Fourteen Months Ago
Wednesdays were the hardest day of the week for Tori. She was struggling to focus on the patient in front of her, a woman about ten years older than she was and terrified that she was passing her own eating disorder to her daughter.
“She saw me weighing myself for the second time in one day. I didn’t know she was home. I wouldn’t have stepped on the scale if she was.” Tori’s patient brought her fist to her mouth and shook her head.
Tori pushed the box of tissues toward her. By now she knew the signs of someone fighting back tears.
The woman took a tissue and exhaled loudly. “I saw that I had gained almost two pounds. Yes, it was probably water weight. But I cursed. Out loud. Really loud. I didn’t know she was in the hall bathroom. She pushed open the bedroom door and saw me there, naked on the scale.”
After waiting a few seconds for her to continue, Tori asked, “And?”
“She had this look of pure disgust on her face. She said, ‘Mom, didn’t you already weigh yourself this morning?’”
“And how did you handle that?”
“I yelled at her. Something like, Ever heard of knocking? Something my own mother would have yelled at me. But later, when she was out with her friends, I found her diary and she’s been weighing herself too.
She’s keeping track. Not just of her weight but of caloric intake. It’s my teenage years all over again.”
“No, these are her teenage years. That’s an important distinction to make. She’s not you.”
“And now she’s obsessed with this guy in school. A senior. He’s rich, popular, goes through girls like tissues. You know the type.”
“It’s good she’s sharing this with you.”
“Ha.” The laugh came out sharp. “I read it in her journal. She doesn’t tell me anything. But I know this boy. He’s the brother of this popular girl who’s basically been torturing my daughter since the fourth grade. A real frenemy type.”
Tori shifted in her seat. “That’s disturbing.”
“Oh, she’s awful. A mini version of her mother—a real bitch.
This girl’s known to befriend girls just so she can introduce them to her brother, if you get my drift.
And all of a sudden she has her sights set on my daughter.
It’s like watching a slow-motion train wreck.
But what can I do? I can’t stop them from becoming friends, can I?
I can’t tell her that she can’t be friends with this little bitch.
My daughter’s not savvy enough to handle girls like that.
Trust me, something similar happened to me in eleventh grade. ”
“Let’s push back on those assumptions for a minute, okay?
” Tori saw some version of this several times a week—mothers so gripped by fear their children would become warped and damaged just the way they had that they overinvolved themselves in their kids’ lives.
It was how they justified their hovering and interference.
“I’ve been trying to push back,” her patient said. “I’ve been writing in my gratitude journal, trying to focus on what’s real and not on what could go wrong. But Elo?se’s invited her to sleep over this weekend, and of course, Van—that’s the brother—will be there. Do I forbid her from going?”
Tori froze. Van. Elo?se. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Not those names. This woman had to be talking about the Allard kids. “Umm…”
“Well?” The woman glanced at the clock. Time was up. “Tell me what to do. A bunch of girls are going. She’ll be devastated if I don’t let her. I kind of already said yes.”
“Let her go. But talk to her first. This is a good opportunity to discuss boundaries.”
The woman nodded, satisfied, and stood up. “All right,” she said.
Tori stood up too, hoping to prolong the conversation for just a minute more. “Is it possible you could have a conversation with the mother? Feel things out?”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Believe me, if it were any other mom. But this woman? She’s a real piece of work. I could tell you stories.”
“Yes?” She knew she sounded too eager, but she couldn’t help herself.
The woman frowned. “Don’t you have another patient?”
“Of course.” Tori nodded, chastened. “I’ll see you next week.”
After her patient left the room, Tori could barely sit still in her chair.
She knew she was skating very close to the edge of her professional ethics.
She should have veered away from the discussion of her landlords, not pursued it.
But she was enthralled. The quiet curiosity she’d had about her neighbors now felt urgent.
This new information brought them into relief, and it only made her want to know more.
Since she’d moved in, she had watched from her back window, with equal parts jealousy and longing, the domestic scene playing out at the Allard house.
In a way, she wanted to be each of the Allards.
Not just Jo, the beautiful wife who didn’t work, who had hired help to take care of every mundane task.
But also Daniel, with his confidence and European taste—wine on the table every night, strains of classical music carrying across the lawn.
Perhaps she was most jealous of Elo?se and Van—of their youth, their good looks and athleticism—and the way their parents seemed to clear any obstacles in their paths, obliterating even the tiniest bumps in the road.
What privileged lives they had. Did they even know?
She jotted down the basics of what she had just learned on a yellow pad—Van goes through girls like tissues, Elo?se a mini version of her mother—a real bitch.
She underlined a real bitch three times. She’d be sure to revisit this next week. Try to get as many details as possible. It helped even the score a little in her mind. Sure, she was just a renter who depended on her ex to pay the bills. But maybe her neighbors weren’t so perfect after all.
