Changing Lanes

by Vining, Season

  “It’s too early for you to be this cheeky,” Marley says. “Plus, I’m here, let me in.”

  I end the call and head for the front door moments before she knocks. Pulling it open, Marley stands like a living art exhibit on my front porch. Her bright pink hair is knotted into buns on each side of her head. She’s got a jean skirt on with yellow and black striped tights that disappear into combat boots. Her sweater is lime green with an embroidered cactus and yellow flower stitched on. Her scarf matches the tights and large hoop earrings almost touch her shoulders.

  “Well, are you going to invite me in or leave me to freeze? I did bring you coffee.”

  I wave her in and close the door, leaving the chilly air outside and taking my coffee. We stand there, kind of awkwardly assessing each other the way women do. I see a wacky girl who probably has a really odd pet, a collection of vintage Barbies, and more vinyl records than the small shop back in my hometown. I’m guessing that what she sees is a tired woman who’s been someone’s doormat for too long, has never tried drugs, and finds her clothes in the “American Housewife” section of Walmart. Still, we embrace each other like old friends.

  “It’s so good to finally meet you in person,” I say, releasing Marley and tugging on her scarf. “Love the yellow and black.”

  “Yes, well, I’m a Hufflepuff. Fancy meeting you too,” she says, removing the scarf and tossing it onto her bag on the floor. “You’re a lot prettier in person, by the way. I totally stalked you on Facebook.”

  “Thanks, I guess,” I shrug and give her a strange look as she strolls around the room.

  “Don’t you just love the place? It’s got a lot of personality, I think.”

  “I do love it.” I sip the coffee and close my eyes as it warms my insides and brings me to life. “The crown molding, the built-ins—it’s got a lot of charm.”

  “So what’s this about you being obscene? You seem perfectly fine to me,” Marley says, having a seat on my floor and crossing her legs out in front of her. She pats the hardwood next to her and I sit down. “The movers should be here in a few, but tell me all about it.”

  I take a seat next to her and tell her the whole story of my jogging neighbor, his cute dog, and boobies on display. She doesn’t even apologize for laughing so hard she snorts.

  “Is he hot?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, sipping more coffee. “I couldn’t get a good look at him.”

  “Well then, he’s already gotten a good look at you. No need for introductions or anything. Just invite him over a piece of fanny pie,” Marley says.

  I stare at her waiting for an explanation, but she only smiles. “Fanny pie?”

  “Pussy, love. You know. Your taco, honey pot, the great divide...”

  I press my fingers to her lips. “I got it.”

  Marley checks her phone. “I know you said you didn’t have a bed, so that is priority today. Once everything’s unloaded, I’ll take you over to Hamilton Bay. They’ve got a mattress store where I can get you a good deal.”

  “Really?” I ask. “That’s amazing. Sleeping on the floor just about killed me. Old ladies shouldn’t have to endure such things.”

  “Old ladies?” Marley laughs. “As if. You’re not a day over twenty-nine.”

  I chuckle and swallow down more coffee. “Sure. We’ll say twenty-nine, plus shipping and handling.”

  “Couldn’t convince me otherwise,” she says with a wink.

  A quick knock pulls us both from the floor. Marley jumps into action, directing the guys to unhook my car from the back of the truck and start unloading. I offer to help bring things in, but she assures me they will take care of everything.

  She wiggles her eyebrows at me when a large, muscled man carries two boxes into the kitchen. “Forget the neighbor. Just drag him upstairs and let him pack your box.” Marley breaks into a fit of giggles while I roll my eyes.

  “Slow down, Marley. I’ve just gotten out of a twenty year marriage and have been in town for less than 12 hours.”

  “The best way to get over a man is to get under another one,” she says, resuming her spot on the floor.

  While I can’t deny the guy is hot, that sounds more like the intro to a vintage porno film and not the kind of romance I long for. I made a promise that I’d never settle again. I want grand gestures and charm, a slow burn that will leave me breathless. I suppress a groan, wondering if I’ve got unrealistic goals because of all the novels I read.

