Covet thy Neighbor

by Denise Carbo

  The answers are staring me in the face. Luke has feelings for Barbara even if he’s not ready to admit them and he’s right, our nonexistent relationship has no bearing on my decision to give Ryan another chance.

  I start the car and back out of the parking space. I should have followed my initial instincts and stayed the hell away from my neighbor.

  The light turns red at the parking lot exit. I ease to a top and prop an elbow against the window and lean my head on my fist. If we’re not in a relationship, why does my chest ache and why do I feel like bawling?

  A horn beeps behind me. The light turned green. I wave a hand to apologize as I pull out onto the street.

  Obviously, my feelings were a lot more invested than his. How did I let that happen? I thought I was being smart and cautious.

  Oli warned me. Heck, I saw the signs and ignored them.

  Lesson learned. Follow your instincts. And stay the hell away from your neighbor—too many complications.

  A tear slides down my cheek and I swipe it away. There’s nothing to cry over. It’s best I found out now rather than after I lost my head and slept with him or something. I’d have a hard time blissfully living next to him if we had slept together.

  I sniffle and reach over to open the glove box and grab a napkin to blow my nose with.

  Damn it! Tears course down my face and my nose drips like a leaky faucet.

  I turn onto my street and glance at the clock on the dashboard. I should have just enough time to unload and put away the groceries and clean myself up before the kids get home from school.

  Maybe a few minutes to wallow in misery first. I park, shut off the car, and wrap my arms around the steering wheel. It’s better to get all the tears out now rather than being caught by surprise later trying to bottle them up.

  Chapter 26

  “This is the best Thanksgiving we’ve had in a long time. Ryan, I’m so glad you joined us.”

  Mom smiles at Ryan and I swear there are tears in her eyes. She invites him every year, but this is the first time since the separation he accepted. Timmy and Tommy both cheered when Ryan announced it over the weekend. I wish he had talked to me about it first.

  “Me too. Holidays are meant to be spent with family.” He looks at me and smiles.

  I smile in return and glance up the table to my beaming mother. Dad is busy filling his plate with more turkey. The boys are shoveling the mound of mashed potatoes on their plates into their mouths. At the opposite end of the table, Oli leans back in his chair with his hands folded over his abdomen staring at me. One blonde eyebrow lifts as if to say wtf.

  I haven’t told him about Ryan or Luke. He arrived late last night at my parents’ house. We’ve only talked briefly on the phone lately and it never seemed to be the right time. He’s been relatively silent since Ryan, the boys, and I arrived together. I’m sure he’ll give me an earful when he gets me alone.

  One reason to be thankful we must leave early to go to Ryan’s parent’s house. Two Thanksgiving meals in one day. I’ll be in a food coma by nightfall.

  “Can I have another biscuit?” Tommy reaches across my plate for the basket of biscuits on the other side of me.

  “May I and you don’t reach across someone’s plate.” I squeeze his hand and place it down next to his own plate. “Now, how do you ask?”

  He heaves a sigh. “May I have another biscuit?”

  “Please.”

  The next sigh gets louder. “Please.”

  I hand him the basket. He grabs a biscuit.

  “You shouldn’t let him fill up on bread.” Mom frowns and points to the green bean casserole with her fork. “Have some vegetables.”

  Tommy wrinkles his nose and peeks up at me. I can’t blame him. There are no green beans on my plate either. I can hardly be hypocritical and insist he eat them. “How about some salad?”

  “There’s no ranch dressing.”

  “I’ll get some from the fridge.” I stand and push my chair back.

  “There should be a bottle in the cabinet if there isn’t one in the refrigerator.” Mom waves her fork in the direction of the kitchen behind her.

  “I’ll find it.”

  I walk around the table to the open doorway into the kitchen. My parents have lived in this ranch house since before Oli and I were born. I asked them if they ever considered moving. Mom said there were too many memories. Dad had shrugged and asked why would he do that?

