Neighborly

by Ellie Monago

  I crumple into the chair.

  A nurse comes in at just that moment. She’s young and perky, pretty but for an astonishing overbite. “Hi,” she says with a slight Southern twang. “I’m Kendall.”

  “Hi,” I say listlessly.

  There’s a sweetness to Kendall, an innocence, but I wish Sadie had someone a little more seasoned.

  Kendall checks Sadie’s vitals. She’s bad at the baby blood pressure cuff and has to redo it. Sadie wakes with an earsplitting cry.

  I look up, almost happy. “That’s Sadie’s cry,” I say. “The angry cry. Distinctive as a fingerprint.”

  I move behind the Plexiglas cube and put my hands flat against Sadie’s cheeks. I tell her it’ll be OK. The cries continue, louder, if that’s possible, and still, this is the happiest I’ve been since I brought Sadie to the ER. “You tell ’em, girl!” I say.

  We listen to the symphony of Sadie’s machines, in concert with the machines behind all the other curtains. My joy fades. Doug should have been back at the hospital a while ago; it doesn’t take two hours to shower. Should I text him and tell him that Sadie did her angry cry? He hasn’t answered my other messages.

  “Could you maybe go find Doug for me?” It might seem like a strange request, but it’s not like she’s a threat. She’s not going to seduce Doug in a hospital.

  “Where do you think he is?”

  “I don’t know. The cafeteria, maybe? Somewhere with his parents? He hasn’t answered my texts.” I’m a little embarrassed to say it. But I can’t leave Sadie alone while I try to find her wayward father. “He’s having trouble with this whole thing.”

  “It’s hard having a baby in the hospital, no doubt.”

  “I feel like maybe he blames me, because I was the one home with her when she got sick.”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t blame you.”

  “I didn’t have much of a mother. Melody, Doug’s mother, was apparently the perfect mom.”

  An inscrutable expression crosses her face. “No one gets the perfect mom.”

  “Melody thinks that I can’t possibly be expected to know what I’m doing because of my own mother. She condescends to me all the time.” What I’m really afraid of is that she’s fueling Doug’s negativity about me. She’s always thought I’d be a disappointment as a mother, and now he does, too. “But maybe Melody’s right. Maybe she would have known her baby was sick much earlier than I did. Maybe I didn’t take care of Sadie the way I should have.”

  “You did the best you could, Katrina.”

  My head snaps up, and my stomach drops. No one in the AV calls me Katrina.

  Seeing my reaction, she explains, “That’s what Melody and Scott called you, when I ran into them in the hospital room.”

  It makes sense. But still. “I go by Kat. You know that.”

  “You’re a great mom, Kat. You are. The whole block can see it.”

  What else can the whole block see, I wonder? Not for the first time.

  CHAPTER 26

  ELLEN

  The anger keeps coming back to me, little aftershocks. I try to stop thinking about what Katrina said about perfect mothers.

  I had a perfect mother, and Katrina killed her.

  Technically, it was cancer, but it wasn’t even a year after our world came crashing down. I know what really caused her death. It was humiliation. I almost died of it, too.

  But I managed to get through, and I became a mother, and that allowed me to let go of so much of the anger. My transformation—both physical and emotional—was complete with that baby in my arms.

  The AV helped, too. To come from where I did, with all the losses and pain and the infamy, to a place of initial anonymity and, later, full acceptance and love . . . it brought me back to life. And now Katrina wants to take it away. She wants to co-opt it and make it hers.

  I will not let her destroy this new family of mine, the AV family, like she did the last.

  Speaking of home, I’ve been neglecting my duties because I’ve been so consumed with Katrina. There’s barely any food in the house, so I have to stop off at Trader Joe’s, where I immediately run into Val and Patrick. It’s the one downside of my new life: when I want to be anonymous again, I can’t really pull it off.

  Val asks immediately about Sadie, and she and Patrick both look shaken up when I tell them that there’s been no change.

  “I can’t imagine,” Val murmurs.