  It’s a bit uncomfortable for me to sit idly while others work. That’s something that is bred into my DNA, or maybe was handed down from my mother and kept in check by my ex-husband. Meanwhile, Marley has no qualms with ordering these guys around while sitting on the floor painting her fingernails a bright turquoise color.

  “So, tell me, did you just tuck tail and run away or did you at least get some revenge before disappearing? Because I know I would have gone off the rails.”

  I lean against the wall next to her and fold my arms. “I’m not sure that anything will ever satisfy the word revenge in this case.” Marley frowns. “But I did throw all his belongings into a pile in the backyard, douse them with gasoline, and watched that shit burn for hours. Did you know when your cousin is head of the fire department, you don’t even get fined for that?”

  Marley chuckles and waves her freshly painted nails at me. “That’s my girl,” she says.

  I walk to my purse and dig out the folded newspaper page before handing it over. “There’s also this.” I wait while she opens up the page and reads over it. I can tell when the moment of realization dawns.

  “Oh my god. You didn’t!” she squeals.

  “I did.”

  “You had their sexting messages printed in the paper?”

  “Along with their photos so everyone could recognize them.”

  Her giggle starts small and grows into a cackling kind of laughter, where she’s clutching her chest and wiping tears from her eyes.

  “I knew I liked you,” she says. “That’s bloody brilliant.”

  We both watch the movers bring boxes in and eventually, I can’t help myself. I start hauling the smaller boxes upstairs to my bedroom, ignoring Marley’s bitching. I make a few trips up and down the stairs before needing a break. Trying to be subtle, I check the neighbor’s house when passing by the windows, but there’s no sign of life.

  “I told you to let them get it,” she sings, as I rub the muscles of my lower back.

  The three men have the truck empty in under an hour. I hand over the keys so they can return the truck for me and Marley and I pile into her car for a little mattress shopping.

  “You’ll need food and toiletries, but we’ll get your bed first. I may even be able to persuade them to deliver it today,” she says, batting her eyes at me. Somehow I have no problem believing that this woman could sell ice to an Alaskan. “And then we’ll work on finding someone to break it in.”

  3

  THE TRIP TO Hamilton Bay is a short twenty minute drive. The mattress store is the first thing I notice once we get to town on account of the row of wacky wavy inflatable tube men at the road. They’re sort of obnoxious in their neon colors and jerky movements, and in other ways remind me of my dad when he had too many bourbons. That brings a smile to my face and an ache to my chest. When he wasn’t buried under the hood of a car, he was a silly man who gave us a fun and sometimes chaotic childhood.

  Once inside the store, I am overwhelmed by a sea of beds. Can there really be this many options? Two salespeople spot us and all but elbow each other to get there first. Before they make it down the first row of beds, Marley stops them cold.

  She holds up a hand in their direction. “Don’t even bother. We’re here to see Orvalle.”

  I whip my head toward her. “You know a real person named Orvalle? Is he like 93 with a bowtie? Does he sell popcorn?”

  Marley rolls her eyes and nods her chin to the left. I follow her gesture to find a gorgeous young man in a modern suit that hugs hi
s body very nicely. He’s wearing a smile that is all perfect white teeth and it’s just for Marley.

  “Orvalle, love, how are you?” she says, giving him a kiss on each cheek.

  “I’m good,” he says. “Good to see you, Marley. Been a while.”

  She looks off across the store as if uninterested with small talk. “Yes, well, I have need of you now. I’m here to cash in that favor you owe me.”

  This confident, grown ass man blushes. His cheeks flame pink and he stares at his shoes too long. My gaze bounces from Marley to Orvalle and back again. Just when I feel like I’m going to choke on the tension between the two, she speaks.

  “This is Stella. She needs a love sack and she needs it quickly.”

  He holds out a hand and at the same time I open both of mine for a hug. It’s just customary in the South. Besides, I’m a hugger. Orvalle sees my intention and lifts both arms at the same time I correct myself, extending one hand for shaking. I let out a weird grunt and he laughs before grabbing my hand and shaking it once.