  There isn’t an open bottle in the fridge, so I search the lazy susan next to the stove. Mom hasn’t rearranged the cabinets ever as far as I know. Everything is located in the same place as when I was a kid.

  “Need help?”

  I glance over my shoulder as I bend over and open the cabinet. Oli stands behind me with his arms folded over his chest.

  “I think I can handle it.” I turn back and spot a bottle of ranch dressing and pick it up. He’s still standing there when I close the cabinet and turn around. “What?”

  “You know what.”

  I glance behind him to everyone in the dining room. Yes, I know what, but I won’t have this conversation with everyone in ear shot. “Not now.” I step around him.

  Oli puts his hand on my arm. “Just tell me you know what you’re doing.”

  “Not a clue.” I walk into the dining room and place the dressing next to Tommy. Ryan helps him open the bottle while I sit.

  I can sense Oli’s gaze on me after he takes his own seat, but I stare at my plate and move the now cold food around with my fork. Conversations continue without me as everyone finishes eating.

  What does he expect me to say? I couldn’t very well tell Ryan not to come when he announced it in front of the kids. If I had ever told my mother not to invite him, she would have been appalled and lectured me on manners and family. It’s not like I mind him coming. I just don’t want the kids to get the wrong idea. Now I have to talk to Ryan about not getting the kids’ hopes up. If there’s any chance of a reconciliation, we need to figure it out in private before involving the kids. If he can’t do that, then there’s no chance I’ll even consider it.

  Having that conversation over Thanksgiving dinner though is not an option.

  “What do you think, Olivia?”

  Mom stares expectantly across the table.

  Crap! What did I miss? “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Ryan said you need to leave soon to go to his parents’ house. Should we have dessert right away?”

  Normally, the men go watch the football game while mom and I clean up the kitchen and then we have dessert. “I think we’re going to skip dessert this year. We need to get going. I’ll help you clean up first, though. Boys, bring the dishes into the kitchen.”

  Mom frowns but stands and picks up her dish. Timmy and Tommy both shove their chairs back and grab their plates. I stand and pick up my plate and reach for Oli’s. He grabs the edge and holds on.

  He’s glaring at me. “You’re going to his parents’ house?”

  I glance over. Ryan carries his plate into the kitchen. Dad is gone. I’m sure he’s already lowering himself into his recliner in the living room. The boys are standing at the sink with my mom. “Yes.”

  “What is going on?”

  “Not now, Oli.”

  “Then, when?”

  “Later. We’ll talk later.”

  Oli lets go of his plate and I carry the dishes into the kitchen. He follows behind me with the turkey platter and a bowl of mashed potatoes. The boys bring in the remainder of the food while I pack up the leftovers and Mom washes the dishes. Oli and Ryan walk towards the living room when Mom waves them away with a dish towel.

  I’ve given up arguing why Oli gets to go relax instead of helping clean up. Women cook and clean while the men eat and unwind in my mother’s house. Not in mine. If I cook, then the men can clean up. Ryan would always grumble a bit, but he helped with the dinner dishes. Unless his mother or my mother came for dinner, they would shoo him away. So, of course, that meant I would ha
ve to clean up with them while the men disappeared to watch TV.

  “Now that’s a picture.”

  Mom leans forward to peer into the living room. Timmy and Tommy are on either side of Ryan sitting on the couch. Two blond bookends flanking his brown head. I’ve seen the same picture many times over the years, it always fills me with love. For my boys, of course, but Ryan too. We’ve been through a lot together.

  I dry the plate she hands me. She’s never been subtle about wanting Ryan and I to get back together. Kids should have both parents together, no matter what. If Ryan and I don’t reconcile, she will blame me.

  Ryan leans against the opening into the kitchen. “We should get going.”

  “Go, I can finish these.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” I kiss her cheek. “And thanks for dinner. It was wonderful, as always.”

  She smiles. Ryan walks over to kiss her cheek. “I second that.”