  “Our kids were always so healthy,” Patrick says. While he seems genuinely sad, he can’t keep his eyes from grazing my chest. Maybe what he’s saddest about is that he never got the chance to try and seduce Katrina. Kat—I have to remember to start using that name in my head, otherwise “Katrina” is going to slip out again. I had to do a lot of trust building and damage control to come back from that.

  I can never see Val without thinking of the stripper pole she installed in their walk-in closet and the private lessons she took on how to use it. All that, and Patrick still strays. You just can’t keep some people on their leash. Of course, he has permission, but everyone knows—and Patrick must realize—that Val doesn’t want an open marriage. She knows it’s either give permission or he’ll just do it anyway behind her back. Not on the block, we’d respect their opt-out, but there’s a whole world out there.

  For a while, the spreadsheet said Val was available for casual flings, no overnights, never in her own bed. According to Brandon, there were no takers, so she changed it to say she was off-limits. Maybe that was for pride’s sake, or maybe she thought that men would want what they couldn’t have and it would create some interest. As far as I know, that never happened.

  Even with the supposed feminism of openness, a sixty-three-year-old man does better than a fifty-five-year-old woman. Patrick’s been with a surprising number of the spreadsheet’s women. His reputation does a lot of the heavy lifting: he’ll give and give, and he gets off on that so fully that he never needs to receive. That tongue of his is legendary. It knows just where to go, it never gets tired, and the beauty of it is, since you don’t have to see his face, you can just fantasize about whoever you want, for hours.

  The other good thing about Patrick is that he takes rejection well. He just backs away, hands in the air to show he’s harmless, no pressure, no hard feelings. Some others on the block should take notes.

  Revenge fucking, trophy scoring, saying “I love you” only to be dumped immediately, sexual obsession . . . Not to mention, there’s never enough time for balancing/juggling the spouse and the kids with an outside person; something has to give; it’s a scheduling and logistical nightmare. The spouse feels neglected, the household chores are neglected, and sexual needs go unfulfilled because one person is already fulfilled on the outside, so then the other might have to go seeking, causing the same scenarios but in reverse. And while the husband can try to satisfy his wife with his hand or mouth, his lover is often getting the dick. So there’s loneliness, resentment, and loss, but somehow, no one wants to stop, because the carousel ride itself is addictive, because everyone else is doing it, and who said peer pressure stops at a certain age? It doesn’t; it goes on and on and on . . .

  Would I live anywhere else, though? No, I wouldn’t. These are my best friends, and we’re in it together, no matter what. The system we’ve crafted is complex and, at times, downright ugly, but there’s love and beauty in it, too. And sex, of course. Lots of that. It beats all the alternatives. Families are messy. Maybe that was the problem with my family growing up. It was too good to be true.

  No, it wasn’t too good. It just seemed that way to other people, so they wanted to tear it down. They envied us, Katrina most of all. That’s the only explanation I’ve ever been able to come up with for how she could do what she did.

  But enough about Katrina—Kat—for one day. I need to think happy thoughts. Funny thoughts.

  I remember when Brandon first told me about the stripper pole and the lessons, and we couldn’t stop giggling over the image of Val suspended fr
om it, naked but for the fanny pack, while Patrick texted other women on the block madly to see who was available for some quickie cunnilingus. Brandon and I used to laugh together and then say how bad we were being, and that we needed to stop, poor Val, and then we’d laugh some more. Because sometimes it’s just good to be bad.

  Ilsa didn’t agree. That’s why she and Nils had to go.

  “I’ve texted Kat, but she hasn’t responded,” Val says. “I don’t have Doug’s number. Could you just let them know we’re thinking of them? As soon as they’re comfortable having more visitors, we’d love to see them. You’re sure we can’t bring them a lasagna or something?”

  “I’m sure. They just want space.”

  “Of course,” Patrick says, his eyes again stopping at my breasts. I don’t even mind. It’s just a quirk of his, a tic.

  Val sees it, and she clearly does mind.

  “I should buy this stuff.” I indicate the contents of my cart. “And get back to the hospital.”

