Chapter 5 A Controlled Life
A Controlled Life
Renée
Iusher the girls into our backyard, out of sight of the last person I expected to be our new neighbor, and the last person I wanted to run into.
“Mom, can we play restaurant?”
All I can do is nod in response, too in shock by what just happened. My girls leave for their tiny outdoor kitchen—a child’s size table with a bucket sink next to the smallest garden bed ever, but it’s the only one I could fit in this yard.
I busy myself with dishes inside and listen to the girls play in the backyard.
I should have listened to the blaring voice of reason that warned me hooking up with my former student, no matter how attractive he is, was a supremely stupid idea.
Curiosity and desire spiked as I watched him dance that night.
I had no intention of hooking up with him, but once my plans fell through, and my sister, Amber, discovered who he was, there was no stopping our inevitable end.
As much as I would like to deny it, I had an incredible time.
I wanted more of him, but I needed a clean break, and nothing was going to prevent that.
As the girls prepare their “restaurant,” Delta patiently shows her younger sister how to pick just the weeds from the garden.
Lo listens and follows along. Not for the first time, I imagine what Lo might say back to her older sister.
Delta is nine, and Lo is seven, but for the past two years—ever since their father died—Lo hasn’t spoken a word.
Not a day goes by that I don’t ache to hear her voice.
Her father—my late husband—is another story. Missing him isn’t something I struggle with. Not in the least.
The back slider opens, and Delta’s bubbly voice fills the kitchen. “—and his name is Jonah, and he’s going to come over and see my new bike!”
“Is he?” Amber says with a smile. She’s still in her country club uniform, and judging by the polo and khaki shorts, I’d guess she worked the drink cart on the golf course today.
A few loose strands of her strawberry-blonde hair fall down her freckled neck from her high bun.
I had a similar build before kids—short, slimmer, cute as a button, if I say so myself.
Now, at thirty-eight, with two kids, a job, and bills piling up, staying in shape isn’t a high priority, or even doable anymore.
And that’s fine. My body has served me well, and she’s beautiful, stretch marks and all.
Amber has been living with us ever since Greg died, and I don’t think I could survive without her.
Flighty as she is, she’s the most loyal person I know.
She will cancel plans at the drop of a hat, but if it involves me or my daughters, she’s locked in and confirmed.
If it’s anyone else, she doesn’t care if she bails; it’s no sweat off her back.
When Amber came back into my life, it was at a time we both needed each other.
She had been in and out of drug rehab and was financially cut off from our parents.
The day I called and asked for her help, after nearly a decade of not speaking, she made a plan—a commitment—to get clean for herself and for us.
I’m so thankful, and so proud of her.
My sister grins at me. “You met the new neighbor? What’s he look like? He must be loaded to buy that place. I wonder if he’s a member of the country club.”
Before I can warn her in some adult-coded way, Delta’s chirping. “He’s a man, and he has long hair like yours, Aunt Amber. And he said he likes cookies, so Lo and I are gonna make him more. Do you wanna help us bake cookies in our restaurant?”
“I do. You know I’m always offering my help in the kitchen at work, but our pastry chef, Pierre, is still mad at me for losing my Band-Aid in the big mixer of chocolate mousse.
Can you believe that? One stupid Band-Aid.
My finger wasn’t even bleeding anymore. I don’t know what he’s so upset about.
It’s like the kiss we shared after the staff wine tasting last year means nothing to him.
But can I be honest with you? If he wanted to kiss me again, I’d let him. I like his little mustache.”
“You kissed a boy?”
“No, a very temperamental man who plays with chocolate all day. Now go outside and get your kitchen in order. I’m gonna change and talk to your mom for a minute, and then I’ll join you.”
“Okay!” The girls leave us without another thought and race to their restaurant.
She turns to me, eyes narrow. “Alright, this new neighbor,” she says. “What kind of rich is he? Old rich? Foreign rich? Some developer who’d tear down a gorgeous eight-million-dollar estate just to throw up a cheap subdivision?”
I grip her arms and lock eyes with her, mostly to shut her up. “Amber.” I pause. “Do you remember when we went to Strip Tease for your birthday?”
Her eyes light up. “Yes. Can we go back? We almost never get to do anything fun together.”
