“Exactly. You’re welcome,” I say as Simon drags me to a grassy knoll in the park.
“Well, did you break it, though? I mean, you’re the one using it.”
“I don’t use your closet. That’s gross.”
“I’m sorry, why is it gross to use my closet?”
“Because it still has some of your clothes in there. All those old radio station and coffee shop T-shirts you hang up—the rod must have finally given out. I wasn’t going to mix my girl clothes with your yucky boy clothes, okay?”
“You are so ridiculous,” he says, laughing.
“Don’t worry. I’m taking care of everything. The house is fine. And Cleo also had a message for you.”
“That so?” he says, sounding a little wary.
“She said she originally wasn’t going to forgive you for moving, but now she has because she discovered she prefers me.”
“You’re the worst,” he says, but there’s laughter in his tone. “Why did I rent to you?”
“Imagine if you had rented to somebody you didn’t even know, and then boom—they’re stealing your mail and trolling you with yard signs.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he says.
I say goodbye and flop down next to Simon, who rolls onto his back in the grass. He has the right idea.
I don’t sprawl on my back, but I do enjoy the rays for several minutes. I sit up, snapping a shot of my snoozing dog, then write a post for later with the caption:Mom made me run today. I feel like she’s trying to send me a message, but little does she know I’m not listening.
When I turn onto my block, I run into my brother’s crush checking her mail outside her townhome. I’ve talked to her a few times, since, well, nosy girl here. “Hey,Jessica,” I say to the pretty woman with the sleek black hair. She’s wearing a T-shirt that catches my eye—there’s a drawing of bees and the words Protect Pollinators on it. “Nice shirt.”
With a small smile, she plucks at the blue V-neck. “Thanks. I designed this one.”
I knew she was an illustrator, but had no idea she made cute T-shirts with sayings I love. “I hope it’s getting”—I pause theatrically—“all the buzz.”
She laughs kindly at my pun. “It is. I can’t keep them in stock, but I found a local distributor of fair-trade T-shirts—” She breaks off and waves a dismissive hand. “You don’t want to hear all the details.”
O ye of little faith. “Actually, I do.”
“Yeah?” She sounds enthused.
“One hundred percent.”
We chat for another fifteen minutes about her business and how she sources her hand-printed tees. I can’t get enough of the details. We’re kindred spirits, it seems. Then, with a reluctant sigh, she gestures to her home. “I should get back inside and do some more work. But,” she says, with a hopeful smile. “I’m traveling to Korea next week to see my mom. Is there any chance you could check the mail while I’m gone?”
“Absolutely,” I say, then exchange info with her.
After I say goodbye, I head up the steps to Adam’s home, my gaze swinging to another neighbor’s home. Ford’s place looks quiet. I don’t notice any movement inside. I pause by the door, Adam’s words echoing. He’s wise about the importance of getting along with neighbors. The world has both become more global and much smaller. From Jessica’s request to check her mail, to stories from friends of mine in Seattle who lost power after abomb cyclone several months ago and took turns with neighbors charging each other’s phones based on whose portable battery had the most power, it’s common sense to get along with your neighbor.
Not to date them.
When my phone dings with a text later that night from Ford as I’m making cauliflower mac and cheese, I figure it’s neighborly to answer. I’m just practicing goodgetting-alongskills. I swipe it open as I sprinkle the cheese into the casserole dish.
Ford: Remind me never to get on your dog’s bad side.
Skylar: Hate to break it to you, but you’re definitely at the top of his burn book.
Ford: I took him for a forgiving guy. My bad.
Skylar: Just kidding. He loves everything, even ornery people. Well, everything except exercise. He rebelled today when I took him jogging.
