“Just ... listen, I’m nice, okay?” I finally plead, exhausted by J and Ari and now this unexpected emergence. “I keep to myself. I’m a goodneighbor. I’ve had a long day, and I just want some peace and quiet. Is that too much to ask for?”
I can see the way this unexpected admittance hits him. Part of my job is recognizing when someone softens, even when they don’t want to. And I can tell he has, even if his defiant crossed-arms stance is still his default.
“I was just hanging up some pictures. I’ll do it tomorrow,” he mumbles.
“Thank you,” I say.
I’m not so thrilled that this new plan for standing up for myself was usurped by what amounted to pathetic begging, but at least I’m getting somewhere. Maybe my normal tactics shouldn’t all be so easily thrown aside.
“But just as an FYI,” he says, before I can even breathe a sigh of relief, “Iamgoing to be doing a fair amount of work during the days. And part of what my nan owned was a section of the roof. She never did anything with it, but I’m going to. I’m adding a sitting area and plants and connecting the gas line up there so I can have a barbecue.”
I stare at him, all my optimism once again drained. I know exactly what part of the roof Esther owned—it’s the part right aboveme.
No one in this building has ever cared one iota about developing the roof, even the common areas that we all own together. When the building was turned into a co-op, some members that put in more money were assigned little plots on the roof as well. But since everyone here wasn’t exactly what you’d describe as outdoorsy, no one ever did anything with them. The elevator doesn’t even go up there. You’d have to get off on the tenth floor right in front of my apartment and then walk up the stairs.
The prospect of which means that the noise he’s making by hammering a few photos into the wall is nothing. His devil-may-care self could have parties on the roof at all hours, and they’ll stumble in and out in front of my apartment and then turn on loud music right above my head. His construction could create leaks that I’d never know thesource of. Even small noise above us could throw George off his already, admittedly, wonky equilibrium.
This whole plan is my nightmare. George being more uncomfortable in his already-tight skin is my most-specific particular nightmare.
“I don’t think you’re allowed to do that,” I say quietly, not confident at all in what I’m saying but wishing desperately for it to be true.
But instead of clocking my nervousness, he snorts, almost seeming like he’s enjoying the back-and-forth. “Oh, I’m allowed to. I have to place a flooring barrier between the actual roof and whatever I’m doing, but I have it all planned out. I just need the formality of getting it okayed by the board at their next monthly meeting, and then it’s starting.”
“The board isn’t going to let you create an outdoor rager pad on the top of our building,” I hear myself stutter, not even really sure of what I’m saying.
“An ‘outdoor rager pad’?” The amusement radiates out of him, and I hate that it’s at my expense.
“This is a quiet building,” I point out, my own quietude reaffirming the point. “It’s a co-op. We’re all good neighbors. And they’ve known me for a long time now. They’re not going to let you build something right on top of me without any oversight.”
I hate the way he laughs like he knows something I don’t. “Nora, my nan lived here for almost fifty years. I’ve been visiting her since I was born. They loved her, and they’ve known me forever. They’re not going to block a perfectly legal minor construction project because it makes someone they’ve known a few years sad. I’m going to do exactly what I’ve carefully planned to do, and you don’t get to stop me.”
There’s something about his overconfidence that bolsters me, as though he’s nothing more than a schoolyard bully enjoying pulling at a small girl’s pigtails. I think about everything Ari said to me today and my determination to not stay in the same patterns I’ve always been in. The normal Nora would let this assured man talk her out of takingaction. But I’m not doing that today. I’m strong enough to push back. I stand up straighter.
“It’s funny that you want to say you’re so close to everyone, when I’ve never even seen you here a single time in the last five years. And Meryl, Tom, and Kwan had onlyheardabout you when I spoke to them today, so I know that you’re not exactly a frequent visitor. If you wanted to go about this as a nice person, I wouldn’t mind. You’re correct that you have a right to that space. But you’re standing here mocking me, belittling me, and questioning my professionalism.”
If he blanched at my explanation, it was only for a millisecond, because by the end he seems to be back in sparring mode. “And so what? Now you’re going to fight me on it?”
“Maybe!” I say, wishing I could’ve come out with something stronger but still a little shocked by even my own hint of antagonism.
And before I can regret my uncharacteristic sort-of-declaration, I turn on my heel and walk straight out the door, into the stairwell.
Chapter 5
In the week since my run-in with Eli, I’m ashamed to say I’ve spent a large chunk of my free time reading the building bylaws and googling articles about co-op disputes. I’ve written and rewritten a letter to the board apprising them of Eli’s plans, trying to explain why they’re a bad idea. But I haven’t had the gumption to send it.
My best friend, Dane, is an urban gardener (which in New York City mostly means she plants tiny gardens for people in brownstones with a “yard” and creates living plant walls for companies that want to look like they’re ecofriendly while actually sucking up a ton of water), so I’ve pestered her a lot about every potential hazard that could come with rooftop gardens. Those notes have made it into various versions of my letter, but I keep deleting portions when it looks too petty. Maybe knowing about the specific growing mediums for rooftops and the percentage of perlite you should add to maintain a healthy roof makes me seem a bit over the top.
It also doesn’t help that every time I ask Dane another question, she responds with some version of “calm the hell down.”
I’ve thought about mentioning Eli to my neighbors every time I run into them, but I chicken out at each opportunity. It’s as though my people-pleasing gene can’t possibly be switched off in order to even attempt to pick a real fight.
When Kwan came to drop off Lucy on Saturday night, I didn’t even bring it up then, even though he was in my apartment with his dog. Wetalked at length about the visit he was going to have with his daughter in Baltimore and had a long chat about whether we felt the strawberries at the farmers’ market had reached peak yet (the mutual decision was “not quite”). But I couldn’t think of a way to ask whether he’d heard any rumblings about renovations without sounding like I had another agenda. So I left it.
Ari reminded me in our session yesterday that I’vealsoleft another thing to fester. I walked in ready to complain about Eli and also nitpick something my brother had said, and instead she immediately asked me what I’ve decided about J. When I admitted I’d pretty much actively avoided thinking about it, I got a lovely little lecture about the need to put myself first and not bury hard things.
I know she’s not wrong. But after that conversation, trying to go to sleep last night was like a master class in failure. Ari’s words floated in my mind along with J’s, like letters in a thick alphabet soup. After last week’s column’s heavy confessions, this week’s led to much lighter conversation. A woman had asked a question about the ethics of having sex dreams about someone other than your spouse.
??Is it weird that all of my dreams are mostly about obtaining food???J commented.??Like, why do you think some people are having their kinky sex dreams and I’m over here having dreams where I keep running and running to try and get my mum’s shepherd’s pie???