I cock my head back, affronted. “We have fun.”
“If you have to say that with your eyebrows touching, we don’t have enough fun.”
Ugh, she’s not wrong. We really don’t go out together much.
She does—she goes out with her new friends and coworkers.
Amber actually has a social life. If I’m not working at the university, I’m at home.
Amber lives with us, so she'll babysit anytime I ask, but I try not to ask often. She uprooted her whole life in Nashville and moved here on a whim just to support me, so I don’t ask for anything extra.
Amber’s the fun-loving aunt, the extroverted sister.
I’m the stick-in-the-mud and the voice of reason.
I’m the one organizing the chaos into some kind of predictable structure so I can give my girls the best shot at a bright future.
Their abusive father dying? That was the first real, terrifying step in that direction.
She runs her thumb over the crease in my brow. “There you go,” she says. “So... are we going back to Strip Tease? I could go for a hair blowout and a lap dance right about now.”
I shake my head. “Our neighbor. It’s Jonah.”
The words hang between us as she tries to connect the dots.
“Jonah Arc?”
“What?”
“No, wait. It’s Joan of Arc.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The guy in the Bible who built the ark.”
“Noah?”
“I’m pretty sure his name was Joan... or Jonah. I don’t know; I didn’t pay attention in Sunday school, okay? You got me.”
“Amber, listen to me. When we were at Strip Tease, you made that ridiculous bet with me when you found out that one stripper was my former student.”
The “bet” in question was really more of a birthday gift for her.
Amber’s always saying I do nothing impulsive. Nothing just for me. Even the tiny garden in our backyard isn’t mine in any indulgent way. It's practical—only vegetables, just enough to supplement our groceries.
Believe it or not, being a biology professor doesn’t make it easy to make ends meet as a single parent. Amber contributes what she can with her tip-based server salary and from her... extracurricular activities, but things are tight.
She still manages to get out and have fun.
And I know she’s right... I don’t do anything for myself.
Impulsivity used to be a cornerstone of who I was.
Sure, some of that fades with age—especially when you’re a parent—but the more she brought it up, the more I realized how far I’d drifted from that version of myself.
I am no longer the kind of person people would call reckless. But that night—finding Jonah on stage—something shifted.
When I told Amber who he was, she insisted, practically shoved cash into my bra and pushed me into that back room.
Said it was the best birthday present she could ever ask for.
I couldn’t deny her—not when I knew she was right, and not when she deserved whatever she wanted for always showing up for me.
Hooking up with him wasn’t on my radar—nor was riding his pretty face and staring at his incomprehensibly long eyelashes until I came in a way I hadn’t in years.
I thought he’d give me a private little dance and maybe he’d let me touch his arms and get a better look at his tattoos. I imagined nothing beyond that.
But once the door closed behind me, it felt as if the widow and the mother of two were left in the dimly lit hallway just outside.
Inside, it was just me... and him. A young, starry-eyed man, glitter-dusted and watching me like I was some kind of fantastical fairy who came to make his dreams come true.
Logic snapped like a dry twig underfoot. It was like I stepped into a capsule where time, consequence, and responsibility didn’t exist.
Only desire.
Eyes wide, Amber gasps, “Yes. Your former student, that’s right!”
“That’s him,” I say gravely. “He’s our new neighbor.”
She rears back. “How is that possible? He’s a stripper. How can he afford that property?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe he has a rich family. Though, why would he strip if he’s wealthy?”
“Again, I don’t know. What I know is that we are staying far away from him.”
“Oh, come on,” she drawls, her tone teasing.
I just know she’s about to coax something out of me.
“You go out once a month to fuck submissives, and the end-all-be-all of subby men, who was so baby girl you couldn’t stop daydreaming for weeks afterwards, plops himself next door and you’re gonna tell me you’re never going to see him again? ”
Dammit. I should have kept my mouth shut.
But this, gossiping about our sexual exploits, is something foundational in our sisterhood—it’s not how all sibling relationships work, but it is for us.
We spent so long without each other that once she was finally back in my life, I clung to her like a lifeline.
She brought back all that essential, in-between stuff that’s never really explained about girlhood, but feels so right when it’s presented to you.
Girlhood had been missing from my life, even though I fight tirelessly to foster it between my daughters.