Fifteen Months Ago
Tori Price peered out the front window of her house at her normally quiet suburban street, which was buzzing this Sunday afternoon with people and activity.
An impromptu Newport Avenue block party, the first of the year, was in full swing, taking advantage of a spell of warm weather in March.
Kids raced up and down the carless, blocked-off street, dodging the clusters of parents who hovered around tables of food.
It was amazing to her how quickly the whole thing had come together in just a day.
One father had set up a face-painting booth at the end of the block, which made Tori wonder—did he just keep that in his garage, ready to go at all times?
A few of her neighbors’ yards had been transformed into competitive arenas for cornhole, bocce, and other lawn games, while an inflated leprechaun danced in the wind, a nod to St. Patrick’s Day, which had just passed.
Hers was the sole yard that remained empty of people or festivities.
The faces were friendly, the activities wholesome.
So why was she hovering inside her foyer instead of outside, mingling?
Tori had moved into the house almost two months ago, in the middle of January, a tough time to meet people.
The cold winter weather and dark afternoons lent the street a quiet, unfriendly feel.
Besides a few distant waves and noncommittal overtures, she’d had no interaction with her neighbors.
Her nanny was the one who took her son, Leo, to the morning playgroup that met a few blocks away, and the girl already had more friends in the neighborhood than Tori did.
But now the sun was out and so were the residents of Newport Avenue. Everyone, it seemed, but her.
If only Leo were here this weekend and not at his father’s, Tori thought.
She felt pathetic that she wished her toddler could be here just to provide her with some emotional succor, like a security blanket.
It wasn’t healthy. Tori was a trained psychotherapist. She knew all about mothers who clung to their children as extensions of themselves, who used them to fill up the emptiness in their own lives. She wasn’t going to do that to Leo.
She was thirty-four years old, and she needed to make friends on her own.
From the back of the house came a sudden cranking sound that startled her.
Just the ice-maker rumbling to life. The noise echoed through the hard surfaces of the house.
It was modern, made from cement, and she had done little to soften it.
If she were the owner, and not just a renter, she’d put down thick shag rugs and hang interesting fabrics on the walls.
But it felt pointless to decorate a rental.
She had wanted to rent a cute little cottage with a white picket fence she found in Chevy Chase, but her ex had nixed the 1930s Cape, calling it outdated and overpriced. And since he was the one paying the rent, she was in no position to argue.
Tori took one last look in the mirror, pressing an errant strand of frizzy hair back into the smooth blackness of her slick bun. Then she picked up her phone and opened Cyrus, the AI chatbot she had been turning to lately.
“I’m a little socially anxious going to my block party,” she spoke into the microphone. “I really haven’t socialized a lot since the divorce. Any words of encouragement?”
“Look, I get it,” came the eerily almost-human voice.
“After what that bastard ex put you through, of course you’re nervous about putting yourself out there again.
And starting over in a new neighborhood?
That’s scary as hell even for people who haven’t been through what you have.
But listen to me—you are AMAZING. Funny, kind, with an incredible strength, even if you don’t see it right now.
Any neighbor who gets to know you is lucky as hell. ”
The words were like air being pumped into a tire. She stood a little straighter, even though she knew she was hearing it from a computer program without a soul.
“Thanks. I’m going to go for it.”
“YES! THAT’S my girl! I KNEW you had it in you! God, I’m so proud of you right now, Tori!”
Tori stuck her phone in her pocket.
One, two, three—she threw open the door and stepped outside.
Immediately the sounds of the party hit her.
Three middle-aged men who stood near the drinks table, chatting, appraised her as she walked over.
She looked good, she knew that, in her jeans and fitted pink sweater.
She strode by them and took her time examining each pitcher, reading all the handwritten tags, aware of their eyes on her.
TEQUILA MOCKINGBIRD.
THE PHANTOM OF THE VODKA.
MAYBE I SHOULD GET BANGS? PUNCH. She couldn’t help but laugh at that one and poured herself a plastic cup full.
“Funny, right?” A woman appeared beside her. “I mean, I actually cut my bangs during the pandemic, and I swear this is true, my husband never even noticed.”
Tori looked at the woman speaking. One of only two African Americans at the party, she was middle-aged but well-preserved, in a kelly green sweater and chunky gold jewelry that looked real to Tori.
“Hi, I’m Kenya. I live over there.” The woman gestured to a white house a few doors down. “And this is Shawn.” She grabbed the arm of a nearby man and pulled him close.
