12. 12
12
“ D on’t have time,” she grumbles for the millionth time.
When the shock wears off from seeing her, yet again, I decide I don’t believe her today.
“What are you in such a hurry to do at home on a Tuesday night?” I ask out of plain curiosity.
She stops for a single beat, so fast that I almost doubt if I saw the hesitation at all.
“Nothing that’s your business.”
That’s fair.
“Feeling gracious enough to let me sleep through the night tonight? Maybe you could turn the volume down for once?”
“No,” she simply replies.
“Sounds about right,” I sigh.
When her back is fully facing me, I let my eyes linger on every detail they can. Her hair is split into two ponytails that fall down her back. She’s wearing a cropped crewneck sweater, and a pair of black skinny jeans. I’m not proud of checking out her ass, but I can’t bring myself to look away until she’s gone inside. I’ve never seen one so perky.
I bet she does squats for fun.
Her next note shows up the morning after.
Can you stop cornering me when I get home at night? It’s getting creepy.
Cornering her? I barely even talk to the woman, so it is beyond me why that’s the conclusion she’s come to. For the most part, I’ve minded my business and barely even looked her way. It’s not my fault that I don’t have a back porch to utilize for my fresh air.
Creepy?! I live here. This is my front porch. I’ve been sitting on it since long before you showed up.
When I go to put it in the usual place, I’m startled by the door opening in front of me. How in the world did we go weeks without seeing each other, and now she won’t stop popping up? I’m over it.
I think it’s the first time I’m seeing her without any makeup, and it changes nothing about my attraction to her. It softens up her face, making her look nicer.
Well, it would if she wasn’t scowling. She looks disgusted to see me here, so that’s a great feeling.
“What are you doing?” she snaps.
I wave the note in front of her face, pretending I’m not affected by her attitude.
“How else am I supposed to get this to you? I don’t have an assistant to do my bidding for me.”
“Your bidding?” she asks. Then she shakes her head, not wanting to know apparently. “Leave me alone.”
My jaw drops.
“It takes two to tango, I’m not the only one with a pen and paper here.”
“You started it, and I’m ending it. Stay away from me,” she demands.
If this little wrench hadn’t been thrown in my plan, she would’ve read my note and known that I’m not going to cower in my apartment just because she doesn’t want to see me.
“Stop playing music at night.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Nope.”
Then she shoulder checks me– more like shoulder slams me– to get me out of her way. I stumble back and watch and she pulls her front door closed and locks it.
I don’t even know what to do other than stare at her in shock. Why is she so horrible? Seriously, what did I ever do to deserve this? She doesn’t even know me.
“Would you rather I call the police? Because you can’t keep this up. My daughter is six . She goes to school, she needs sleep.”
With a sigh that says she can’t be bothered, she walks away from me.
“You don’t always have her here, and you can clearly leave whenever you do.”
My blood begins boiling. It’s obvious to me that this woman doesn’t have any children of her own, or have regular contact with any. Who could say that with their whole chest, and simply not care about the inconvenience?
That isn’t even a good enough word for it. It’s not inconvenient, it’s cruel. All a six year old should worry about is learning how to read, not whether or not she’s going to be woken up in the middle of the night by terrifying sounds. She’s at an age where those things will stick with her for a lot longer than the current moment. Am I going to end up with a teenager that wakes up in a cold sweat every night because she expects to hear growling on the other side of the wall? Is she going to be a grown adult living in her own home with that fear, when I won’t be there to make her feel better? The thought of it makes me feel sick.
“I shouldn’t have to take her from her home in the middle of the night to make sure she can sleep!”
She starts down the stairs, not even raising her voice to answer. Not caring if I even hear what she says.
“But you do have somewhere to go. Sounds like a problem solved.”
“You are unbelievable,” I gasp.
“Believe it.” She turns back to give me the bitchiest smirk I've ever seen. “And stay away from my door.”
I’m left standing by that front door, contemplating my entire life for an embarrassingly long time after she leaves. When the sound of a downstairs neighbor's door slamming snaps me out of my trance, I stare down at the note in my hand. It’s a little wrinkled now, barely surviving that interaction.
Much like me. Like some silly metaphor.
I slap it on her door anyway, unsure if I want the adhesive to do its job and stay adhered until she gets back. Seems fair to put it in fate's hands, and if the wind blows it away? So be it.
Remove hanger. Scan item. Bag item.
Remove hanger. Scan item. Bag item.
Remove hanger. Remove security tag. Scan item. Bag item.
Repeat approximately three hundred times, until you feel like you’re absolutely losing your mind.
Oh, but sometimes people spice it up for you. Sometimes they have a coupon that they swear they should be able to use, even when I read aloud the clearly stated line on it that says, “This coupon can not be combined with in-store promotions or other discount offers.”
