The New Normal

by Brogan, Tracy

  “Oh, and speaking of sexy, did you see Erin’s new Mercedes?” Lynette asked, moving on to the next shiny topic, oblivious to any of Carli’s discomfort or disinterest. “It’s a red convertible. Utterly pretentious, of course. I mean, who needs a convertible in Michigan? How often will she even be able to take the top down? It’s like having a sailboat in Nevada.”

  Lynette laughed again, and the one-sided conversation went on for another fifteen minutes before circling around to the new neighbor again, and then another fifteen after that before Carli finally managed to make a break for it and get inside her own house. She glanced at the clock in her kitchen, noting she’d have just enough time to change her clothes and bring the dog back outside to work on his training before her kids started clamoring for dinner. Such was her glamorous life in suburbia—full of nosy neighbors, hungry children, and lots of dog poo. Same shit, different day. Work, laundry, kids, gossip. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

  Yep, so glamorous.

  Chapter 4

  Ben’s day thus far had been tediously long and thoroughly unpleasant. He’d spent the morning unpacking and trying to organize the meager belongings in his house and the afternoon tearing up rank old carpet, because the previous owners had obviously possessed a leaky dog with significant bowel issues. The humid weather outside amplified the stink and left him coated in sweat and itchy granules of disintegrated carpet padding. He’d known before buying the place he’d want to redo all the flooring, but this was more than he’d bargained for. Damn, that dog must have had one heinous anus.

  He’d taken a short break when a too-chatty neighbor with jigundus breasts stopped by with some kind of apple crisp. She’d all but insisted on coming inside, practically shoving those jigundus breasts against his arm to force her way past, even though he’d told her he was in the middle of a phone call. In hindsight, he should have let her in and given up on the call, because it had been with Sophia, and intense, and had ended with a heated argument about her car insurance because his soon-to-be ex-wife thought he should pay for hers, and he thought, since she’d slept with another guy and asked for a divorce, maybe she could pay her own damn car insurance.

  “Is that going to be your response to everything from now on? You’re going to shirk your responsibilities just because you’re angry with me for honoring my authentic self and speaking my truth?” Sophia had said.

  “I’m not really sure how that has anything to do with expecting you to pay the insurance on the car you’re driving, Sophia, and let’s not talk about which of us is shirking duties. Not to mention the fact that the bill is at your house and I didn’t even realize the payment was due. This may come as a shock, but I’ve got some stuff on my mind, and your car is pretty low on the list.”

  They’d gone three rounds until one of them finally hung up, and Ben followed up that call with one from his soon-to-be ex–business partner, who accused him of spreading malicious rumors to bring down the value of their company.

  “I haven’t said anything that isn’t true, Doug, and trust me, I’m not thrilled about this story getting out any more than you are. All I’m telling clients who ask is that the company is restructuring the management team and we’ll keep them posted.”

  Three brutal rounds with that guy, too. Now it was dinnertime, and Ben was spent and irritated. After a long, hot shower—with a curtain this time, because he’d finally bought one—he just wanted a big, fat steak, a tall, cold beer, and to settle in to watch some mind-numbing television. He still hadn’t stocked the fridge or pantry very well, but he had stopped by the store yesterday and knew he had one T-bone in the house. Since Ethan was hanging out with friends, it was just him, and he didn’t mind the solitude, grateful for some peace and quiet after a particularly fucktacular day.

  He seasoned the steak with salt and pepper because that’s all he had, and once outside on the patio, he tinkered with the nozzle of the propane tank on the grill, adjusting it before pushing the start button, but nothing happened. The rusty, beat-up piece of crap had come with the house and he planned to replace it very soon, but he needed the damn thing to fire up just one more time. He rattled the tank for a second and at last heard sounds of gas moving through the tube. Victory. Thank God. He laid the steak on the grill, glad to hear the sizzle indicating the thing would hold up for at least one more meal.

