Chapter 14 #3
She storms ahead, muttering something about ‘unfair parent taxes’. Annie and I look at each other and just break out in laughter. It’s a shared, easy laugh that feels dangerous in its comfort level.
“Do you know people in this neighborhood well?” Annie asks, glancing at the glowing windows of the brownstones.
“Not really,” I say, watching the sea of kids with glow sticks cutting arcs through the dark. “Just Joe and Allison. I know a few other parents from Emma’s preschool, but mostly we just trade polite nods and complaints about the tuition.”
Through the fog machines and the screeching kids, I catch sight of a silhouette walking toward us. My stomach does a slow, unhappy roll. I groan, low and pained.
Annie looks at me, her eyebrows shooting up. “What? Giant spider? Ex-girlfriend?”
I lean in slightly, and the scent of her—vanilla and fresh laundry soap—nearly derails my train of thought. “Worse. That’s Denise Briggs. Her daughter is in Emma’s class, they’re friends.”
“Okay…?”
“She’s… a professional participant. She knows everyone’s business, their net worth, and probably their cholesterol levels. She’s a one-woman gossip cyclone.”
Annie raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching. “Ah. The Neighborhood Watch, but with better highlights.”
“Exactly.”
Denise is on us before we can duck behind a topiary.
She’s a neon blur in an electric blue leotard, matching leg warmers over hot pink tights, and a sweatband that suggests she’s ready for a jazzercize class at any moment.
Her lipstick is fire-engine red, her lashes caked with so much mascara they look like spider legs.
“Leo!” she trills, her voice echoing off the stone.
She leans in before I can stop her and does the European double-cheek kiss thing. I try not to recoil but there’s no escaping Denise once she’s committed. “Denise. Hi. Great…leg warmers.”
Her eyes immediately dart to Annie, scanning her head to toe, quickly taking in the sweater, the jeans, and the way we’re standing just a little too close to be strangers. It’s the sort of look that makes me want to put my arm around Annie just to give Denise something real to talk about.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Denise says, her smile bright and predatory as she extends a hand.
“I’m Denise Briggs. My house is right there—” she points to a brownstone three doors down, decorated within an inch of its life, with two massive candy bowls on the porch surrounded by kids fighting over king-size Hershey bars.
“Emma and my daughter Chloe are best friends. They’re in the same class. ”
She pauses, her head tilting, waiting for the introduction she can dismantle later over Chardonnay.
Annie doesn’t miss a beat. She extends her hand with a grace I certainly don’t possess at the moment, her smile warm and professionally polished. “Annie Collier. It’s so nice to meet you, Denise. Which one is Chloe?
Denise points toward a girl a couple houses down dressed as a fairy princess, currently pushing another kid away from a candy bowl and shoving handfuls of chocolate into her own bag while the homeowner isn’t looking.
Annie and I both stare. I’ve never cared for Chloe. The apple didn’t fall far from that particular tree.
“I’ve never seen you around before,” Denise says. Her tone is airy, but her eyes are doing another full-body scan of Annie, likely checking for a wedding ring or a criminal record.
Annie jabs a thumb in my direction. “I just started nannying for Leo a few weeks ago.”
“Oh, isn’t that wonderful.” Denise’s smile is as thin as a sheet of phyllo dough and twice as flaky. The words sound like she’s offering condolences for a tragic loss.
She sidles closer to me, batting her lashes in a way that makes my skin crawl. “I was actually going to chaperone the next school field trip to the Natural History Museum. Are you going on that one, Leo?”
I clear my throat and take a very deliberate, very necessary step back. “I’ll be in a lecture hall that day, but Annie could probably go.”
Denise’s eyes flicker dismissively toward Annie, then back to me.
She’s not interested in that suggestion.
“Well, it’s just so amazing that you teach at a university as prestigious as Columbia.
Did you know it’s one of the oldest institutions in the country, Annie?
Founded in 1754. King’s College, originally. ”
“Hmm,” Annie says, her lips pressing together like she’s trying very hard not to laugh. “Is that right? 1754. Wow.”
“You know,” Denise says, her head tilting at a sharp angle as she squint-stares at Annie. “You look so familiar. I’m sure we’ve never met, but there’s something about you…I never forget a face.”
The atmosphere shifts instantly. Annie’s entire body goes rigid. It’s subtle, but I’m a man who notices details for a living. I see the way her shoulders lock up, the way her smile turns into something brittle and fixed, like a mask that might crack if she moves.
“I just have one of those faces,” Annie says, her voice light but a half-octave higher than before. “People tell me I look like their cousin or their old roommate all the time.”
Denise stares at her for a beat too long, nodding slowly.
Her expression is unreadable, like she’s trying to place a piece in a puzzle that doesn’t quite fit.
Then, she turns back to me with a sharp pivot.
“Well, I should catch up to my kiddos. But Leo, if you ever need help in the evenings and Annie is…busy…I’m always around. ”
“That’s very kind. Thank you.” My voice is clipped. It’s my ‘thank you for your feedback, please leave my office’ voice.
Denise gives Annie one more look—this one distinctly sour—before she sashays away, her leg warmers bouncing with every step.
I wait until she’s at least two brownstones away before I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “That was—”
“A lot?” Annie finishes for me.
“I was going to say ‘painful,’ but yeah. A lot works.”
She laughs, but it sounds forced. Her arms are crossed now, her shoulders still tense.
“You okay?” I ask, stepping a bit closer. The smell of the fog machine is thick here, but I can still catch that hint of her vanilla scent.
“Fine.” She’s watching Emma and Lauren run toward a house with a giant purple spider. She won’t look at me. “Just…people like that. They make me nervous.”
“Denise makes everyone nervous, Annie. It’s her primary hobby. She probably has a spreadsheet of everyone’s secrets stashed somewhere.”
She offers a small smile, but it’s weary. “Yeah. Probably.”
I want to push. I want to ask why she looked like she wanted to bolt into the night the second Denise mentioned her face. There’s a story there and not for the first time, I realize how little I actually know about the woman who’s currently the center of my daughter’s universe.
But Emma is already sprinting back, Lauren hot on her heels. The window for a real conversation slams shut.
“Daddy! One more! The house with the bubbles! Please?”
I look at Annie. She’s already looking down at Emma, her face softening instantly. The tension drains away, replaced by that easy, radiant warmth she reserves for Emma. It’s like she’s flipped a switch.
“One more,” I say, looking at Annie, not the bubbles. “Then we’re done.”
Emma cheers and takes off, and I’m left wondering what the hell just happened.
I turn to Annie. “That seems to happen a lot.”
She raises her eyebrows. “What does?”
“People recognizing you. Thinking you look familiar.” I pause. “I’ve noticed it before when we’re out. People stare at you like they know you from somewhere.”
She shrugs, her face carefully neutral. “I told you. I just have one of those faces.”
“Annie—”
“I’m going to see if Allison needs help with Alyssa.” She’s already turning away, nodding toward where Allison’s bouncing a fussy, bundled-up Alyssa against her shoulder.
And just like that, she’s walking away, leaving me standing in the middle of a Halloween-decorated street with more questions than answers and the distinct feeling that Annie Collier is running from something she doesn’t want me to see.