“I don’t want Pat to be upset.”
“Believe me, Patrick can use a heavy dose of supervising his spawn.”
I half laughed, because Pat could use some alone time with his kids. He didn’t appreciate his wife, didn’t see how much she did behind the scenes. Mary was one of those superhumans. She worked, raised her kids, cooked, and looked good doing it all. I didn’t understand how Pat didn’t know how damn lucky he was in life, marriage, all of it.
“I don’t really want to go out, but you’re not going to let me out of this, are you?”
I hated going out. It was different than teaching. It was a glaring reminder of how everyone was living around me. Smiling, making conversation, kissing, touching, loving, even fighting—none of which I was doing. But I knew Mary wasn’t going to back down. Score: Mary, 1. Claire, 0.
“I’m already shimmying out of my swimsuit and putting on my lace thong. Clock’s ticking. Slipping my legs into jeans…”
It wasn’t until a cocktail each and a shared bottle of wine later that Mary and I stumbled back to my house from a hole-in-the-wall bar a few blocks away. Proximity was one advantage of living in a one-stop college town.
A disadvantage of living in a one-stop college town: turning around with a drink in your hand only to find a student. It was the worst-possible scenario. Fortunately, Clive’s Place catered to professors, with its lackluster décor and imposing bouncer at the door.
“Let’s have a smoke. And then I’ll Uber home, ’kay?” Mary whispered in my ear, always mindful of who could be listening around these parts.
As if there was anyone in my life who’d care.
Yet, I still answered with false hope. “Let’s go around back. I don’t like to smoke in the house.”
“I don’t care where we smoke. I just need one quickie before I head back to the brood.”
We walked around my house and slipped down the path to the yard, Mary’s heels clicking on the concrete, her words echoing against the dusk.Click, click, click.
“Oh shit!” Mary’s click-clacking came to a sudden halt. Luckily, I hadn’t acquiesced to her earlier demands and insisted on strappy sandals, or I’d have toppled right over her when I collided with her back.
“Holy shit, never, ever underestimate the power of a therapist. I still got that touch. Ding, ding.” Mary didn’t even try to whisper in the night.
Shit is right. In my drunken, foggy state, I’d forgotten why I didn’t want Mary to come over. When she’d arrived, I was already waiting on the stairs. I’d grabbed her arm and skipped her down to Clive’s like I’d meant business. It was out of character, but she’d winked and declared a victory in getting me to live life.
“Ladies,” he said, his voice like hot tea with honey coating a sore throat. There were no words for the slight chin dip that accompanied his greeting. I was so undersexed and repressed, his stubbled jaw made way more than my blood flow.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” I witnessed Mary take in his well-worn jeans, light gray V-neck T-shirt, and mussed hair. He looked like he’d just gone three rounds in bed. Hopefully, he had…and he was just being a friendly neighbor on a summer’s night.
“Mary, shhh. He’s probably a student.”
“Not a student,” Aiken declared as he slid back behind the poor excuse of a fence between our properties.
“See?” Mary winked, then shoved her hand over the fence. “I’m Mary.”
“Aiken. I just moved in.” He jutted his thumb behind him, indicating the yellow clapboard house, before extending his hand to her.
“What were you doing on my side of the fence?” I couldn’t help but wonder.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. Noticed you had a floodlight out, and I was just checking to see what type of bulb it took. I don’t have any, but I was considering picking one up. As a peace offering…”
I didn’t respond. Really. I couldn’t find my words. I’d lost them somewhere in betweenchecking to see what type of bulbandpeace offering.
Mary rescued me. “You’ve got a great house.”
And then she didn’t. “We looked at it when it first came on the market. For fun. Neither of us needed a house. I live over on the other side of campus, one of those boring developments with cookie-cutter houses, mostly cookie-cutter families. In other words, capital B boring. Here’s better, close walking to a lot of places, food, drinks, the mini-mart. I adore your house.”
“You’re rambling, Mary. Probablyboringmy new neighbor. Come on, I’ll call you an Uber.”
“We were just going to have a smoke.” Mary gave a flirtatious wink. “And since you’ve confirmed you’re not a student, why don’t you join us?”
Aiken’s mouth smirked at me, the corner turned up, and for some reason, I felt playful. Alive, even in the damp, humid night.