  Later that day, when I arrive, Doug and Kat are whispering heatedly. I try to loiter outside the curtain to make out their words, but Kendall calls out a greeting to me and when I answer, the voices cease.

  “Hey,” I say, drawing back the curtain.

  “Hey!” Doug is too hearty, as usual. Kat looks upset as she squeezes out a hi.

  “Is it a bad time?”

  “Not at all,” Doug answers as Kat says, “Yes.” She adds, “Doug was just headed out to the waiting room. You can walk with him.” She won’t look at him as she tells him to send in his mom or dad, whoever. The implication is clear: she’ll take anyone over him at the moment.

  Doug and I head out into the hall, removing our gowns on the way.

  I put my hand on Doug’s arm, stalling his progress. He’s in jeans and a T-shirt with a tiny hole at the collar, wearing way too much cologne. The bags under his eyes aren’t nearly as pronounced as Kat’s. “Are you OK?” I ask him. It wouldn’t hurt to buddy up to him, try to get some information or give some, depending on what’s most advantageous to me. His rift with Kat could pay dividends, especially since he and his parents own the house that I want Kat to vacate.

  I sense his uncertainty. He’s not sure how to play this. His veil is different, yet in his way, he’s guarded, too. He hides behind layers of joviality.

  “I’m holding my own,” he says. “I just need to support Kat. She can be kind of fragile.”

  Yeah, dude, you really seemed to be supporting her back behind that curtain. “Were you mad at each other? It was kind of intense in there.”

  His eyes darken. “It can be intense having a sick baby. You should know, right?”

  So Kat told him my lie. But from his tone, I’m not sure he believes it. “Yes,” I say, “I know.”

  “It seems like you and Kat have gotten pretty close, pretty quickly.”

  “We understand each other.”

  He colors. He’s wondering what I know that he doesn’t. “Is there a reason you’re the AV’s representative?”

  “I was the first to volunteer, and now Kat doesn’t want anyone else just showing up. She trusts me.”

  “And what about what I want? Who I trust?”

  “They’re assuming Kat speaks for both of you. Doesn’t she?”

  “I like people!” he nearly yells. A nurse walking by casts him a quick reproving glance, and he gives her a reflexive smile. That’s his tic. “I like people,” he says softly. “We moved to the AV to have them around, and now she’s making the executive decision to only have you here.”

  “Well,” I say finally, “talk to your wife about it.”

  He turns and stalks away, leaving me to follow him.

  In the waiting room, I see someone he’d apparently prefer. It’s Andie, in a halter dress and high-heeled sandals. Doug seems happy to see her, yet not surprised. Did he call her? Or did she call him? The block knows to go through me, but Andie’s not exactly on the block.

  She’s sitting beside Doug’s parents, and they’re all talking like old friends. Andie’s good at forging connections with people immediately. It’s crossed my mind before that it’s an act, just a really good one, but Nolan assures me that Andie is 100 percent real. And I have to admit, the vast majority of the time I’m as captivated by Andie as everyone else. She’s like the cheerleader that you just can’t manage to hate, because she’s rooting for you, too. She has a star quality that somehow only burns brighter because she reveals just enough of her foibles—her messy car, her shyness at girls’ night, the bitten nails with the hundred-dollar manicure.

  Scott has his finger in a paperback spy thriller, holding his place, while Andie and Melody talk with great animation. At Doug’s entrance, Andie leaps to her feet and embraces him, rubbing his back in a way that seems far too intimate. But Andie is a truly friendly person, and an empathetic one, so perhaps I’m misreading the situation. Andie’s the one who wanted to opt out of the spreadsheet. No one questions her love for Nolan.

  When she sees me behind Doug, she releases him immediately. She greets me with an equally giant hug, sans the back rub, almost like she’s trying to illustrate just how normal her previous one had been. But then, Andie is a touchy-feely sort of person.

  “You met Andie?” Doug asks his parents.

  “She introduced herself,” Melody says approvingly.

  “Sadie’s vitals were stable all last night and today,” Doug reports. “No diarrhea, no fever.” Doug grins. “The tests and cultures have all come back, and they’re negative. If everything stays normal through tomorrow, this could be her last night in the PICU.”