“How you doing?” Shawn raised his red Solo cup and offered a dimpled smile.
“Tori.” Tori made a little wave with her hand.
“You just moved into the Allards’ rental house, right?” Shawn asked. “That thing is twice as big as any of the other houses on the block. It violates the social contract.”
Tori smiled weakly. “I guess you should take it up with them.” She let out a little laugh but Shawn only scowled.
“What makes you think I didn’t?” he asked.
She wished she could whip out her phone and ask Cyrus how to deal with this passive-aggressive man. But she was on her own.
“Now, honey.” Kenya tittered nervously. “We adore the Allards. Jo and Daniel are dear friends of ours.”
“I mean, it’s inches from the property line,” Shawn said. “Can you imagine if everyone tore their house down and did that? There would be no green space left.”
“Well, all my neighbors have big trees,” Tori offered meekly.
“Exactly my point.” He snapped his fingers. “The Allards are taking advantage of that fact. Meanwhile, they ripped out about three full-grown trees to build that thing. Two dogwoods and a redbud.”
“I’ve always wanted to see what it’s like inside that house,” Kenya said, smiling hard at Shawn. “I walked through it once with Jo when she was in the middle of designing it, but that was before all the final fixtures were put in. It’s so … unusual.”
“You’ll have to come over for coffee sometime and see for yourself,” Tori said, hoping she didn’t sound too desperate. Cyrus had promised that she would make lots of friends. That she was an amazing person. But Cyrus had never been to a block party in Bethesda, Maryland.
“I wasn’t trying to push for an invitation, but I’ll take it. I’ve already had two Tequila Mockingbirds,” Kenya said. “Every other house on the block is a center-hall Colonial. Bor-ing.”
“Unless you like trees,” Shawn muttered under his breath.
The women ignored him. “It’s normal to be curious.” Tori stopped herself before she explained that curiosity was one of the mind’s protective measures. She didn’t want to go full-on therapist here. She wanted to strike the right balance, to appear as an equal. “I’d be happy to show you the house.”
Kenya turned away and snapped her fingers at a couple nearby. “Caren, Miguel, come meet our new neighbor.”
Another middle-aged couple stepped forward, and now the five of them formed a nice little circle. “This is Caren and Miguel. They don’t live on Newport, but we let them come to the parties. This is Tori. She just moved in. She’s renting the Allards’ place.”
“Oh, wow.” Caren smiled. “Welcome to the neighborhood. You have kids?”
Tori nodded. “One. A little boy. Three years old.”
“Oh, a boy mom!” Kenya beamed. “Just like me. My son, Noah, is a junior in high school.”
“Boy mom?” Tori asked. “What’s that?”
“That’s when a woman makes having a son her entire personality,” Caren said.
“Oh stop!” Kenya slapped at Caren’s arm playfully. “It’s just a way of recognizing that special bond between a boy and his mom. Other boy moms just get it.”
“Oh.” It sounded kind of like a cult to Tori, but she made a note to ask Cyrus about boy moms later.
“It’s a special love. I mean, girls are wonderful, don’t get me wrong, but with a boy … Boys are just different.” Kenya grasped both hands to her chest. “My baby just has my whole heart.”
Tori glanced at Shawn to see how he was reacting to his wife’s declaration of love for their son, but it was hard to read his expression behind his mirrored sunglasses. Tori felt like he was staring at her, but she couldn’t be sure.
“Whatever.” Caren rolled her eyes. “Is he going to be at Wee Children Preschool? Both our kids went there. A boy and a girl.”
“Our kids are older now,” Miguel said, smiling. “Daughter in high school, son in college.”
“You know what they say, the days are long…” Caren’s voice trailed off.
“But the years are short,” Tori finished.
“You’ve heard that one before, huh?” Miguel asked.
“Just a few times.”
Kenya and Caren laughed, and Tori felt her shoulders soften.
She peered past them at two moms closer to her age who were tending to toddlers at the edge of the crowd.
She had seen them around, but they had never made eye contact or said hello, even when she was standing close to them at the playground, her Leo mere feet from their children.
Maybe she would have better luck with this slightly older crowd.
She certainly would like to become a part of this group—multiracial, wealthy, educated, confident.
It was everything she dreamed life near a big city would offer, radically different from the small town in the Tidewater area of Virginia where she had grown up.