Chapter 9
But of course, that wishful thinking has to be dashed almost immediately.
When I get down the elevator and open the outside door, I can’t believe who I’m standing in front of. Kwan and another neighbor, Gladys, are happily chatting and laughing with Eli. Gladys is looking at him like he’s a slice of cake she’s ready to devour. And to be fair, it’s jarring to see him this happy and easygoing. I got an image of him from our therapy sessions as a combatant, all downturned expressions and blocked-off posture. When someone is that defensive, they naturally look less attractive.
But standing here now, he’s got more of a glimmer of warmth to him. He still has that bombast, but when he’s in control, it seems less forceful. He’s reeling them in, and they’re more than happy to let him take the lead and regale them with whatever sucking up he’s doing to get them on his side. He’s got that stupid British fashion sense that looks effortless yet casual, and I mildly hate him for it.
Kwan sees me and smiles. “Hi, Nora! Have you met Eli yet?”
He’s looking so expectant and friendly that I have to plaster a sanguine expression on my face so he doesn’t think I’m a rude troll. Maybe that’s what I’ve actually become in this scenario—my apartment is like the troll’s lair under the bridge, and I’m just waiting to attack. But obviously I’m not going to show that side of myself to Kwan.
“I have,” I say, reaching out to pet Lucy as she sidles away from Kwan and up to me. George allows it because Lucy is the only dog he seems to deem as acceptable to have a relationship with. Maybe she’s stayed with us enough that he’s over it. Or maybe he likes that Lucy doesn’t try to make him play. She’s a stoic dog and matches pretty well with his irritated small-man energy. “Nice to see you again, Eli,” I say with a sweetness laced only with the tiniest tinge of prickle.
By the look on his face, I can tell I’m not fooling him. “Oh, I’m so happy to run into you, Nora!” If I was pretend sweet, he’s now nausea-saccharine, the false enthusiasm clearly for my benefit since he already knows it’ll annoy me.
He turns to Kwan and Gladys. “Nora was so helpful when I moved in. She prepared me with the lay of the land with regard to renovation bylaws and building timing. I’m so grateful she gave me a heads-up so I could be sure to come to the board totally prepared.”
He turns to give me a subtle look that is both smug and entertained, as though his eyes are saying, Game on .
I’m surprised that instead of annoyance, heat snakes through me. His undertone is unexpected, like he’s waging a secret war only for me. As though I’m a worthy opponent. I don’t know why it’s a little bit thrilling. Everyone who actually knows me sees me as the person who fixes things, and there’s something strange about the idea that to him, I’m someone who’s trying to knock things down. To Eli I’m a storm, a crash, a hurricane—so different from everyone else’s concrete foundation. And I’m not sure what’s possessing me to want to live up to this alternate role of adversary.
“I do know all the bylaws quite well,” I say, hoping my bullshit will sound authoritative and a little mysterious. “There’s so many specificities to keep in mind. I wouldn’t want someone to start pouring money into a renovation that would get extra attention from all the various government entities and permitting places that have to approve them. Being from another country means you’re probably not aware of everything that happens here.”
There’s a little flash of worry that crosses his expression, and it makes me internally triumphant. If my goal has to be to minimize whatever he’s going to inevitably do, then the best way to get him to pare back is to cause him to do it preemptively out of concern. And I do have one actual trick up my sleeve.
“But I’m glad you had Hearn send out the full plans, because my best friend is an urban landscaper, so she’s going to look everything over and make sure there’s no holes in what you’re planning.”
I can see that my deliberateness throws him off. I don’t think he expected me to have taken it that far already. “That’s so helpful, Nora,” he says slowly. “Thank you for looking out for the whole building.”
“Anytime,” I reply, trying to subsume the laughter that I’m holding in. He’s so easy to rile up. It’s probably why he couldn’t handle therapy. Being open to therapy requires some amount of humility; it requires some self-awareness that’s open to change. But he’s a bowling lane with the bumpers put up. There’s no option for him but to hit the rails and go straight ahead.
“Nora seems like such a great addition to the building,” Eli says with an undercurrent of steel in his voice, now changing tactics. I’m not sure I like where he’s going. “Gladys,” he says, turning to our neighbor who’s still just as enthralled with him. “Could you imagine we’d all have ended up here when I was hanging out in your apartment as a little kid decades ago? I’m so lucky to have been around here for so long, and it’s so nice to see new people taking to it as well.”
I watch as Gladys completely falls for this trip down memory lane, and it douses the flame of victory I’d allowed to grow inside me over the course of this conversation.
“Oh yes, it’s so nice to have you back, Eli,” Gladys says warmly, petting his arm like he’s a lamb she would rather coo over. “Esther would be so happy. She loved how many summers you spent living here as a child with her.”
Well, that’s news to me. I didn’t realize he lived here as a kid. Even if he hasn’t visited much as an adult, that would endear him to anyone. Shoot.
