ThisTimeNextDoor

by Gretchen Galway

  Rose smiled, reached for a package of lacy red thigh-highs. “You know me. I like the attention.” She held the package out to Blair. “Speaking of which, I think that’s just what you need. Pregnant chicks are sexy. Show it off, baby.”

  Rolling her eyes at the red tights, Blair said, “Don’t change the subject.”

  “Blair, it was no big deal. Years of telling off my anorexic grandmother has made me invincible.”

  Blair snorted. “You’re not as tough as you seem.”

  “I am about this.” She patted Blair on the shoulder. “Really. I’m fine.”

  “Yeah? Why’d you suddenly need to go to CVS? Which made you late to meet me?”

  “Tampons.”

  In a flash, Blair snatched the bag away, pulled it open. “Just what I thought. You always go for manicure therapy when you’re upset.”

  “I was missing my mother, that’s all. I was talking to her on the phone and got homesick.”

  Blair’s triumphant smile faded. “That’s my fault. You being here.”

  “No moping. Let’s go upstairs and get your eyebrows sculpted.”

  “Right. As if that’s my top budget priority right now.”

  “Come on.” Rose reclaimed her bag, tucked it under her arm. “It’s twenty bucks. You’ve got gorgeous eyebrows. Dark, arched, dramatic—give them a little love.”

  “You can. I’ll watch.”

  “There’s no point doing mine. They’re invisible. I could shave them off and nobody would notice the difference.”

  Blair licked her lips. “I shouldn’t. What if I have to raise this baby alone? I’ll need every penny I’ve got and I don’t even have a job. Who’s going to hire a pregnant English major?”

  “They aren’t hiring English majors who aren’t pregnant, so there’s no point dwelling on that. Besides, maybe they’ll be afraid of looking like they’re violating your rights and hire you because of it. Not that you look pregnant.”

  “I’m totally poofing out. Look at his.” Blair put her hands on her hips and arched her back. “I can barely button my jeans.”

  Rose glanced at her concave abdomen. “Must be twins.”

  “Shut up.”

  “I should give you that phone number at Fite Fitness. I hear they’re looking for a plus-size fit model.”

  Blair shoved her in the arm, biting back a smile. “All right. I won’t do eyebrows, but we can check out the dresses. Something stretchy and cheap.”

  “Just like your roommate sophomore year. What was her name, the gymnast?”

  With a laugh, Blair took off for the elevator. “Come on, let’s do it. If just to get you to shut up.”

  “Dream on,” Rose said.

  * * *

  “Damn, Mark,” Jared’s voice said in his ear, “I’ve been trying to fix that bug for seven months. You do it in a week and now I look like an idiot.”

  Mark Johnson tore open a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos while he stared at the computer screen in his bedroom. His new job writing code was going pretty well. He was making four times what he’d made as a teacher and he didn’t even have to leave home. Or put on pants.

  “No problem,” he told Jared, glad he hadn’t let on that the chore had only taken him a few hours. Best not to show off. “What else you got for me?”

  While Jared launched into a description of another project, Mark covered the mic of his phone’s headset with one hand so he could politely munch on his Cheetos.

  “So what do you think?” Jared asked after a few minutes.

  Mark mulled it over. “Two weeks?”

  “Really? You think you can get it done that fast? QA wants a full month to test it before the release.”

  “I think so,” Mark said. “I’ll have to look at it for a couple days to be sure.”

  “That would be awesome,” Jared said. “I’ll tell the big guy, okay?”

  Mark swallowed another mouthful of Cheetos. “Okay.”

  “Awesome. You sure?”

  “No problem,” Mark said.

  When Jared finally hung up, Mark peeled off the headset, careful not to get Cheeto dust on his keyboard, and got to his feet.

  What time was it, anyway? He glanced at his monitor and recoiled. Already 5:24 p.m. and he hadn’t even gotten dressed yet. With blackout shades on his windows to reduce the glare on the trio of monitors on his desk, sometimes he lost track of the world outside.

