No one would ever say that I’m very spatially aware. I’m the person that either tries to shove way too much food into a small Tupperware container, or the container only ends up half full and the food rots because of all the extra air. My mother gives me grief about it all the time.
So I should have known better than to try and fit a cooler into the back of my new car. The trunk is a lot smaller than the SUV I had, but did I bother to notice that before trying to shove the Igloo in? Nope. And now it’s stuck.
“Come on, Mom!” Fiona yells from her seat as the car bounces up and down every time I tug. “We’re going to be late.”
I grunt out a response. “I’m… going… as fast… as I can.”
She sighs so loudly I can hear her back here, and I’m positive she rolled her eyes. I’m not sure when my sweet girl turned into a bossy pants, but I could have sworn puberty isn’t supposed to start at eight years old.
“Oh my goodness, do you need help?” A woman, who I assume is the new neighbor, comes racing across the grass. The first thing I notice is that she has a beautiful smile. Her bright white teeth are accentuated by her light brown skin and her dark hair is held back by a tie-dyed bandana. I haven’t even spoken to her yet and she already seems to exude happiness.
This is completely contrary to the weirdness that happened in that house yesterday. Maybe she has a special needs child living with her. Or maybe a drunk uncle. Or a Norman Bates. I shiver thinking about how creepy the house is going to be at Halloween. Those big candy bars may not be worth it this year.
I realize I’m completely bonkers with this line of thought, but hey, you can never be too careful.
“Are you trying to get it in or out?” she asks when she reaches my driveway.
“Out. I misjudged the size of the hatch.”
She giggles and I immediately like her. Especially when she says, “I do that all the time.” It’s nice to know someone understands me since my own mother would laugh at me for this.
I also realize she looks strangely familiar. But before I can inquire as to if we’ve met before, she grabs hold of the cooler. “Ready?” I nod and grab the other end. “Pull on three. One…two…three…”
We pull and jiggle and pull some more, but in less than a minute, the cooler is back on the driveway, us huffing from the exertion. “Thanks,” I puff out.
“Oh it’s no problem. I’m Joie, by the way.” She reaches her hand out to shake mine.
“Elena. Nice to meet you.”
“You, too.” She leans over and peeks in the window of the car. “And these are your girls?”
The way she says it gives me that creep factor again. I can’t tell for sure, but it almost seems like she already knew I had girls.
“Um… yes,” I say slowly.
She looks at me, realization dawning on her face, but then she smiles. “The realtor mentioned you had little girls when I said my niece would be staying over sometimes. I asked when I saw the swing set.”
“Oh, of course.” I feel like a fool because her explanation makes complete sense. I would be curious about children in the neighborhood if I moved, too. “Do you not have children?”
“I have a son, Isaac, but he’s off at college now.”
“Wow, you don’t look old enough to have a college kid.” I wouldn’t have pegged her to be older than thirty-five, and even that’s pushing it.
She giggles again and her infectious laugh puts me at ease. How does she do that? One minute I'm thinking I live next to a serial killer, the next I want to be invited to her house for tea. This is how they do it, I think to myself. This is how they draw you in and make you trust them.
I really need to stop watching the Investigation Channel before bed.
“I was really young when I had him,” she explains. “But he turned out great. Plays football for Flinton State now.”
“That’s not too far away.” I grab the handle of the cooler and drag it over to the passenger side. Once I move the front seat back, I know it’ll fit. Max won’t have any leg room, but she’s short. She’ll be fine.
“Far enough away for him to have a life, but not so far that I never see him. It works.” She helps me heave the container into the car and what do you know? There’s too much room and I have to move the seat forward again.
There’s either too little room in the trunk or too much in the front. Just like with the Tupperware. I should never be in charge of packing a moving van.
“Anyway,” she says as I shut the car, “I’m sure you have a busy day. I wanted to introduce myself.”
“Yeah, I’m glad you did. Welcome to the neighborhood.”
Watching her walk away as I climb into my car, I still can’t get a good read on her, but I can’t shake the feeling that I know her from somewhere. The entire ride to the playground, in between answering eighty bazillion “why” questions and breaking up a few fights over leg room, I think about where I’ve seen her before.
By the time we get to the park, I’m no closer to the answer. But I am closer to lunch time and I’m getting hungry. Coffee for breakfast doesn’t seem to cut it anymore.
The girls take off running with excited shouts while I heave the cooler out of the front seat and drag it to the picnic table Callie has commandeered. It doesn’t surprise me she showed up early. Keeping Christopher contained at home for too long always results in something breaking… a knickknack, a favorite toy, spindles of the staircase when his head gets stuck.
“Hey,” she greets me, clicking off her phone and putting it down to help me unload. “What did you bring?”