  “Well, that was super awkward,” Marley says. “Now, show us the fanciest stuff you’ve got.”

  “What?” I say, my eyes wide. I look to Orvalle. “Just a comfortable, reasonably priced mattress set will do. But I want it big and wide and all to myself.”

  “Bor-ing,” Marley says, and takes off down a row of beds. “Got anything that vibrates?” She picks one and crawls up to try it out. After a few seconds, I get a thumbs down and she’s off to the next one.

  Orvalle asks me a string of questions to find out what I want in a bed. We test drive a few with Marley insisting that Orvalle get in the middle.

  “Let’s make spoons,” she says, turning on her side and curling herself into Orvalle. He does the same to me and I have to admit that it feels strangely nice.

  When his hand presses into my stomach, a weird sensation comes over me. It’s like when your foot falls asleep and you start moving it around to get the blood flowing. The tingling sensation prickles beneath where Orvalle’s hand rests and blooms out like an ink stain on paper. I realize that this is the first time another man’s hands have been on my body in twenty-three years. The thought causes my brain to panic.

  “Switch!” I call out. We all roll over and now I am spooning Orvalle. With his hand gone, the sensation fades away completely and my pulse slows. I can’t help but wonder if this is a normal reaction, or if my ex has done more mental damage than I imagined. “This is pretty comfy.”

  “The man or the bed?” Marley calls out.

  “The bed,” I say, kind of unsure of the truth. “We’ll take it.”

  After we crawl out of bed together, I follow Orvalle to his desk and make the first purchase for my new home. With a stern tone and a look that could melt ice, Marley tells him it will be delivered today and Orvalle agrees with no questions asked. I’m curious to what kind of favor he owes her, but think better of asking.

  “We’ll go ahead and do the rest of your shopping in Hamilton Bay too,” Marley says when we’re back in the car. “You’ve got options in Grace, but the grocery is such a rip off, being a smaller town and such.”

  Shopping with Marley is much like shopping with my five-year-old niece. While I’ve made a list of all the necessities, she just keeps dropping things into my cart. And we’re not talking kale chips and veggie straws. There’s sugary cereal, frozen pizzas, and a couple of cans of Pringles. I finally protest when she adds a bag of golden Oreos.

  “I don’t even like those,” I say. “They’re an insult to the original institution of the Oreo with the perfect chocolate to filling ratio. There’s not even chocolate in those which should be against some kind of cookie law.”

  “It’s for when I visit.” She waves a dismissive hand in my direction and keeps walking. “Besides, there’s no cookie laws. My friend Kennedy owns the bakery downtown. I think she would have told me.”

  Our last stop is the wine aisle where she loads me up with all of her favorites and I even include a few of mine. While Marley rambles on about reds versus whites, I close my eyes and dream about an evening curled up with one of my favorite books and a bottle of wine. I’ll snack on saltines and cheese and leave crumbs wherever I damn well please.

  “Darling,” Marley says, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Are you listening?”

  I shake my head. “Not at all.”

  She chuckles and adds another two bottles to the cart.

  _______________

  Back at my house, we work to unload everything. Marley organizes my kitchen while I unpack my books, filling the built-in shelves in the den. We both head upstairs to get my bedroom ready before the store arrives with my bed.

  “Is there anything in these boxes that you don’t want me to see?” Marley asks, ripping the packing tape off of a box.

  “Nah. I’m not that interesting of a person,” I say with a flippant wave of my hand.

  “Now I know that’s bullshit,” she says, pulling a bag of my socks and underwear from the box. “Unless you are a direct reflection of your knickers, because I see some granny panties and nothing but white and nude colors.”

  I snatch the bag from her hands and toss it in my closet. “Don’t judge a woman by her drawers,” I say. “I’m here to start over. If that means maxing out a Victoria’s Secret credit card, then so be it.”

  Marley’s eyes light up and she squeezes her hands together. “Oh, please let me help. Shopping is my favorite thing ever. Though we’ll have to do it online unless you want to drive to Syracuse.”

  “Online is fine with me. The internet people are coming to install tomorrow.”