  Back inside the kitchen, he decided beer wasn’t going to cut it. This kind of night called for something stronger, and although there was no bread, or vegetables, or condiments, he did have a nice bottle of blue-label Johnnie Walker. He put some ice in a glass that may or may not have been clean and poured a liberal portion of whisky on top. He listened to the ice crackle as he swirled it around in the amber liquid. He breathed in the scent before taking a sip and planned to enjoy this drink, dirty glass or not.

  It was amazing the things you took for granted when you were married and living in a fully stocked house. Spices. Shower curtains. Towels. Coffee makers. A decent whisky glass.

  Companionship.

  He and Sophia had shared a good life. Or at least he’d thought they had. Money wasn’t a problem, even after he’d left Chase Industries to branch out on his own. They’d dialed back their spending for a couple of years, which Sophia hadn’t loved, but it hadn’t seemed to be a real hardship. They still enjoyed each other’s company. There were nice vacations. Their kids were happy and healthy and bright. They’d never wanted for more, and he’d sincerely thought Sophia was happy. He would’ve sworn she was happy—until he found out that she wasn’t.

  There’d been no talk of therapy or reconciliation. She hadn’t been interested in that. When she was done with him, she was done, and in all honesty, Ben wasn’t sure he could forgive her anyway. Being disillusioned with the state of their marriage was one thing. He could’ve worked with her on that if she’d been willing. But cheating on him with his best friend? That was more than he could process. He mused for another moment over his whisky, finding the clink of the ice against the glass oddly comforting, but then he heard a desperate shout and an earsplitting crash.

  “Gus! Darn it, Gus. Come here!”

  It was a woman’s voice calling out, followed by the clang and the smash of something heavy and solid slamming against something else that was heavy and solid. He dashed from the kitchen down the staircase to the lower level of the house and yanked open the screen door before bursting out onto the back patio. And there, lying on its side, broken apart into multiple pieces, was his piece-of-shit grill. Ten feet away from that, in the space between his house and the one next door, was a woman, flushed cheeks, dark hair twisted up in what his daughter had informed him was called a messy bun. The woman was tense and standing as if about to pounce, and when he followed her gaze, he saw why. There was a dog, a big-ass dog . . . with Ben’s dinner in his mouth!

  “Hey!” he exclaimed. “That’s my steak.” He turned toward the pile of junk formerly known as his grill. “And my grill. Seriously?”

  The brunette cast a glance his way, her face a study in apologetic exasperation. “I know. I’m so sorry. He’s just a puppy.”

  “Just a puppy? Then maybe he should be on a leash and not rampaging through my backyard.” Ben was a dog person, but he was hangry and on his last nerve and preferred the kind of dog that didn’t steal his food.

  “I know. I’m trying to train him on the electric fence, but he smelled the meat cooking and just took off, and now I’m trying to catch him. I can usually lure him with . . . treats . . .” Her voice trailed off as Ben found himself stating the obvious.

  “Lady, no treat is going to make him let go of a T-bone steak.”

  “A T-bone? That’s dangerous for him, isn’t it? What if he chokes on it?”

  “Well, he’ll only make that mistake once.”

  He hadn’t meant to say it out loud but realized at her indignant gasp that he had. It was a rotten joke, and he didn’t mean it, but he also didn’t want the damn dog devouring his dinner. And he didn’t want h
is piece-of-shit grill broken into useless chunks of rubble on his patio. And he didn’t want to spend another day tearing out old, disgusting carpet or fighting with Sophia about car insurance or defending himself to Doug about rumors he had no control over. But most of all, he didn’t want his fucking wife fucking his fucking business partner, either.

  This day just kept getting better and better. He clenched his fist and realized the drink was in his hand, so he tossed it back in one gulp, glad for the distraction of the burn as it sped down his throat and splashed in his gut with warm relief. He looked at the now-empty glass. His drink was gone. His steak was clearly gone as well. There was no way he’d be able to wrestle anything of substance from the dog, who was now trotting off to the farthest corner of his yard with tail waving high. He glanced over at the woman, and she was staring at him as if he should be doing something. But what on earth was he supposed to do? It wasn’t his dog.