  Sometimes? More like always. Was this what he wanted when he quit teaching? Living with his mother at twenty-nine years of age, never leaving the house, never seeing a soul who wasn’t related to him?

  He went over and flipped up the shade. Bright sun shining over the Golden Gate made him squint.

  What a waste. He had a million-dollar view from his own bedroom and he didn’t even look at it. His mother’s house in the hills of Oakland, the one he’d grown up in, had most of its windows facing west to enjoy the panorama of San Francisco to Marin spreading out from left to right. The sky was clear, the fog blanket only beginning its creep over San Francisco.

  It was September now; days were getting shorter.

  Practically thirty. How was that possible? He still got carded when he bought beer. How could he be so old?

  He leaned his forehead against the window and peered at the house to the left, telling himself he was just enjoying the way the sun was lighting up the modern windows with platinum streaks.

  Was she home? He flattened his cheek against the glass so get a better look. The house looked quiet, but she seemed like the quiet type.

  Quiet was good.

  Indulging in a memory of the new neighbor waving at him over the bushes in the front yard, Mark closed his eyes and conjured her up in his mind.

  He pushed away from the window. Of all the women to fixate on, he picked one who’s involved with a future in-law of his. His brother was finally getting married, which was great, but his fiancée, Bev, had not-so-great relatives. Like the dude who knocked up his neighbor.

  Groaning, he strode across the room. He had to get out. Just a walk, a run, maybe shoot some hoops in the driveway, anything to remind him of the real world.

  His clothes were in a pile on the floor where he’d dumped them from the dryer, but at least they were clean. Except for the stains. And the jeans were too short because he’d been too cheap to pass up the five-dollar Levi’s on the clearance rack.

  He pulled them on anyway and looked in the mirror. A thirty-two-inch inseam wasn’t what it used to be. With a shrug, he turned away from the mirror and jogged downstairs. Maybe it was time to take some of the money he’d squirreled away to buy some new clothes.

  One of these days.

  He walked past the old upright piano and the dining room table into the kitchen. His mother, Trixie, was using the old avocado-green rotary phone that had hung on the wall since Mark was born.

  “That’s terrible,” his mother said into the receiver, twisting the cord between her fingers. “Which houses were hit?”

  Mark paused in the doorway.

  “Oh, no, I understand that would be confidential,” his mother continued. “So little privacy these days.”

  An alarm bell went off in Mark’s head. “Mom, who’s on the phone?”

  She waved at him, smiling, but then turned and addressed whoever was on the line. “But, you see, I don’t live alone,” she said. “My son is here. Mark, my middle child. He’s better than any alarm system, I’m sure.”

  “Mom,” Mark repeated. “Who are you talking to?”

  Her smile faltered. “Yes, I suppose he will be moving along some day.”

  Mark strode over, reached for the phone.

  “Soon, yes,” she said. “Probably soon.”

  He took the receiver just as a man’s voice was saying, “Ma’am, that’s precisely the type of home these criminals are targeting—women living alone. Especially in such a large house as yours. How many square feet did you say it was?”

  “A lot bigger than the prison cell you’
ll be living in if you call here again,” Mark said.

  He heard a grunt before the line went dead.

  With a sigh, he turned to his mother. “You’re on the sucker list, Mom. Don’t let them start in on you. Just hang up.”

  “Really? Again? But he sounded so real.”

  “Real?”

  “I always hang up on the robot people,” she said. “Even if it’s Diane Feinstein.”

  Mark put an arm around her. Barely sixty, his mother was too young to be so gullible. But when it came to predatory telemarketers, she was as vulnerable as an elderly shut-in. Part of it was her natural friendliness, her joy in a good chat, her excessive free time. “What did he offer you?”

  “It’s not like I would’ve taken it,” she said with a sniff.

  He looked down at her. That was probably true, but you never knew. Ever since she’d taken in more than a dozen Chihuahuas last year as part of a rescue operation, she’d been the object of a series of charity scams. She’d rather get cheated, she’d say, than fail to help a person—or animal—in need.