  “Sweet!” Marley says. “Next, we’ll tackle those mom jeans you’re wearing.”

  “Hey! I heard they were making a comeback,” I protest, tugging on the waistband.

  “There’s a difference between high-waisted jeans and what you’re wearing. But don’t fret, love. I told you that you’re my new project, so I’m here for all of it. The good, the bad, and the tacky.”

  I rip the tape off of a box and open it up. “If I weren’t so uncomfortable in these jeans, I’d be offended. But now you’ve called attention to them,” I spin and look at my backside in the full length mirror in the corner of the room. “I totally have square ass.” I grab a handful of each cheek and lift. “What the hell?”

  “Yeah,” Marley agrees, eyeing my reflection. “Bums should not have corners.”

  We work hard to unpack the rest of the boxes after I make Marley promise to not judge anymore of my belongings. My bed is delivered right on time. They even haul it upstairs and set it up for me. I throw my newly purchased sheets and comforter in the washer in anticipation of a great night’s sleep.

  Around dinner time, I open a bottle of wine while Marley heats us each a Lean Cuisine.

  “Is this more sad or pitiful?” I ask, motioning to the piping hot processed food in plastic trays.

  “This,” Marley says, taking a huge bite of her dinner and realizing that it is lava hot, waves a hand in front of her open mouth. “This is single life independence, lady. With no MSG! Welcome to it!”

  She holds her plastic cup of wine in the air and I bump my own against it. “To independence,” I say.

  That night, after Marley is gone and I am alone in the quiet of my new house, I revisit each room. I take my time walking around, finding new details. When it’s time for sleep, I keep my clothes on and make a note to buy curtains or blinds for all the windows in the house. Around eleven, I am sleepy and exhausted from the day, but curiosity keeps me up.

  Just like the previous night, my neighbor exits his house around midnight and takes off for a jog. I wonder what kind of work he does to keep such odd hours. In the light of the full moon, I get a better look at his profile and it makes my heart race. The bulge of his arms and calves are enough to get me thinking about doing very naughty things to him. I consider that he might be alarmingly disfigured, or even a bad person, but those thoughts slip from my m
ind as my fingers slide down to my clit in the shower. I come more quickly than I ever have before and chalk it up to how long it’s been since I’ve had an actual orgasm.

  This time, I stealthily watch from my window as he returns home, lets his dog out for a bit and heads back inside. He doesn’t catch me watching tonight. In fact, he doesn’t even look up in my direction. I lay in my new bed, in soft sheets that smell of lavender, and feel a little pissed off at that.

  _______________

  In the next couple of days, I focus on unpacking. I try not to dwell on how the few things I have don’t fill up this house. My shelves are nearly empty, rooms are bare, and it all feels a little too lonely. But sometimes, when it’s quiet, and I’m standing with my coffee, toes digging into my fluffy loop rug, it feels just right. I love having my own space and no rules—real or implied. I don’t have to answer to anyone or account for my time. Finally, it’s all about me.

  I enjoy time out on the lake. The wooden dock that leads from my backyard out over the water isn’t as impressive as some of the others, but it suits me just fine. Every afternoon, I wrap myself in a flannel blanket and sit out there reading until the sun disappears from the sky. It’s a simple pleasure that makes me happier than I’ve been in a long time.

  I still spy on my next door neighbor and his late night jogs. I’m basically in love with his corgi and resist the urge to steal him for myself—the dog, not the neighbor. I’m not sure if the mystery surrounding his late night habits or the silhouette of his runner’s body has me more intrigued, but I can definitely say my interest is piqued.

  Though I got a nice settlement in the divorce, I cannot stand to sit home doing nothing. Besides, getting a job in town will be a great way to meet people. On Tuesday morning, I drive to Main Street and park at one end. I figure I’ll walk one side of the street and come back up the other. The air is crisp and when the wind blows, it cuts through my not-made-for-real-cold coat. I curse my southern wardrobe and wrap my striped scarf around my neck—a gift from Marley. She insists I’m a Ravenclaw.