CHAPTER 9
Emma
A knock at the door startles me out of my melancholy. The credits for Home Alone are rolling down my TV screen and I’m feeling so acutely alone that I’m about to give in, jump in my car and drive to Carly’s house. Even if it means crashing her family Christmas and spending the next few days watching the newlywed, newly pregnant couple make googly eyes at each other.
I wipe my tired eyes, eyes which have been overused and abused by my tears this past month, and drag myself to the door. I’m not expecting anyone, so a knock could only mean one thing.
Someone trying to convert me to some religion.
This I cannot handle.
I peek through my front window and frown when I find my front porch empty. My pulse races at the next thought to pop into my head.
It’s something from the elf next door!
Galvanised now, I fling the door open and drop to my knees, examining what he’s left for me. This time, there’s no parcel wrapped in pretty Christmas paper, and there’s no small box filled with decadent cookies. Instead, there’s a porcelain plate, white with a Christmas tree painted on it, and in the middle is one giant cookie. It looks like shortbread: two layers with a thick layer of jam in the middle. And there, stuck in it, is a small white flag.
I pick up the plate, my eyes scouring the area around me, looking for the hunk next door. When I find nothing but empty space, I back into my house, holding my cookie tightly with one hand, gripping his note in the other.
Dear Grinch,
I come in peace.
I have a feeling that you too are Home Alone this Christmas Eve and thought you’d enjoy this extra special treat.
Merry Christmas!
From, Noah (your neighbour)
Noah! The elf next door has a name. And apparently very keen hearing.
I’d spent the whole day being extra quiet, watching TV with subtitles and listening to music with my ear pods, knowing my silence would freak him out. But when the time had come to watch Home Alone , a family Christmas Eve tradition I couldn’t forgo for him, I’d put the volume up ever so slightly to enjoy it more. And he’d heard it. And registered that I was, in fact, home alone.
And he’d come in peace.
What now?
I break a piece of the cookie off and pop it in my mouth. A burst of flavour explodes on my taste buds and I moan loudly.
A chuckle follows from beyond the wall.
“He can hear you!” I whisper, shuffling to my bedroom and shutting the door to groan and moan in peace. This cookie, with its light shortbread and its tartly sweet jam, is just about the best thing I’ve ever eaten. There’s zero chance I’ll be able to eat it quietly.
“Carly!” I whisper as she answers my SOS call. I know it’s Christmas Eve, and she’s probably sharing a romantic dinner with her husband, but this cookie and flag and note right here? This is an emergency.
“Emma? What’s wrong? Why are we whispering?” she whispers back like the good friend she is. She may not know what’s going on, but she’s always willing to follow my lead.
“He left another cookie,” I tell her, wiping the crumbs from my lip, feeling forlorn. The cookie is gone. “And a white flag. And a note.”
Her worried face melts into pure bliss. “The elf did?”
I nod. “His name is Noah.”
“Ooh, good name.”
It is. But it is also not the point.
“What does the note say? And tell me about the cookie.”
Pregnant Carly’s brain is easily distracted by thoughts of food.
“He said he’s coming in peace. And he even fashioned a white flag out of a toothpick.” I wave it in front of my face and her expression melts further. She’s a softie.
“Oh my gosh, that is so cute.”
I sigh. “I know.”
“Does this mean we forgive him?”
I ponder this. The guy had spent the last few days suggesting (not subtly) that I am a sad, lonely, maybe crazy cat lady. Am I willing to let that go because he baked me a special cookie and waved a white flag?
“Yes.”
I’m easy to please.
“Yay!” she yells and I shush her, glancing at the thin door separating me from the wall. And the hottie beyond it. “I’m pretty sure he has Superman hearing.”
“So,” she whispers. “What are you going to do next?”
“I don’t know,” I whine. “Help me.”
Carly giggles and we strategise my next move. I’m not a baker, so making a treat of my own for him is out. I’m done with playing music through the wall to get his attention. I could write him another note, but that seems lame.
“What do you want to happen next?” My friend asks when I’ve vetoed all our ideas.
“I think I want to meet him properly. You know, have a conversation. See what he’s like beyond the wall and the notes and the DVDs?”
“Then why don’t you invite him over?”
I frown. Can it be that easy?
“I know!” she screeches and then winces, before resuming in a lower tone. “Sorry! I know. I have the perfect idea.”
She tells me her plan, and a smile grows on my lips. It’s perfect. Subtle, classy, not too desperate. It may actually work.
“I love you, you know,” I tell her when we’re about to hang up.
“I love you, too. Now go get to know the hunk next door. And if he turns out to be a dud, you can stay here until we find somewhere for you to move to.”
And with that slightly terrifying advice ringing in my ears, I change out of my sloppy pyjamas into a casual outfit that looks like I just threw it together, but really takes effort. You know, in case we actually meet in person, so he can actually see me as someone beyond the sad lady next door.
I comb out the knots from my hair, leaving it straight and heavy down my back, and coat my eyelashes with my favourite mascara. Once I feel decent, I gather up my peace offering, write a note of my own, and head to Noah’s front door before I can talk myself out of it.
I put the note and the bottle of wine on his welcome mat, knock and then bolt. My breath rushes out of me as I watch him open his door, the speed of which makes me wonder if he’d been waiting for me to visit. I watch, heart in my mouth as he picks up the wine, scans the note and smiles in my direction. He then closes his door, disappearing from sight and I’m left to wonder what he’s going to do next.
Because the note I’d left with a very expensive bottle of wine said:
Dear Noah,
Merry Christmas to you too!
I am home alone this Christmas Eve and believe you may be too. If you feel like enjoying this wine with some company, I have two glasses waiting over here.
From Emma (your neighbour).
P.S. That cookie was the best thing I’ve ever eaten!!
And now I get to wait and see what he’s going to do. Is he going to bring the wine over to join me so we can get to know each other? Or is he going to ignore the note, leaving my invitation hanging between us, torturing me with an impending sense of rejection?
What have I done?
The minutes tick over and I text Carly, letting her know her plan was terrible and I should never have listened to her. As I wait for her response, I pull up the trusty real estate dot com website and again start the search for a new place to live. Because if Noah decides he doesn’t want to take advantage of my two glasses to share the bottle of wine, I’m going to have to move. There’s no way I can share a wall with someone who offered peace and then took it back.
Was this all part of his master plan? Was his white flag a decoy to lull me into a sense of security? Was he planning on enticing me with cookies, only to reject me all along?
Carly’s messages trying to talk me off the ledge do little to stop me from continuing down this anxiety spiral, as the minutes keep on ticking by without a knock on the door. And after a long unanswered hour later, I give in with a sigh of defeat.
He’s not coming.
Feeling worse than I have in weeks, I wash my face, pull my hair up in a messy bun, get back into my ratty pyjamas and put my glasses on. I’m going to watch Love Actually at full volume and drink a bottle of wine by myself and I’m going to forget all about the jerk next door.
Decision made, I flop on the couch, cocoon myself in a blanket, turn on the TV and wipe away an errant tear.
And then I hear a knock at the door.