And Gladys keeps going. “I just miss Esther so much. She and I used to walk almost every morning together. She got me out of my house and never let me slow down. I really feel so incredibly lost without her.”
“I bet Eli would love to walk with you,” I blurt out, not sure if now I’m taking it too far, because I can see the surprise lining his expression. But he quickly recovers.
“You know, Gladys, I would love that. And I bet Nora would, too, since—look—she has a dog and probably already walks every morning. We’ve all got you covered.”
He pats her on the shoulder, and she beams, his physical reciprocation melting her like sun on an ice cream cone.
Every time I think I’ve got him one-upped, he swoops back in again. There really is no way to decline, especially when I started it.
“Great point, Eli,” I finally say begrudgingly, knowing that George is not going to take kindly to a chatty companion on his morning walks. “We should definitely do some walks together, Gladys.”
“So kind of you, dear,” she says, clearly touched, and now I feel bad for unwittingly dragging her into this immature feud subtext our conversation is having. “I never think to ask because you always keep so much to yourself. It would be lovely to spend some time together.”
That gets a genuine grin out of Eli, as though he’s won the war of being closer to our neighbors. I want to shout out I Help Kwan with his Dog ! But I know there’s no way to bring that up without making our poor, unwitting conversationmates wonder where this chat went off the rails.
I have to get out of this. I have work and a dog to walk. I can’t spend my whole morning letting Eli get under my skin.
“I’m going for a quick walk right now, if you want to join?” I say to Gladys, hoping maybe I can kill two birds with one stone.
“Oh, you’re so sweet,” she says. “But I don’t want to impose. You’re so busy, and I’d just slow you down.”
I feel a bit guilty for only really offering out of a desire to get something in return. I know New Yorkers don’t necessarily befriend every neighbor (and how could they?), but I don’t want to be using an old lady’s sadness over her departed friend as a way to simply make a point.
“Maybe I need to slow down,” I say truthfully. “Come on, show me the route you used to take with Esther. My first client isn’t until nine; I have plenty of time.”
Her eyes light up in assent, and I’m genuinely glad. Maybe pettiness can have some positive side effects after all. I loop my arm in hers and resist the urge to look back at Eli to see what he thinks of this development as we set off.
Half an hour later, I’m buzzing with the kind of joy you only get from those serendipitous New York moments. A stroll with Gladys was actually a pure delight. We spent our walk talking about music mostly. I never realized that Gladys had worked for a big record label when she was younger. We talked about streaming versus physical music, and she gave me some great tips for deep cuts of artists I enjoy that are actually digitized now.
When I get back to my apartment, I take George’s leash off but pause in the doorway. I have to admit, after that walk, I don’t want to keep going like this with Eli. I don’t want to be the kind of person who invites my neighbor along in order to poke at someone else. This isn’t me. I can respectfully question what’s happening to my roof without turning it into a war.
I walk down the stairs and knock on Eli’s door. It swings open, and I can see his surprise at me standing in front of him. But his surprise is nothing on mine, because he’s only wearing a towel and his hair is wet and slicked back, beads of water dripping down like he’s in one of those elaborate shampoo commercials (that are really only one step above porn, if we’re being honest). I wouldn’t have pegged him for looking so good half-naked.
I want to be an adult and not look ... but I can’t not look.
“Ah lovely, if it isn’t the saboteur,” he says, schooling his face into his typical smirk.
I wonder if he senses that he’s thrown me off. Because yeah, I’m thrown off.
“Why aren’t you dressed?” I blurt out.
“I’m in my own apartment,” he says, as though I’m the one misunderstanding things.
“Yeah, but why wouldn’t you at least ask who’s at your door before you answer it without clothes on?” I throw back.
Just then the elevator dings, and a delivery guy gets out and hands over a paper bag with Tompkins Square Bagels written on the side. Eli pulls out the single bagel, laden with cream cheese, and holds it up to my face as though it’s evidence.
But all it does is make me more exasperated. “You paid for delivery for a single bagel?”
“Welcome to New York,” he says, feigning the worst New York accent I’ve ever heard. Brits really do make the worst American imitators.
“You were just outside,” I point out.
“Good of you to keep tabs on me, but I didn’t feel like walking over there and waiting in the line. I happen to believe my time is valuable. So I enjoyed one of the perks of living in a thriving American metropolis consumed with capitalism and ordered myself a single bagel.”
It’s hard for someone to look so pleased with himself when he’s holding up a towel around his waist, but he’s managing.
I remember why I’m there, though, and try to snap back into my desired professionalism/neighborliness that I want to redirect us to. “Well, great for you, or ... something,” I say, leading with ineloquence, apparently. That smirk along with ... everything else ... is really disrupting my focus. I can pull myself together, though—I deal with people’s emotional states on a daily basis. I can handle this guy. “But I just wanted to say, I think we got off on the wrong foot. Taking the walk with Gladys was actually really great, and I truly don’t want to have any acrimony in the building. I obviously care about what happens here, but it doesn’t have to be antagonistic. I don’t want it to be antagonistic.”
