Neighborly

by Ellie Monago

  “Just think about it, and talk to Doug.” Tennyson finishes her drink. “If you guys opt out, we totally respect that. But consider it first, OK? And ask us any questions you have.”

  “Everyone says no at first, and then we get worn down.” Raquel smiles. “Well, it’s not exactly like that, but at first, everyone is bound by convention. It just seems so abnormal, you know? And so terrifying. But then you think on it some more, and you look around, and it becomes a version of normal.”

  “Pleasure is normal,” June says.

  “Attraction to people other than your spouse is normal,” Tennyson says. “And embracing that while still loving your spouse can be normal, too.”

  “I think I was the most resistant to the idea,” June says. “I held out for more than a year, and meanwhile, my marriage was going down the toilet. I’m seeing all these other people indulging, happily, and they’re staying married, happily. They’re not letting society tell them what to do. But I was, and my husband was, and we were miserable.”

  “Don’t be afraid, Kat,” Tennyson says. “Fear is the real killer in life, you know?”

  “You’ve just got to know you’re beautiful, Kat, and worth coming home to,” Raquel says.

  “We all are,” Yolanda says.

  It seems eerie and cultlike, but also so seductive. A siren song.

  They’re telling me I’ll want to resist but I won’t be able to. And neither will Doug.

  “There’s a fifty percent divorce rate, right?” June says. “But not on our block. On our block, I’m the only one.”

  “We’re all in this together,” Tennyson says. “Think of us like a big support group.”

  Then they get down to brass tacks. Gina says, “The people at this table aren’t the only ones participating. But we’re the organizers. The welcome wagon, so to speak. We control the spreadsheet. We know who’s opted in and who’s opted out, who’s currently looking and available, what everyone is looking for, and the rules for each particular couple.”

  “If you’re into someone but they’re not available right now, I’ll make a note,” Tennyson says. “Then I’ll let you know when they’re back up for grabs.”

  It’s like an out-of-stock item on the Internet. This is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard, but no one seems to think so except me. They all seem so sane and so happy. And they obviously like each other. I saw that at the block party. This is the happiest group of people I’ve ever encountered.

  The truth is, I’ve never been a particularly happy person. I’ve tried to be, mightily, but with my background, it doesn’t come easily.

  “It’s all about informed consent,” Tennyson tells me. “You and Doug need to know this exists, and then you can decide whether you consent, as a couple. You’re either opting in as a couple or out as a couple.”

  “If one of you is participating and the other isn’t, the nonparticipant has to consent as well.” This is, naturally, from Gina. “It’s a marital decision.”

  “Those are the block rules.” Tennyson is trying to get the last tiny droplets of alcohol out of her glass. “But you need to develop your own rules, too, as a couple. And whatever you decide, you follow religiously. The biggest problems arise when a couple starts to break their own rules. That’s a betrayal of trust and a violation. That’s an affair, basically.”

  “Why are we talking about such heavy stuff?” Raquel says. “You don’t start there. You start by looking around and seeing who catches your eye.”

  Tennyson runs her finger lightly around the rim of her glass. “You flirt, and then you fantasize. You let your mind wander. It’s amazing what’s possible. Who’s possible.”

  They’ve clearly misjudged their audience. I do everything I can to keep my mind under control.

  Then we adjourn. The business is over, and it’s time to have fun. There’s general talk and laughter, but I’m too preoccupied with what I’ve heard to join in.

  “I’ll get the next round,” I say, casting a quick glance at Andie, hoping she can read me as well as she claimed she could.

  “I’ll help you carry them,” she says.

  As we dodge people, I’m light-headed from the alcohol and the pitch I’m trying to digest. We belly up to the bar, and I hiss, “What the fuck was that?”

  She laughs, and I can see the tension she’s releasing. “I figured this was coming at some point. I just never thought it would be this soon!”

  “Did you think about telling me?”

  “I felt like it wasn’t my secret to tell. Even though it’s kind of an open secret.”