  “I’ll answer the phone from now on,” Mark said.

  Rolling her eyes, she patted him on the chest. “If it makes you feel better.”

  “And I’m going to put in a real phone with an ID screen,” he added.

  “As long as you leave Old Greenie where it is, you can do whatever you want.” She cocked her head. “Is that the doorbell?”

  Hearing the distant chime, he groaned. It seemed like an hour didn’t go by without somebody harassing them. Phone, door, mail, Internet. He’d put his mother on all the do-not-call lists, added a NO SOLICITORS sign to the door, unsubscribed her from online spam and corporate mailing lists, but it took time for the word to get out.

  And possibly a court order.

  “I’ll get it,” he said

  “Good,” his mother said. “As long as you’re wearing pants.”

  Putting on his most manly, hostile expression, he strode through the house to the front door and jerked it open. “Whatever you’re selling—”

  His voice went dry in his throat. It wasn’t a solicitor; it was a woman.

  His neighbor.

  Chapter 2

  CALM DOWN, HE TOLD HIMSELF. His heart was beating too hard. It’s the other one. Her roommate.

  “Sorry to bother you,” she said. “I live next door. I’m on a mission to find some jumper cables.”

  He tried to fix his gaze above her neck, but there was a lot to look at below it. She was a big woman, not tall, but easily two hundred pounds. Young, twenty-something. She wore a black tank top that didn’t quite cover the expanse of her chest, a pair of men’s shiny basketball shorts with a white stripe down the side, and black high-tops. Her hair was pulled back under a backwards-facing, rainbow-emblazoned baseball cap, exposing a round face that was shiny with sweat and devoid of makeup. Hands propped on her hips, she stared at him, hurried and businesslike.

  Men’s clothes, no makeup, rainbow.

  Lesbian, he thought, relaxing.

  “You can borrow mine.” He reached for his keys. “They’re in my car. Need help?”

  “That’s all right. I’ve already got my roommate’s hood up. Such bad luck. Bad day.”

  He smiled. “At least you had one. I’ve been staring at a computer all day. Totally lost track of time.”

  “You get paid to do that?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Lucky you.”

  He closed the front door behind him, agreeing with her. Some of his friends, old classmates and fellow teachers, had been without a real job for months, even years. “I’ll get the cables.”

  She followed him out to his car in the short driveway next to hers. The houses were perched on the steep hillside to enjoy the view, leaving little room for yards or parking. “What’s your name?” He untangled the cables from the blankets in the back of his old Jetta and handed them to her. “I’m Mark.”

  “Rose.” She flashed a quick smile before sinking back into her funk. “The dome light must’ve been on all day. Didn’t close the door all the way.”

  “Bad luck.”

  “Yeah. Well, thanks.”

  A gust of wind blew through the houses and whipped her blond ponytail off her shoulder. He took a deep breath, realizing how nice it was to suck in some fresh air. He really needed to get out more. “Do you play basketball?” he asked abruptly.

  She had already turned to walk away. “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry. You look like you were—forget it. I have a hoop, see? On the side of the house? I just wanted you to know you could use it if you wanted.”

  With a glance down at her outfit, her face turned pink. “God, I forgot what I was wearing. No, I lift. Weights. I was just working out. My roommate needs to run an errand but my car is dead behind hers, blocking her in.” She smoothed her shirt over her hips.

  “Sorry.” He ran his hand over his face. “I don’t get out much and I forget how to talk to people. What you just had the pleasure of witnessing was my feeble attempt at socializing.”

  “It was pretty good.” She smiled briefly. “Sorry I didn’t play along.”

  “No problem. I’ll warn you next time when I’m about to make another effort.”

  With a smile that finally reached her eyes—quite nice, actually, almost the same blue as his car—she said, “Looking forward to it.”

  He looked down at his bare feet. Pebbles from the cracked driveway were biting into his skin. “Let me grab my shoes and I’ll help you. It’s easier with two people.”