It was my week to bring lunch for everyone but after working all week, I didn’t put in much effort. “Peanut butter and jelly.”
She crinkles her nose in disgust. “Ew.”
“I made us ham and cheese,” I clarify.
The look on her face immediately changes. “Yay!”
“Please. You think I’m going to eat P-B-and-J? I practically have a gag reflex smearing the peanut butter on the bread.”
“Then why do you make your kids eat it?” she asks through the bite she just took. “Mmmm,” she moans, eyes closed as she enjoys.
“It’s a rite of passage,” I respond, tossing the rest of the sandwiches on the table along with apple slices and a giant bag of barbeque chips. “My mom tortured me with it when I was a child, so I’m torturing my own kids with it.”
She shrugs one shoulder. “Plus it’s cheap.”
“Exactly.”
She swallows and takes a drink before speaking again. “Did you meet the new neighbors yet?”
My turn to crinkle my nose. “Yes.”
“What? You say that weird. What’s wrong?”
“She seems nice, but…” I trail off, trying to figure out how to explain myself.
Callie looks at me for a few seconds, finally shaking her head slightly with impatience. “But what? She’s drunk? She’s loud? She’s got a glass eye?”
“What does having a glass eye have to do with anything?”
“It doesn’t. I just thought you were trying to be politically correct or something.”
I roll my own non-glass eyes. “No. No glass eyes. I just can’t get a read on her. She knew about the girls, which was really weird. And yesterday I saw her peeking out the window, but as soon as she saw me looking, she disappeared and the blinds snapped shut.”
Callie stares at me without blinking before finally speaking. “You’ve been watching the Investigation Channel again, haven’t you?”
“Shut up,” I laugh and toss a package of napkins at her, which she easily deflects.
“Give her a chance. She probably saw the girls outside yesterday. Your kids aren’t exactly quiet.”
“I know. And she did say the realtor had told her about the girls. But I swear I know her from somewhere.”
“Maybe. You do work at a school. You see a lot of people.”
I shake my head. “Her son is in college.”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe she came with a friend to pick up the friend’s kid. Maybe she’s a stalker. Or maybe you’re completely off your rocker.”
I stick my tongue out at her. “What’s your problem? You’re ultra snarky today.”
She sighs and leans her arms on the table. “Ben and I are fighting again.”
I groan. “What is it this time? Wait…” I hold up my hand so she doesn’t speak. “Let me guess.” I tap my finger to my chin as if I’m actually serious about my guesses. Because lord knows, Ben argues over the most ridiculous things. “You used vegetable oil instead of olive oil in last night’s dinner, so obviously you’re trying to give him a heart attack from cholesterol.”
“Nope,” she says with a shake of her head. “He threw out the vegetable oil last week.”
“He did?” I ask, getting sidetracked momentarily.
“Yep.”
Shaking it off, I get back to my guessing game. “You only vacuumed under the couch, but not the underside of the couch.”
“That was last month’s fight.”
“Ah. Well then, I’m out of guesses.”
She takes a deep breath. They’ve been married for seven years and I know the constant fighting wears on her sometimes. No matter what she does, it’s never good enough for him. “I’m spending too much money on my inventory.”
“For RowRow? This doesn’t make any sense. You pay for the inventory and then turn right around and sell it for a profit.”
“Yep.”
“Didn’t you make like ten thousand dollars last month alone?”
“Yep.”
“So what’s the problem.”
She snorts. “No idea. Something about me needing to completely sell out before buying more.”
“Wait, wait, wait… he wants you to sell out completely? Has he never been to a department store? That’s not the way it works.”
“I know. But you know Ben. He always has to be right. Even when he’s not right.”
“Man, that sucks. Sometimes I wish I could give him a piece….”
“Oh, hey there’s Deborah!” Callie exclaims, cutting me off.
That was weird. She’s never been distracted when we’re having a serious conversation before. But I roll with it. It’s not often we have other people joining us for playdates. Not since Greg and Peyton started coming with us.
A pang hits my chest when I think about them, but I push it aside and paste a smile on my face. It’s been nine months. I’m moving on.
I’ll just keep telling myself that.
Callie stands up to greet Deborah with a hug, a tow-headed boy standing next to her. He looks about Christopher and Max’s age. Maybe a little older.
Speaking of, where are Christopher and Max? I quickly scan the playground, counting heads. Fiona’s hanging upside down on the monkey bars, Maura is belting out the lyrics to the latest Disney flic while swinging, and Christopher is sliding down the tallest slide in the park, Max right behind him.
As he gets to the bottom, Christopher can’t slow himself down and flies off the slide, landing on his back in the dirt. Max has the same problem and lands right on top of him with an “oof.” They immediately begin wrestling.
