisses my collarbone. I’m just about to fall into bed with him again, but first, we must eat. “Hungry? Your crêpe is getting cold.”

  “Famished.”

  He settles down at the kitchen table and I present him with a glass of milk, a glass of orange juice, some cut-up apple, and his crêpe. “What do you like on it?”

  “I’m easy,” he says. “Surprise me.”

  I slather on some butter. He doesn’t seem to be the type who worries too much about calories. I sprinkle some brown sugar on and some raspberries. He watches me intently as I roll up the crêpe, smiling like an eager kid. A pang in my chest takes me by surprise, a weird sense of déja vu. I shake my head.

  I top my masterpiece with a good dollop of canned whipped cream, almost as good as the real thing.

  He sinks his teeth in eagerly and savors it, closing his eyes and moaning as if he were having an out of body experience.

  I laugh out loud. “It’s not that good.”

  “Mmm.. but… it is,” he says with a mouthful.

  The crêpe is gone in less than a minute, and when I ask if he’d like another one, he nods enthusiastically. So I get back to work, a silly smile on my face. I wonder what Daniel would think if he could see me right now. He used to say that I never smiled. I wanted to throw a lamp at his head when he said that. You wouldn’t fucking smile all the time if you’d had the life I had, I wanted to scream. But I’ve never been one to drown in my sorrows or bore others with them.

  The thing is… Noah makes me happy. I wouldn’t go as far as saying that it’s because I’m in love. It’s more than that. There’s a positiveness and energy about him that is quite rare. There’s also a familiarity about him, as if we were meant to be together, soulmates perhaps. Funny thought… I don’t even believe in soulmates. I used to, when I was a silly teenager, but a lot has happened since, and I’ve become quite jaded and cynical in my old age.

  “So are you seeing your friends today?” he asks between bites. “Or do I get you all to myself?”

  I smile. “You get me all to yourself,” I say happily. “Mischa is busy with her family, Claudia is working, and Gretchen is volunteering at her boy’s daycare today.”

  “I’d love to meet them,” he tells me. “You’re always talking about them. They seem cool.”

  I lighten up at the thought of them meeting Noah. They would love him. I also wouldn’t hear the end of it. They would tease me even more than they already are.

  “How about you?” I ask, curious. “Any friends? Who do you hang with?”

  He stares down at his plate. “Well, I’m new here so…”

  “I know… yes, you’re new in Wicker Park. What about the rest of Chicago?”

  “Well, I have some friends back in Nashville and a few guys in Chicago. I can introduce you sometime. Hey, we could even go to Nashville…” his words trail off, and he winces as if this conversation is giving him a headache.

  I know I’m being nosy. I just want to get to know him better. Is that so wrong? It suddenly dawns on me that he doesn’t seem to care too much about getting to know me. Does that make him a narcissist? Or does he simply not care? Here I go again, thinking too much. Well, he does seem curious about my job and my friends, and genuinely interested. It’s actually refreshing not having to delve into my past. Where are you from? Where did you grow up? Who was your first love? I hate those questions, typical inquiries made by previous boyfriends.

  I grew up in a trailer park in small town Michigan with an alcoholic father and two deadbeat brothers. My mother fell off a cliff . She was drunk. My first love died.

  Yes, I much prefer it this way.

  “So what do you want to do today?” he asks. Noah is always up for something. He has so much energy, it’s exhausting.

  “How about walking the neighborhood,” I suggest. “I know a little music shop where they sell vintage vinyl.”

  His eyes grow wide. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

&nb
sp; I laugh. “And maybe we could go to that little Thai place I like. Do you like Thai?”

  He grins. “I like it all.”

  I smile. “I know you do.”

  I ran and ran, boots trudging heavily in the snow, tears frozen to my cheeks. When I finally got to Izzie’s at around ten o’clock, Adele welcomed me with opened arms, as she always did. The Reeds were just lounging in the living room, eating pretzels and flavored peanuts, playing a game of Clue, awaiting midnight, when Santa would show up. Little Abe was the most excited of them all, barely contained. Santa, in this case, was one of Izzie’s many uncles, a big chubby older man by the name of Gary.

  “Are you excited about Santa?” I asked Abe. And just like that, I got lost in the sight of his sweet little smile, and forgot all about my dad. It was always like that at Izzie’s, another world, an escape, a family I wanted to belong to. Yes, Adele always said I was part of the family, but I really wasn’t. I wasn’t a Reed in blood. And gone were the days where I used to daydream of being adopted by Adele.

  “Sometimes he’s late,” Abe explained, busy working on a Rubik’s cube. “I hate when he’s late. It’s so rude.”

  I laughed. “I didn’t know Santa was so rude.”

  To my surprise, he was making some good progress on the cube. I watched him intently as his little hands worked fast and furiously.

  “Do you want a virgin Margarita, love?” Adele asked, compassion written all over her face. She wouldn’t ask me what was wrong… that would come later. First, she’d let me settle in and get comfortable.

  “No, she wants a real one,” Izzie joked.

  I laughed. “Yes… that would be great. Thanks.”

  Adele made the best virgin drinks. She even put twisty straws and little paper umbrellas with Maraschino cherries. Everything Adele did was done with love and her own special touch. Izzie didn’t realize just how lucky she really was, always complaining about her annoying brothers, and too many rules. She’d always go on about how she couldn’t wait to get out of there and into the ‘real world’. What that was exactly, I’m not sure she knew.