  I dry my hands and go into the living room. “Boys, say your goodbyes, we have to go.” They scramble up and give out hugs before racing over to the door and putting on their coats. I hug my dad and Oli. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  “See you tomorrow.” Oli follows me to the front door.

  I nod while donning my coat. It’s his less than subtle way of telling me we’ll be having a long talk tomorrow. I still have to work. Oli is watching the boys tomorrow. Does he plan to grill me over dinner? No, not in front of the boys. He’ll wait until we’re alone. I just have to worry about what to tell him. He won’t like hearing any of it, and he certainly won’t like that I’m even considering a reconciliation.

  The boys chatter with Ryan and each other on the way to their other grandparents’ house while I lean my head against the window and watch the scenery blur by.

  I made double the number of pies this year. One set I left at my parents’ house and the other is in the back of the car for Ryan’s parents’. When we were married, we suggested alternating Thanksgiving dinner. One year we would have it at my parents’ house and dessert at theirs, and the next year the opposite. Neither of our families went for it. So we ended up having two dinners every year. When we moved into the house, I hosted dinner one year, but it was a disaster. Not only did anyone barely speak, but I burned the turkey on the outside while the inside was raw. The bottom of the biscuits were charred black. The mashed potatoes were a lumpy mess. I decided enduring two dinners was the better option. Then when we divorced, the boys alternated. I always miss having them with me when they’re with Ryan. I wouldn’t have to endure holidays without them if I say yes.

  We pull into their driveway and Ryan turns to me. “Ready?”

  “Yup.” I climb out of the car and walk to the back to grab the pies. Ryan takes them from me while the boys run to the front door. They disappear inside when his mother opens the door.

  “I’ve held dinner as long as I can. We need to sit now.”

  I pull my phone out of my pocket to check the time. We’re not late.

  She ushers us into the dining room after we hang our coats in the entry closet.

  “Boys, go wash your hands. Ryan, pour the wine. Paul, carve the turkey.”

  Everyone jumps to do her bidding. “What can I do to help?”

  She gives me a tight smile. “Just take a seat.”

  What has Ryan told her? When he suggested we do the two dinners again this year, he said his mother had lamented over not seeing the boys for Thanksgiving Day this year and couldn’t we go back to tradition and make her happy. I, of course, gave in. Perhaps what she had wanted was for the boys to come alone and for me to stay at my parents’ house.

  I could be reading too much into the tight smile, though. There’s a lot of baggage between us. Ryan always said I worried too much and attributed bad feelings when none existed whenever I broached the subject of his parents, and his mother especially, not liking me.

  The meal begins with grace and then pleasantries over what the kids have been up to and what they want for Christmas.

  “Surely you’re going to eat more than that?” She gazes at my plate and then the boys’. “Timothy, Thomas, try the sweet potato casserole and take some more stuffing.”

  “I’m not very hungry.” Tommy peels apart a roll over his plate. Timmy takes a scoop of the casserole and puts it on his plate.

  She frowns and smooths the napkin in her lap.

  “Alice is home visiting her parents for the holiday. I invited them all over for dessert later.”

  I glance between Ryan and his mother. She’s smiling at him while he’s pouring gravy over his mashed potatoes. Alice, as in his girlfriend before me? The girlfriend his mother has referred to as his soul mate more than once in my presence?

  This should be fun—not.

  The last I heard, she was engaged, much to his mother’s disappointment. That was a few years ago. Ryan’s parents are still good friends with hers and socialize on a regular basis. They’ve never come over for Thanksgiving as far as I know, though.

  “She’s single now. Joyce hinted Alice might move back to New Hampshire permanently.”

  I sip my wine and resist the urge to guzzle it down. Her matchmaking efforts between Ryan and Alice are less than subtle. Why doesn’t she simply tell him to ask her out on a date, or skip the dating part altogether and propose?

  “You should spend some time together this weekend.”

  Ryan’s eyebrows dip down over his eyes. He glances over to his mother. “I’m busy this weekend.”

  “Doing what?”