Eh. They’re fine.
Turning my attention back to Callie’s new friend, I introduce myself.
“Hi, I’m Elena.” I reach out to shake her hand. “I think we met at one of Callie’s sizing parties a couple months ago.”
“Yes, I remember.” She takes my hand to shake it. “It’s nice to see you again.”
She has one of those weak handshakes where I only get to hold her fingers. Ew. I hate that kind of handshake. But her smile makes up for it, so I let it go quickly.
Literally. I couldn’t hold her fingers for one more second. No wonder Callie greeted her with a hug.
“Thanks for inviting us,” she says kindly, putting her hands on the little boy’s shoulders. “Trevor doesn’t have many friends, so it’s always fun to bring him on playdates.”
“Oh, did you guys just move to the area?” I feel bad for the boy. It’s never easy being the new kid.
“Oh, no. I’ve lived here my entire life.” She smiles. “But you know how hard it is to make friends these days.”
I look over at the playground to see Fiona playing a hand slapping game with another little girl while Maura, who is apparently done with her practice for Broadway, plays tag with a group of kids. Max and Christopher—yep, still wrestling.
But I shouldn’t judge. Some kids have a harder time than others. Maybe getting to know our kids will help him.
“How old are you, Trevor?”
“He’s five,” Deborah answers for him.
I bend down so I can make eye contact with him. “See that little girl over there in the yellow dress?” He nods. “That’s my little girl Maura. She’s six. Would you like to play with her and the other kids?” He nods again, making me smile. He must be terribly shy.
After calling Maura over and introducing them, they run off to play leaving the adults behind. Callie and I turn right back to our lunch, but Deborah has a strange look on her face. I can’t figure out what it means, but I realize she probably didn’t realize we were having lunch.
“Deborah, it was my turn to bring lunch today so I made an extra ham and cheese for you and and p-b-and-j for Trevor if you’re interested.”
“That’s so nice of you, thank you. But Trevor’s allergic to peanuts.” She smiles sweetly and plunks a giant purse on the table.
“Oh I’m sorry.” I begin gathering sandwiches to put them back in the cooler, not knowing how severe his allergy is. “Do the kids need to wait to eat? They can survive on apples and chips for a while.”
“Oh no, it’s fine!” Deborah begins pulling out coordinating Tupperware containers that snap together and have compartments and fancy lids. And all of them have the exact right amount of food in them. “His allergy isn’t airborne. Just ingested. Well, I mean, he only had an allergic reaction once and it totally could have been teething, not peanut butter. But who wants to take the chance, right?”
Ooookkkkkkk, I think to myself. I’m gonna pretend that wasn’t weird.
“I wish I had brought enough food to share with the other kids,” she continues.
She pops the top of the largest container open revealing celery sticks, hummus, and is that kale? No way my kids will want any of that.
“I think we’ll be good,” I say, Callie quirking her lips as she tries not to giggle. No way Christopher will touch that stuff either.
We continue setting out drinks… our regular juice boxes to Deborah’s homemade, organic grape juice… and chit chat as we get to know each other. She has one child. Been married for six years to some guy who is a big wig in an oil company downtown. Was a kindergarten teacher for a couple of years before having Trevor and becoming a stay at home mom. Deborah’s a little quirky, but she seems nice enough.
When we’re finally set up and Max has complained one too many times about being hungry, we call them over for lunch.
Fiona and Maura trot over. Christopher and Trevor… that’s a different story. They’re on opposite sides of the swings and as they come around, racing to the table, they run right smack into each other… knocking heads and falling to the ground.
“It’s ok!” Callie yells automatically. “Rub some dirt on it! You’ll be fine!”
Before her words are all the way out of her mouth, Deborah is running full-speed, scooping Trevor up in her arms as he’s rubbing his head, screaming like he’s got a nail shoved through his foot.
I glance at the shoes he’s wearing. Nope. No nails. Just a bump on his head.
We watch as Deborah kisses all over Trevor’s face, rocking him and cooing at him, like he’s on his death bed.
I look over at Callie who has the same look I’m probably sporting. One that says, “I’m trying really hard not to be judgy right now, but I can practically hear the helicopter blades from her parenting style.”
“Are you thinking the same thing I am?” Callie finally says.
“I’m trying not to. Especially since our parenting style looks like that.” I point at Christopher who is still sitting where he fell, only now Max has joined him and is doing exactly what Callie said… picking up dirt off the ground and rubbing it on his forehead. “You really think we have room to judge someone?”
“You’re such a better person than me.”
“Yep,” I agree.
“And she’s such a better mom than us.”
“Yep,” I agree again. But really, the jury’s still out for me.
You can never trust someone who gets the Tupperware portion sizes right every time.