  “That’s great news,” Melody says.

  “Damn straight,” Scott seconds.

  “You must be so relieved.” Andie gives Doug one of her sweet smiles.

  “I’m feeling pretty good,” Doug says. Then why did it look so awful between him and Kat just a few minutes ago? You’d think Sadie’s recovery would have brought them together. “If all goes well, Sadie’ll move to a regular hospital room for observation, and then she comes home.”

  My emotions are a complicated brew. I’m happy that Sadie’s turned a corner. I’d love to see her acting like a normal baby again—squirming and squalling and laughing. But it means that I have a lot of work left and not much time. At the hospital, I can just keep stopping by, but once Kat’s home, I’ll need to be invited in. She could freeze me out so easily. She could connect with the other women, who’ll greet her like a returning hero. This is a very loving neighborhood, after all. A forgiving one, too.

  That’s why I moved here. Unlike the other couples, I already knew about openness, and I was trying to get in. Not just to the AV but to that very block.

  Really, I was recruited. No, that’s too strong a word. Lured. No, still wrong. It’s more like I was convinced, told that it would help my marriage, and I believed that it would.

  Through years of experience and observation, here’s what I’ve learned: when openness works, it works because it’s temporary. People can talk differently and flirt differently because they don’t have to look each other in the eyes for the rest of their lives. They avoid the routine. They don’t have to do the boring stuff, like getting the kids ready for school. They’ll never depend on each other. They can fuck without giving a fuck.

  Sex slows down in marriage because it’s hard to really share yourself with someone, tell them everything about yourself, and then still want them sexually. Openness tries to give people a way around that, and sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn’t. But I love that the AV lets you try.

  “Well, let’s go celebrate,” Scott says, getting to his feet. “Should we take a trip to the cafeteria?”

  “I’ve barely been eating, but all of a sudden, I’m ravenous,” Doug says. He asks Andie if she wants to go with them. I’m conspicuously left out.

  Melody and Scott probably wish Kat was more like Andie—poised, expensively dressed, with impeccable social graces. Kat probably wishes that he
rself.

  I hate when I start feeling sorry for Katrina.

  Melody has wound her arm through Scott’s, and they’re about to head to the cafeteria. I’m hoping Andie will go with them, and then I can get some alone time with Kat.

  But instead, Andie turns to Doug and then to me, asking, “Could I be the one to go in next? I haven’t seen Kat or Sadie in days.”

  “Sure.” Doug smiles at her like she’s a real gem. He continues to ignore me.

  “I’ll go in afterward,” I say quickly.

  Andie picks up a bulging canvas bag from one of the chairs. “I brought Kat some things.” She holds up items one at a time, brandishing them like a spokesmodel. There’s pricey shampoo, conditioner, and body wash; a travel-size blow-dryer; and layers of clothes (T-shirts, a lightweight cardigan, and yoga pants, all of them expensive with the tags still on). So Kat can smell—and dress—like Andie.

  The way Andie’s looking at Doug, and that bag for Kat . . . If I didn’t know Andie better, if I wasn’t so sure of her love for Nolan, I’d think something strange was going on. But what I know and what I’ll tell Kat are two very different things.

  “I also brought energy drinks and snacks, and some books and toys for Sadie,” Andie continues.

  “Looks like you thought of everything!” Doug says admiringly.

  He’s not talking about me, but he should have been.

  CHAPTER 27

  KAT

  “Could I hold her?” she asks.

  I’m surprised by my reaction, which is nearly feral. I clutch Sadie in an involuntary spasm, a protective instinct. No, a maternal instinct.

  She takes it in stride. “Now that she’s finally better, I can understand you not wanting to let go of her,” she says.

  We’re both wearing our masks, which serves to intensify our eye contact. I just feel like I know her. She’s here for me, and I need that. Especially after Andie’s visit, which was unsettling to say the least. All those questions about how Doug’s holding up, how our marriage is holding up, but nothing about how I’m holding up. And that mini-me bag. It all felt off.