  This night was a bust. In fact, the whole damn day had been miserable, but maybe after a couple more glasses of whisky, he might actually be able to find this funny. At the very least, he’d be able to sleep. For a while. He turned to go back into the house.

  “Where are you going?” the woman asked.

  “Um . . . inside my house.”

  “Aren’t you going to help me?”

  He looked back at her, taking note of her big, dark brown eyes and semipleading expression. She was attractive and looked good in those shorts. Too good for his own good, in fact, making something in his mind whisper Warning! Complicated! He’d heard from his real estate agent that his new next-door neighbor was a single mom and recently divorced. But Ben already had his hands full with enough of his own divorce drama. Hands that were currently covered in tiny puncture wounds from pulling up carpet-tack strips because of some other dog’s bad behavior. Man’s best friend, his ass. His fingertips were sore and raw, like his heart. It was all just a little too much. He should probably help her. It would be the neighborly thing to do. The gentlemanly, chivalrous, polite thing to do, but at the moment, he couldn’t. All he wanted was to have another shot of whisky (or five) and fall into a dreamless sleep. He was done with people today. And their dogs.

  “Sorry, ma’am. You’re on your own.” He reached down to make sure the propane tank was closed, because, even though the hose was no longer attached to anything, with his current run of shitty luck, the thing would catch a spark and set his house on fire. He heard her quiet yet judgmental scoff at his departure but didn’t look at her again. He just locked the patio door with a loud click and went to find his good friend Johnnie Walker.

  “So I just met the new neighbor,” Carli said as she strode into the kitchen, where her daughters were sitting at the island and watching Queer Eye on an iPad. She’d caught Gus without much fanfare when he settled down in the grass to enjoy his meal of contraband beef. He’d given it up reluctantly, but she was relieved to see that the bone seemed to be intact. Nothing in his throat to choke on. Nonetheless, he’d probably be hurling something up before the evening was over.

  Dark-haired Mia straightened from her perpetual slouch. “The new neighbor? What’s he like?”

  Carli scoffed and walked over to the sink to wash her hands. “Kind of rude. Probably hungry. Possibly drunk.”

  Tess laughed, her smile wide. “Wow, Mom. Why so salty? Was he at least hot? I mean, for an old guy? Lauren said her mom said he’s hot.” She took a bite of the red licorice in her hand and reached over to pet Gus with the other.

  “I didn’t notice if he was hot or not because I was too busy worrying about the guy’s T-bone in Gus’s mouth.” Actually, she had noticed, and he was hot, which was why it was such a disappointment when he’d left her alone in the yard without even bothering to ask her name.

  Mia turned to her sister. “She’s talking about a steak, right? T-bone’s not a euphemism for something, is it?”

  At eighteen, Mia was two years older than Tess, but she sometimes missed the finer nuances of a conversation. She was what people called book smart, but when it came to common sense, not so much. She wasn’t tuned in to the latest trends or the hot topics of the day, preferring to keep her nose in a book and her feet planted firmly in the clouds. An old soul. This week she was vegan, and she’d once been voted Most Likely to Save the World by her classmates at Glenville High School. She was about to start her senior year, a fact which Carli found both amazing and terrifying.

  Tess rolled her eyes at Mia but glanced at her mother just to be sure. “It’s a kind of steak, right? Please tell me it’s a kind of steak.” Her highlighted blonde hair glinted in the final rays of the day’s sunshine. She’d recently turned sixteen and had just gotten her driver’s license. Another fact which Carli found both amazing and terrifying.

  “Yes, it’s a kind of steak, and the damn dog tore through the electric fence, grabbed it, and knocked the grill over in the process. The thing shattered. It’s in pieces, and now I’m going to have buy that guy a new one.”

  Of all the things she didn’t want to spend money on, a new grill for the jerk next door was at the very bottom of the list. Especially considering how very not helpful he’d been. And even if he hadn’t wanted to help, the way he’d just dismissed her and sauntered back inside as if the scene between her and Gus were nothing more than a commercial that he could fast-forward through was humiliating. For once, she agreed with Lynette. That guy was rude.

  “Did you at least get a name?” Tess asked.