It feels self-explanatory, but I’m always surprised by how wrong people can be. Do I have the option as the manager to override it and give them what they want? Sure, and it happens pretty often to the ones that are nice about it.
But when they demand that I do it, and question my intelligence because they aren’t getting their way? It feels good to smile and say no.
It feels even better when they ask for the manager and I get to tell them they’re currently speaking to her.
My store always has a big sale for the anniversary of the store’s opening. This year things were kicked up a notch to celebrate ten years, and now ten locations across four states.
This week has knocked Black Friday out of the water. I’ve never seen us so busy before, to the point where I’ve felt the need to sacrifice most of my down time. Every second that Dahlia has been at school or with her dad, I’ve lived here. At night when I’d normally be at home, stressed and tired, I’m here. I replenish everything on the sales floor, and make sure it all looks perfect for the next morning when I’m coming right back in.
I’ve done it every night Dahlia hasn’t been home. I leave eventually, but I go straight to my parents just to sleep for five hours, then wake up and repeat. It could be worse. If I went home and had to see that awful woman, that would be much worse. I’m too angry to be anywhere near her. I’m also angry that I’m letting her win at the moment, and making her disruptive life all too easy, but I need to have my priorities straight.
When I finally do go home, there are only a couple more days left of the chaos at work. It feels weird to walk inside, like I can tell it’s been empty for a while. The air is too stagnant, and everything is too quiet.
For now, of course. I’m sure that’ll change.
I turn on the television, just to have some background noise. I open up the windows, despite the cold night outside. I get some water going on my electric kettle, and preheat the oven for tonight’s dinner. I could do better than frozen enchilada’s, but I could also do a lot worse. At least Dahlia loves them.
The second I think about how much I miss her, there’s a knock on my door. Perfect timing.
“Hi, my sweet girl!” She hugs my legs, and I smooth down the back of her blonde hair that’s sticking straight up. “Caleb.”
“Reya.” He nods in greeting. “How’s it going?”
“It’s okay. You?”
“Good,” he says.
Then there’s an uncomfortable silence, because we don’t know how to talk to each other.
“Smells good in there. Dinner?” he asks. I nod. “She tried fish and chips for the first time. She destroyed the plate, and then asked for more.”
I wrinkle my nose and look down at her.
“Fish? Really?”
“Yeah. I like the crunchy part on the outside.”
“Fair enough,” I tell her. “I thought kids were supposed to be picky eaters.”
“Right?” Caleb asks with a chuckle. “I don’t think she’s turned down anything I’ve fed her.”
“ Is there anything you don’t like?” I know she isn’t the biggest fan of some things, but she eats most of it anyway. The blueberries on her plate the other morning come to mind.
“Hmm,” she starts. Her eyes move between us as she thinks. “Green beans.”
We both nod in sync.
“Yeah, that’s–” I lose my train of thought when I hear the familiar sound of footsteps on the stairs.
We do this every Wednesday night, and she’s never come home this early. I’ve never been worried she’d meet Caleb and piss him off, too.
Dahlia doesn’t register the noise, and she thankfully runs to her room like she remembered something important in there. That’s one bonus of having two homes, it keeps things exciting when she gets the chance to miss her belongings. I’m sure it’s saving me money.
Caleb looks confused when I stop talking, until he peeks over his shoulder. There’s my neighbor, looking… ugh.
She looks so good that I forget to breathe.
I mean, I’m so angry that I forget to breathe.
Because I don’t like her. I might even hate her a little.
She glances in our direction for a brief second, but otherwise ignores us.
“Hi,” Caleb calls out, putting a friendly hand up. She doesn’t respond, and then she disappears through her front door. Like a ghost.
I know ghosts don’t need keys or to bother with turning door knobs, but I’m paying so little attention to the specifics that she might as well have walked right through it without doing a thing.
“She seems nice,” he mutters.
“She might be the devil.”
He scoffs.
“That’s dramatic.”
Every muscle in my body tenses when he says it, that particular word momentarily transporting me back to a time I worked my ass off to heal from.
“Oh, Caleb.” I tisk putting on a brave face. “You lost the privilege of calling me dramatic a long time ago.”
He takes a step back, his eyes widening as he realizes his mistake.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Correct. Have a good night,” I say.
To his credit, he does look like he regrets it. He knows that all the times he’s said that before have stuck with me like super glue.
I think he tries to reply, but I close the door before he can. That’s enough for tonight.
I let out a strong, steady exhale, preparing myself to quickly shift gears.
Now I have to make heading to my parents house sound like the most exciting thing in the world to Dahlia, despite how often we’ve been forced to go over there lately.