I might have spit a lot of words out, but I’m happy with the sentiment. I’m expecting his response to be equally contrite. But based on the deepening of his smirk, I can immediately tell that my hope was way off base. He’s eyeing me, the look so heated it almost shimmers, and I hate that when he stares at me, it’s as though he can see right through me.
“So you’re going to tell your landscaper friend to not comb through my proposal anymore?”
“Well ...” I pause, surprised, not knowing how to respond to that. “No, I’m not saying I’m not going to do basic diligence—”
“Which the building is already doing. So extra diligence,” he points out.
“Yeah, but—”
“And, am I right in assuming you actually have looked into every possible building rule and government entity that could delay me?”
“I’m not saying I’m going to use any of that—”
“ And this is all after you realize I actually know a lot of people in the building quite well?”
“Okay, but—”
“And I’m supposed to think you’re here because you’ve had a change of heart after walking with Gladys and now suddenly you don’t still think I’m an arrogant blowhard whose girlfriend was right to leave him? All that is now completely moot?”
I tap my foot, not sure if it’s nervousness, contrition, or irritation propelling the movement. “If you’d let me get a word in edgewise,” I finally get out, “I understand why you might be wary, but I’m not a person who starts fights with people. I’m the opposite of that. I don’t know why I let you get me so riled up the other week or this morning, but I don’t like it. It’s not who I am. So this is my olive branch. Can you just take it ?”
“Your capitulation?” he says with a laugh.
“My olive branch !” I repeat, getting more frustrated by the second.
How does this man bring this out in me? With anyone else I can contain myself. I have so many agitating people in my life—look at my damn family and all their constant nonsense—but I think maybe because with him it’s purposeful, it’s harder to reel it in. Most people in my life who have a lot of emotional needs and boundary issues aren’t trying to be that way. They just are who they are, and I’m the person they expect to catch them. But he’s antagonizing me on purpose. And enjoying it.
And apparently considering me. He’s watching me now, like he’s trying to answer a question without having to ask.
Then he leans over until his mouth is against my ear. It throws me off having him this close. That unexpected effect he’s had on me ever since I saw him in person isn’t going away. I can’t explain it, and I resent that he knocks me so off balance. But it’s undeniable that heat pools through me at the proximity. The bare chest and the towel aren’t helping.
“I wouldn’t have expected you to cave so easily,” he whispers in my ear, amusement laced into every note. “I thought you were a stronger adversary than that.”
I step back, trying to clear the tension he’s wound in me—that sensation of never quite being able to brush his gaze away—and trying to summon my usual clearheaded self. “This isn’t a game,” I say, and internally cringe at how much I sound like a boring schoolteacher keeping the kids in line. But at his delighted laugh, I can’t help but double down. “It’s not funny!”
“It’s a little funny,” he snorts.
“This is my life,” I say forcefully, letting the defensiveness that’s been snaking its way to the forefront finally burst out. I never let it, but apparently I’m full of surprises today. “You’re so entitled. You come here, to another country, with some apartment you inherited , and want to act like this isn’t other people’s actual homes. This isn’t some foray into cosplaying as a New Yorker. I live here. I have a job that I’m good at where I help people with their emotional complexities, and I deserve to have this home that I’ve worked hard for. I’ve carved out this one peaceful space for myself, and you’re taking glee in trying to ruin it. You’re selfish .”
The outburst lands on him and spreads, as though he’s taken in every word slowly, and with each morsel the amusement slips away.
“Well, I’m glad we’ve decided to stay professional,” he says with a sad coldness I’m not sure I was prepared for.
“This isn’t a professional context,” I say weakly, while I simultaneously can’t help wondering if maybe going so far as to call him selfish was more than I should’ve said out loud.
But I can see him steeling himself again. So much of my work is noticing people’s masks when they raise and lower them, even when they don’t want people to see. Eli’s more obvious than most, even when he’s trying hard.
“Well then,” he says, standing up even taller. “I’m going to just continue my glee-filled cosplaying at New York life now, with my bagel and my privileged inherited apartment. Any other olive branches you want to yell at me?”
“Not anymore,” I say, all my good intentions having long since vanished.
“Great. Enjoy reading the proposal. Hope your friend finds some minutiae for us to argue over again. Maybe you can come yell at me about it at the roof party next Tuesday?”
He’s baiting me, expecting I’ll say I won’t come. I can’t tell which outcome he’s hoping for, though.
“Oh, I’ll absolutely be there,” I spit.
I turn around and storm away once again, all my plans for a peaceful restart having been summarily torched to the ground.