Despite the best efforts of succeeding generations to customize paint and additions, the homes still look basically the same. All three bedroom, two bath, on narrow lots with vegetable gardens in the back, along with sheds or carports. With a little digging, I discovered where Johanna and Corin live, in a slightly posher neighborhood than Nathan. I’m definitely on the lower side of income compared to them, but I’ve belonged here for decades. It’s home.
“Gloria and I decided to stay in our sides of the house,” I say as I drive by the front and point out our building, her half painted bright green two years ago and mine a slightly-faded yellow needing a refresh this spring, “and raise the children together. Took a lot of work, but we made it.”
“Mm.” He’s staring again, no doubt drinking in all manner of details: the hammock on their half of the porch, the soccer ball sitting in the middle of the hard-earth lawn—even hardy groundcover can’t survive the amount of running that yard gets.
As we pull around the side, his eyebrows raise because the same is true of part of our combined backyards.
“Took more work when she married Paul, but he became a friend in the end. They still live next door, with four more children between them. The kids call him ‘Papa’ and me ‘Dad,’ though I’m more of a favorite uncle who happens to live next door.” I pull to a stop in my usual spot and turn off the car. Thesudden lack of vibration is a relief, although now, the whine of the wind comes through more clearly.
He grunts again, not completely steady as we emerge. He holds onto the frame until he gets his bearings. I’m used to the shift, so I pop out with no trouble.
“The children are why I still have this zipzap.” I bang the top, stomach rumbling as much from tension as hunger; he’s not reacted with anything other than grunts. “I made the same bargain with them I did with the twins: they can call me if they’re ever out and need a ride home or need to get away from a situation, and I’ll pick them up, and I won’t be angry. I might lecture them, but I won’t be angry. Most popular hangouts are down in the city, closer to your neck of the woods, so this comes in handy.”
Corin faces the yard, head slowly swiveling from left to right. A bare patch fills most of the lot, evidence that children make no distinction between Gloria and Paul’s half and my side. Two large, wire-fenced gardens cover the rest, with compost bins on either side and a wide path between them; the carefully delineated vegetable beds are mostly dry and covered with old mulch and leaves.
He rounds the zipzap and pulls off a glove, extending his bare hand. “I wouldn’t have been able to do that with my ex. It’s a privilege to know you.”
He’s warm to the touch, in sharp contrast to the bitter gust whirling around our joined hands. He holds on longer than I expect, fingers brushing my palm as he finally pulls away. Heat pulses through my veins in response. Despite the wind, a warm cedar scent rolls off him, and I’m not sure I want to know what my scent says about me.
I swallow hard and lead the way to the back door. The hinges creak—a reminder I haven’t oiled recently—but it opens readily.
“You don’t keep it locked?” Corin’s following close enough that his breath warms my ears.
“I try, but most of the time, there doesn’t seem to be a point.” We enter the kitchen to a demonstration of why I don’t bother, although the person facing us, Sidney, is seventeen and the eldest of my twins’ siblings, rather than whom I expected: Gloria, my co-parent who theoretically holds my spare key safe and sacred. In reality, she lets the kids use it whenever she feels like it.
“You’re out of apple chips, Dad.” Sidney slams a drawer shut as they turn to face us, giving me a brief smile in passing, but focusing on Corin. They take a broad stance, sizing him up, scruffy tennis shoes planted firm on the blue tiled floor. Their posture gives their ragged, slashed jeans and matching long-sleeved t-shirt an almost-businesslike air.
“The grocery store delivery comes Monday—and what are you doing here, anyway? Don’t you have school?” If set side by side with my biological children, it’s possible to trace differences in facial features and actual body lines. Otherwise, seeing Sidney always offers a visceral memory of when the twins were their age, for they all share their mother’s overall appearance with long, wavy black hair usually kept in one or two braids, tawny skin with ocher undertones, and hardly a straight line anywhere on their bodies.
“Nope. Teacher service day.”
“At least Deborah and Derrick are still at work.” I turn to Corin, mouth twisting to one side in a failed attempt to hide amusement at the way the universe has upended our plans. “It’s a small mercy that you’re only facing their oldest sibling. This is Sidney. Sid, Corin—a friend of mine. Be nice.”
“Nice work, Dad,” Sidney gives Corin a once-over, probably thinking they’re being discreet. Then, they wink at me, offeringtheir hand to Corin, who shakes it without qualm. “But rumor says he’smorethan a friend.”
“‘Rumor’ being Deborah. Who do you think bribed us to come check things out since she has to work, anyway?” Vera appears in the door between kitchen, a slightly smaller and three-years-younger version of Sidney, though the end of her braid is ragged where she regularly chews it.
“This is Vera,” I tell Corin, who calmly shakes her hand as well.
“The younger twins are confined to their room until after lunch for bad behavior, or they’d be here too,” Vera says, smiling shyly up at Corin.
“Younger twins?” Corin asks, a hint of an unexpected dimple flickering in his cheek as he turns to me.
“‘The twins’ means Deborah and Derrick. The ‘younger twins’ are their youngest siblings, Keen and Karr, and they’re ...” I search for an acceptable word.
“Hellions,” Gloria says dryly from the doorway behind us. Corin and I both start, not having heard her approach.
His gaze flickers from her to her children. The resemblance clear is although Gloria is mature version, well settled into her curves and accepting the slow invasion of gray into her hair. We have no sexual interest in each other whatsoever these days. Even so, I can appreciate the picture she offers, all curves and hills and valleys.
She jerks her head at Sidney and Vera.
They nod and slip out of the room, Sidney turning to wave good-bye and give a cheeky “Nice knowing you, Corin.”
“You must be Gloria. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Corin offers his hand again.
“And you’re Corin, one of the three interested in Dan.” She looks him up and down. Certain elements of her expression hint at admiration, but one has to know her to notice. Her poker facehas developed over years of studying her reflection—I’ve caught her at it on occasion.
They shake hands; then, Gloria steps back and gives him a level glare.