  “You and Nolan have opted out?” I ask, holding my breath for the answer and exhaling at her nod.

  “They’ve refined their presentation since I first heard it. But when Gina said they were going to get to business, I knew what was coming.”

  The bartender notices us and starts to walk over. I wave a hand to tell him he can take other people first, no rush here. “I’m definitely going to say no. It’s just a question of timing.”

  “Don’t you want to talk to Doug first?”

  “I’m not sure I need to. If one of us is opting out, we both are. That’s how it works, right?”

  “You just might want to give it a little time. You’ve had a lot to drink, and it’s all sorts of overwhelming at first.”

  Whose side is she on? Didn’t she just tell me she opted out?

  “You need to do what’s right for you. And I’ll be here as a sounding board. Someone neutral. Because all the women are great, they really are, but they have an agenda.” She must see the alarm in my face because she adds, “Not a scary agenda or anything. I mean, they really will respect if you opt out, but they’re obviously hoping you’ll opt in.”

  Does the person who’s writing the notes want me to opt in or out?

  “The arrangement thrives on new blood, that’s all,” Andie says. “When someone new enters the mix, it shakes up the dynamics. There’s all this interest and rivalries. Block parties feel a little more exciting. It spices things up.” Again, she catches my expression. “In a harmless way, of course. They really are all good people. They truly are close, and they do take care of each other through any drama.”

  “I don’t think I need any drama.”

  “A little drama can be fun.” She smiles. Then she grows more serious. “I’m here for you, Kat. Opt in or out, it makes no difference to me.”

  “I can’t believe they’re hitting me with this the second time we hang out.”

  “Well, someone obviously took a quick liking to you and Doug.”

  Of course. Doug.

  The women find me trustworthy, and what they want is fresh meat. They want Doug. At the first girls’ night, they were feeling me out, talking about their sex lives to bait me, to see if Doug is available. Stupid me, I basically told them he was, seeing as I have no physical desire for my imminently desirable husband.

  Some part of me must have known. That’s why I saw their faces when Doug and I were having sex. I knew they were competition then. Community of women, my ass. The spreadsheet needs fresh meat.

  I feel my face heating up. I signal the bartender.

  “So, you ready for a little dirt?” Andie asks.

  “Tell me.”

  She says that Oliver has been with men and women (I knew it!). Vic and Raquel were hot and heavy for a little while, and there were some threesomes with Tennyson. Bart’s always had a thing for Yolanda, but she turned him down. It’s a big secret who Yolanda has been with, but everyone knows that she and Wyatt have the most restrictions.

  “Did you opt out from the beginning,” I ask, “or did you try it for a while?”

  “For a very short while.” She’s clearly reticent to talk about her and Nolan, and I’m good with that. I don’t like thinking about Nolan in any sort of sexual context.

  “I can’t imagine sharing Doug.”

  “There are some open marriages that really work. Vic and Tennyson are incredibly happy and stable. But
what I can say is, don’t do it to fix a broken marriage.”

  “Doug and I aren’t broken.”

  “I didn’t think you were. You guys seem great.” The operative word is seem, and it hangs there between us. “I’m just saying, you need to be rock solid to introduce something like this.”

  After the first girls’ night, I was so hopeful. I thought maybe I’d found a group of women who truly liked me, who would accept me, and now I’m outside the circle already. Not that I want to be inside, not anymore, knowing all the strings that are attached and the price I’d have to pay.

  So I hadn’t just imagined that sex was in the air at the block party. They’ve set it up so that within every interaction, there’s always possibility. It creates an energy that permeates everything.

  They have what I want—not the sex but the confidence. Comfort in their own skins. Freedom. Nothing could be more seductive than that.

  Everyone opts out at first. Then they get worn down.

  The rest of the night is a blur.

  I feel depressed, and then angry at how it’s all played out, how they invited me here and gave me their spiel. But maybe I did it to myself. I removed myself from the equation. I can’t be a part of their sexual round robin.