She closed her agenda and gathered her things.
She hadn’t been truthful with her patient.
The mom had been her last of the day. Normally on Wednesdays, when Leo was at his dad’s, her mind would spiral with anxiety.
But not today. Today her brain had a new chew toy—the Allards.
The family was like one of those apples you buy at the grocery store that’s seemingly perfect, but when you bite into the shiny, red skin your teeth sink into a mealy rotten mess.
Autumn was gone by the time she got home, no doubt doing something fun on her night off.
Inside the empty house, Tori poured herself a beer and turned on the radio just to have human voices in the house.
As she heated the frozen orange chicken from Trader Joe’s, she had to stop herself several times from leaving the kitchen to check on Leo.
He was not here. He was not napping in his big boy bed, or watching Bluey in the living room, or playing with Magna-Tiles. He was at his dad’s and she was alone.
Her mind meandered to her landlady. She wondered if this austere living space reflected Jo’s personality. She was probably just as brittle and hard as the steel and concrete she employed in every room. You didn’t have to be a therapist to guess Jo might be frigid.
After dinner, Tori took the garbage out through the back door, her least favorite chore. As she dragged the garbage into the backyard, she fought the urge to lock the door behind her. This is Eastbrook, she told herself, one of the safest suburbs in America.
The air was scented with blooming lilacs and viburnum, and the sound of laughter carried on the breeze.
A backyard party somewhere close. There were always parties in this neighborhood, not to mention friends jogging side by side, chatting as they ran, or older couples taking slow meandering strolls.
It felt like the neighborhood was a densely woven fabric, and she a drop of rain that bounced right off, unable to penetrate.
Tori never knew she could be so lonely surrounded by so many people.
Moving into the suburbs without a husband was never going to be easy, but she wasn’t prepared for the way these women would react when they heard she was divorced.
The way the other moms stayed away from her and Leo at the playground, as if they could sniff her out as not one of them, a hyena trying to blend in with a herd of graceful impalas at the watering hole.
As soon as she grew near, their metaphorical ears flattened against their heads, and their eyes grew wide.
Interloper, interloper, they screamed telepathically to each other.
They were worried that divorce was contagious. And she had to admit they had a right to be. Studies showed that having a close friend who got divorced increased your own chances by 75 percent. The more divorced people you knew, the greater the chances of becoming one yourself.
Tori plopped the trash bag into the can and dragged it along the side of the house toward the front curb.
As the wheels hit the lip, they caught, and the heavy can twisted out of her hand.
She jumped out of the way just as the can crashed to the street with a loud crack, its contents tumbling onto the asphalt.
“Oh no!” She bent down to examine the mess.
The bag was ripped, and the plastic garbage can split along the side.
Tears sprang to her eyes as she watched an empty La Croix can roll into the street.
She wiped at her eyes and walked back to the house for a heavy black garbage bag and a roll of paper towels.
When she returned, she saw a figure righting the garbage can. A man. She hesitated a moment, a survival instinct kicking in, but when he turned his head, the neighbor’s porch light caught his face. Daniel.
“Hi,” she said, approaching. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Sure I do. I’m the landlord, right? These things are worthless.” He shook the plastic can.
“Now you tell me,” she said.
“I should have gotten you one of the heavy-duty rectangular ones. They sell them at Strosniders.” He held out his hand, gesturing toward the garbage bag. “Let me do that. I have lots of experience. We used to have some pretty resourceful raccoons.”
He took the bag from her and snapped it in the air, opening it wide. It took him mere moments to scoop everything up using the bag like a giant mitten. He tied it up and put it back in the cracked can.
“Wow. You’re, like, what’s that guy’s name? The superintendent from that show with the single mom?”
Daniel shook his head. “Don’t know it.”
Tori snapped her fingers. “One Day at a Time. That’s it. There’s this super that always shows up and helps out. He’s like part of the family. What was his name? I can’t remember.” She knew she was blabbing, trying to keep the conversation going.
“Well, happy to help,” he said.
He was close enough to touch. Close enough that she could see the stubble on his face in the moonlight and smell the mix of cologne and sweat on him.
Why did Jo get to have a man like this and she didn’t?
A strange urge burned in her, to be seen by this man, to be recognized and reckoned with.
To make herself part of the Allards’ world and move from the periphery to the center.
He stepped back and the frisson between them evaporated into the nighttime air. “Don’t hesitate to text if you need anything.” Daniel’s voice was cool, distant. “We’ve got a great handyman.” He turned to go, having reestablished their power dynamics. He owned the house she lived in.
“Schneider,” she called after him. “The super’s name was Schneider.”
Daniel stopped, turned, and gave her a puzzled half smile that made her shrink in embarrassment.
She stood there alone on her street, her humiliation hardening into something sharp. She wasn’t invisible, a nobody. She just needed a way in.