  She had gotten a name. Not from Mr. Personality himself, but from Lynette an hour ago, in between her comments about how Gus was going to ruin the grass with his copious amounts of urine and how Carli really needed to paint her soffits.

  “His name is Ben Chase,” Carli answered. “He’s got two kids at Glenville High. Addie and . . . Nathan, maybe? No, that’s not right. But he’s got a son who’ll be a senior this year.”

  “Not Ethan Chase?” Tess asked, her shoulders lifting as her blue eyes grew wide and her lightly freckled cheeks pinkened in an instant.

  Carli snapped her fingers. “Yes, that’s it. Ethan. Why? Do you know him?”

  “Oh my God, Mom. Ethan Chase is gorgeous. Like so gorge, I can’t even. He’s super tall and he has the best hair.” She clutched fistfuls of her own as if to demonstrate.

  Mia’s face held none of the rapture being displayed by her sister. She looked positively sour. “Ethan Chase may be gorgeous, but he’s also a douchetastic fuckboy. And he sucks at calculus.”

  “Please don’t say fuckboy in front of me,” Carli said automatically, more from habit than because of an actual rule. She knew most of the bad language her kids used, they’d picked up from her, although fuckboy was a new term. Definitely not one of hers.

  “He’s not a fuckboy,” Tess answered, ignoring Carli’s reprimand. “Maybe those guys he hangs out with are, but he’s not. And being bad at calculus hardly makes him a bad person.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Mia responded, the flush in her cheeks now matching her sister’s. “Being bad at calculus makes you dumb, but hanging out with douchetastic fuckboys does make you a bad person. All those guys just think they’re the shit, and personally, I can’t wait to see them all ten years from now, when they come to the tragic realization that they peaked in high school.” Her aspersions were paired with a practiced eye roll, and Carli chuckled in spite of herself, because she’d known her share of those kinds of boys. Handsome. Desirable. Immune to the awkward trappings of lesser-blessed youth. Actually . . . Steve had been one of those kinds of boys, cruising through life propelled by charm and buoyed by good looks. Collecting people like possessions. It had taken her years to realize she was just a checked box to him. Not special or unique. Not his soul mate. Just a willing woman in the right place at the right time. Like one of those little plastic pegs in the game Life, he’d chosen her because he thought it was time to get married, and she was convenient. Doting wife? Check. Two beautiful children? Check and check.

  Mid
life crisis? Check.

  “Who’s hungry?” Carli asked loudly, deciding that everyone’s mood would improve with some pasta and marinara. And also deciding that she did not feel like cooking. “I’m starving. Let’s go out to dinner.”

  Gus barked as if to say that he was up for anything.

  “Sorry for you, pal,” Carli said, leading him over to his monster-size crate. “You already ate.”

  “Can we get manicures after dinner?” Tess asked, hopping off her chair. “My hands are like claws, and school starts next week.”

  Carli tamped down a sigh. She’d just paid a ridiculous amount of money for new car tires and for Gus to get groomed, and now it looked as if she owed a new grill to the neighbor. Manicures times three meant more money out of her bank account, and although Steve did pay a modest amount in child support, that money went toward clothes and essentials. Did a manicure count as an essential? Some might say yes, and heaven knew Carli’s ego could use a little pampering after her encounter with Oscar the Grouch from next door, but she really needed to start budgeting more strategically. She was one busted water heater away from disaster.

  “Maybe.” Her answer was deliberately noncommittal. “I’m not sure we’ll have time, but we can try. Let’s figure out where we’re going to dinner, first. Mia, are you still vegan?” It was a fair question, since the cause du jour was often hard to keep up with. It cycled from vegetarian to vegan to pescatarian to whatever else Mia could come up with to render the meal Carli had cooked as being unacceptable. Basically, Mia was a contrarian.

  “Of course I’m still vegan. Do you think animals deserve to suffer just so we can eat?”

  “That’s a nice leather belt you’re wearing, Mia,” Tess said sarcastically. She was pretty much a contrarian, too. Teenage girls were such a joy. But this was Carli’s circus, and for better or worse, they were her monkeys.