  I’m staring down into my fourth empty Silk Purse when this incredibly powerful force comes over me. Suddenly, I feel happy, so ridiculously happy. And so tactile. These are my neighbors, and I feel love for all of them. I talk and flirt and dance with everyone, men and women. The whole floor twines together, as if it’s one organism with a hundred limbs, and it’s amazing to feel this type of connection. Sensuality without sex. It’s beautiful and harmless. Tonight, I’m just having good, clean fun. Tomorrow, I’ll opt out.

  Then the first thing that changes is the smell. Someone’s perfume has become rancid.

  I look into the crowd by the bar, all dark and menacing figures, and I could swear I see Layton. He’s not in prison; he’s right over there. He begins to turn, and I want to run, but I’m frozen in place. My muscles will not obey my command. Terror sets in, while all around me, my neighbors are oblivious.

  Except for Andie. Thank God for Andie.

  “I need the bathroom,” I tell her. I can’t get there without her, and somehow, she figures that out—or maybe I tell her; I can’t be sure of what’s being thought and what’s being said—and she gets me there, my arm around her neck.

  The bathroom is gray, filthy, and windowless, like what I’d imagine in a prison. The smell is abominable. It’s bleach and feces and, perhaps more disturbingly, cotton candy and popcorn, like a county fair run by Satan. There are cockroaches. There are rats. I try again not to scream. Fortunately, Andie is a good friend and waits outside the stall. She won’t let anyone hurt me.

  “Are you OK?” she asks. “Are you crying?”

  That’s the last thing I remember.

  Session 57.

  “He wasn’t only a teacher. He was a pillar of the community. He was on all these different boards, had his hand in everything. A model family: one son, one daughter, a stay-at-home mother. As a teacher, he was one of the most well loved. He’d won awards from the district. Parents wanted their kids in his class.”

  “But what was he really like, behind closed doors?”

  “I’ve already told you that.”

  “You haven’t told me much. But tell me more about you.”

  “I was kind of nerdy. I always got good grades. I had a best friend I really loved but no other friends. I tried to be a good girl.”

  “What was your relationship with him like?”

  “I tried to please him. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. At the trial, the district attorneys painted this picture of someone who was calculated and diabolical, always scheming, choosing kids whose parents didn’t give a rat’s ass about them. Kids who weren’t likely to speak up. Kids who weren’t popular. Who didn’t have a lot of friends.”

  “That sounds like you.”

  “No comment.”

  “What was the trial like for you?”

  “I think we should just stop now.”

  “OK.”

  “That’s it? Just ‘OK’?”

  “I told you that you’re in control in here.”

  “But you still think I’m in denial.”

  “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “You mean you’re admitting you made a mistake?”

  “Of course. I make mistakes all the time. Sometimes I think I see an opening and I charge in, and then I realize I should have taken it slower.”

  “I’ve made a lot of mistakes.”

  “I think you confuse your mistakes with his. You’re still protecting him. But he should have been the one protecting you. He was in a position of authority.”

  “You don’t really understand the situation.”

  “Help me understand.”

  “You said I could pump the brakes whenever I want. Well, I’m pumping them.”

  CHAPTER 15

  I’m fumbling, flailing, and emitting strangled cries. I’m harpooned here in the dark, suffocating. I’ve been swallowed. I’m in the belly of a whale, like that book I should have read in high school.

  I scream. I don’t know if anyone can hear me, but I have to try. I want to live. Sadie. I have to get back to her. I need to live, for her.

  I hear heavy footsteps, someone running. To save me or to hurt me? I don’t know. I should have stayed quiet. Maybe they didn’t even know I was here, whoever they are, wherever here is.

  Then I’m free. My bindings are lifted, and the room is flooded with light. It’s my bathroom, with the gray-blue tiles, like I’m being tossed on stormy seas. I’m breathing heavily, and I realize that I’d been under a blanket made by my mother-in-law, the kind of loose knit pattern that seems like a net. I’d never actually been trapped, but sometimes the illusion is enough. It’s like how people can drown in water a foot deep.