  “You really don’t have to—”

  “Warning—this is another attempt.”

  She laughed. “Busted again. All right. That would be nice, actually. Blair, my roommate, isn’t very butch.”

  He stared at her. Were they both gay? That didn’t make sense. Blair was pregnant. Then again, Mark had heard the pregnancy was unplanned and John, his ex-neighbor and future relation by marriage, was still in New York.

  “Just a second.” He jogged back to the house and shoved his bare feet into his Birkenstocks. Maybe the quiet brunette was bisexual. Or hadn’t decided yet. Which was why she couldn’t agree to marry—

  “Chill, dude,” he muttered to himself. Countless hours in his programming Man Cave had decimated what few social skills he’d had to begin with.

  Rose already had the hoods propped up when he returned. Her car, the one in back, was a silver Corolla. Blair’s was a white Corolla, same model year.

  Hers and hers cars?

  More confused than ever, he joined her under the hood of the dead one to help her with the cables.

  “I really appreciate this,” she said, squeezing the red clamp and bending over the battery. “Since we just moved out here, I don’t have anyone I could call.” She connected the clamp to the positive terminal.

  “You came from New York, right?”

  She nodded. “Upstate. Never thought I’d live in California.”

  “What’d’ya think?”

  “Until today, it was fine.”

  He walked over to her roommate’s car, ready to help, but she strode past him and attached the other clamps to the good battery without hesitating.

  She certainly was capable around an engine. Why was it most women never learned anything about cars? Then again, most men didn’t seem to know much either. He was a software guy, but at least he knew the basics. Modern humans completely relied on machines they knew nothing about, depending on the few who did to keep them working. Cars, computers, electricity.

  “So, Mark, what do you do?”

  With a start, he realized she’d already started up her roommate’s car and was standing right next to him. It wasn’t like him to forget a woman was nearby—one of his most limiting hang-ups.

  “I’m a software engineer.” He watched her face, waiting for the knowing-but-not-knowing nod. It wasn’t like saying brain surgeon, which conjured up the concrete image of latex fingers holding a scalpel as it sliced th
rough delicate white matter. Software engineer made people think not of the action but of confusing, opaque technicalities. Computers, code, whatever. Fascinating, wonderful stuff most people thought was as thrilling as lint.

  “Right,” she said, sighing. “I forgot everyone in the Bay Area is a software engineer.”

  “Hardly.”

  She gave him a sour glance. “Everyone with a job.”

  “Not even them.”

  “Everyone under thirty.” She climbed into her car and in a moment her car started. “Yes!”

  Mark gave the Toyota an encouraging pat before disconnecting the cables on both engines. When he climbed into Blair’s car to turn it off, he noticed how clean it was, with a little silk daisy on the dash. He smiled, inhaled the faint scent of perfume.

  Rose tapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll tell Blair she’s been liberated.”

  His heart gave a thud as he realized he was going to meet the quiet brunette face-to-face. So far he’d had to admire her from across the property line. “You’ll want to drive around for a while to keep the battery going,” he said, swallowing hard. “Thirty minutes or so.”

  “Yeah, I know. Should be fun.”

  “Could be worse.”

  “Tell me about it. I spent a week in this car driving across the country without anyone to talk to, since Blair drove out hers, too. I wish I’d left it at my mom’s, but everyone said you can’t live in California without your own car.”

  “Hey! You got it going!”

  There she was, jogging over from the house. Blair. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, understated but pretty. Her hair was down, all wavy and long and soft-looking around her shoulders, and a purse bobbed on her shoulder.

  “Thanks to Neighbor Guy,” Rose said as he got out of the car.

  His mouth went dry. His mantra, Don’t be a dork, blared in his mind.

  “Oh,” Blair said, freezing in place. Eyes wide, she stared at him, obviously shy. After a moment, she laughed awkwardly and waved. “Hi. I’m Blair.”

  “I know,” he said, then cringed. “I mean, hi. Mark is me. I mean, I am Mark.” He closed his eyes. Kill me now.