  “The boys and I have plans. We’re checking out the new indoor go-cart track in Manchester.”

  “Then the next day.”

  “Nope, have plans then too. Olivia and I are taking the boys to pick out a Christmas tree. It’s tradition.”

  I blink. It was tradition—when we were married. The boys and I have picked out our own tree the past couple of years. I can feel the weight of her stare.

  “I want a fat one this year.” I glance at Tommy and back to Ryan.

  We need to have another conversation about ground rules and soon.

  “You can pick out the fattest tree on the lot, buddy.” Ryan grins and cuts another piece of turkey.

  “We have to make sure it’s not too tall. Last year we couldn’t put the star on top because the tree was too tall. The top bent over and mom clipped it. It looked weird and there was nowhere to put the star.”

  I wince as Ryan laughs and smiles at Timmy. “Don’t worry, we’ll find the perfect tree.”

  Should I point out there is no such thing as perfection? No, there’s no point dampening the mood. It looks like we’ll be shopping for a tree together this year unless I want to be the bad guy and tell Ryan he can’t go with us.

  Once we finish dinner, I clear the table with the help of the boys while Ryan and his dad disappear into the den. His mother tells the boys to go play.

  I walk over to the dishwasher.

  “I’ll do that. I like it done a certain way.”

  I hold up hands and step back. “Would you like me to package up the leftovers?”

  “There are plastic containers in that drawer there. I’ll put them away in the refrigerator when you’re done.”

  “Okay.”

  Silence reigns throughout the kitchen while she puts the dishes in the dishwasher and I handle the leftovers. I should make more of an effort at conversation, but nothing comes to mind. I suppose I could bring up the boys’ holiday recital at school. I’m sure Ryan has forgotten to mention it.

  “You can put the dessert plates on the table along with the pies I made.”

  She points to the counter where a stack of plates and two pie containers rest. I glance around the kitchen until I spot the pies I made on the counter by the back door. She’ll probably toss them in the garbage in the cabinet underneath that counter. I should save her the trouble and do it myself. What would she do then? She’d probably do nothing but turn away. I’ve never seen her lose her temper. It might be easier if she wou
ld explode and yell instead of the frosty indifference she projects around me.

  Ruin one Thanksgiving dinner and you’re labeled for life. It doesn’t matter I work for a phenomenal bakery and can bake scrumptious pies.

  Sighing, I carry the plates into the dining room and come back for her pies.

  What dire emergency can I come up with as an excuse to leave before her guests arrive? I pick up one container and set it down.

  “You’re never going to accept me, are you?”

  Her back straightens and her hands freeze in place holding a plate over the sink. She doesn’t turn around. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “This is not the time for your theatrics.”

  “What theatrics? I asked a simple question.” Okay, perhaps it’s not so simple, but one question is not theatrics. My hand trembles. I sag against the counter.

  She raises her head and turns around. Her gaze travels over me and she lifts her chin. I stand up straight and grip the edge of the counter behind my back.

  She clasps her hands in front of her.

  “Nothing is ever enough for you. I have done nothing but welcome you into my home and still you complain…on Thanksgiving no less. Ryan married you. Got a job to support you. Moved into your parents’ house for you. Worked a full-time job and had to come home and care for the kids. None of it was ever enough. You always demand more. Then you divorce him and you still make demands on him.”

  My fingers press underneath the edge of the counter. A tremor rattles my body. I take a deep breath and slowly release it and open my mouth to defend myself.

  A smile teases my lips. I close my mouth and the smile turns into a grin as laughter bubbles up from the pit of my stomach.

  “What is so amusing?”

  I choke back the chuckles and clear my throat. “Thank you for your honesty.” I walk over and give her a hug. She stiffens. It’s a bit like embracing a telephone pole. I drop my arms and walk over to pick up the pie and bring it into the dining room.

  Nothing I say or do will ever change her mind. I’ve wasted so much time over the years trying to please her and make her like me—always questioning myself. Am I good enough?