  “You scared the shit out of me,” Doug says accusingly. He’s breathing heavily, too, though I don’t know why. It’s a tiny house. Maybe we really do need to start riding our bikes. We’re in terrible shape.

  Well, I am, currently. My head is pounding; my stomach is roiling. I have to close my eyes against the fluorescent light.

  “Sorry,” I tell Doug. “First time drinking in a year. Regrets.”

  “Yeah.” His tone is bitter. “I bet.”

  I try to remember what I could have done to make him mad. Even at the height of my partying days, I never felt like this. This sick, with a cratered memory. I remember the spreadsheet, though; there’s no way I could forget that.

  “You were throwing up a lot,” Doug says, disapproving.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have drunk that much.”

  “Andie had to knock on the door and wake me up at one a.m. She needed me to come out and carry you out of her car, caveman-style. You were completely out. Like, unconscious but mumbling.”

  My chest tightens. “What was I mumbling?”

  “I couldn’t make it out. Neither could Andie. She said that it had taken four of the women to get you into her car.”

  I throw the blanket back over my head. “I am so mortified.”

  “Andie tried to make excuses for you. She said those drinks were hard-core. She only had one herself.”

  So Andie had stayed sober. Great. She’d remember everything.

  Doug squats down beside me. “Andie really likes you. She said she knows you’re going to be great friends.” His tone is scathing, like there are air quotes around “great friends.” I’m keeping the blanket over my head. I don’t want to see him right now. Don’t want to see his disgust.

  “Did you guys talk long?” I ask him.

  “She came in for a drink.”

  They used to call those late-night drinks “nightcaps.” It seems a little weird that Andie was having a nightcap with Doug while I was somewhere passed out. But Andie’s not someone I need to worry about. She opted ou
t; I definitely remember that.

  He says defensively, “I needed to stay up for a while to make sure you were OK. I couldn’t let you choke on your own vomit, could I? She offered to keep me company.”

  “I should have had one drink at most. I probably shouldn’t have even had that.” My breasts are heavy and leaking, or have already leaked. The front of my shirt is damp. I never did the pump and dump. I need to do it now.

  I throw off the blanket and stagger to my feet. I’m not drunk, not in my brain, but in my body.

  I’m still in last night’s clothes, so my phone is in the front pocket of my jeans. I hear an incoming text and I see that it’s one of many from Andie, including one that reads, I’ve never seen anyone that drunk!

  As if my face could grow any hotter.

  Thanks for getting me home last night, I text back. I’m so sorry about that. Did I do or say anything I’ll want to forget?

  No. You were a blast. Don’t worry at all. What are friends for? Then quick on the heels of that one, she writes, The whole point of girls’ night is to let your hair down. You partied like a rock star!!!

  No, the whole point of girls’ night is to get fresh meat for the spreadsheet.

  Well, I won’t be a regular, not once I tell them I’m opting out, but I’ll still have Andie.

  I hate not knowing exactly what happened last night. It’s part of why I stopped drinking entirely for a period in my twenties. I don’t want to have to ask other people what I did. I haven’t had this experience since I started seeing Dr. Morrison. Back then, I was trying to forget. Now, my life is entirely different. I have so much that I want to remember. Like Sadie.

  I feel like crying, I miss her so badly. I’m such a mess. We didn’t move here so she could have a wretch of a mother. Quite the opposite. “Is Sadie sleeping?”

  “Yes. But don’t worry about her. I fed her in the night. I was Father of the Year.” There’s no humor in the reference this time.

  “Thank you. I never worry when she’s with you.”

  He ignores my comment. “Do you need anything?” He’s in the bedroom doorway, watching me, waiting to be dismissed. “Tea or toast?”

  It’s like he can’t not ask me; it would go against his ethos. But he obviously doesn’t want me to say yes. His anger is palpable, and I don’t really get it. He’s the one who insisted I go out last night. So I overdid it. I don’t know my limits anymore. So he had to do a night feeding. It doesn’t seem like a reason to seethe.