Neighborly(15)

Trader Joe’s is only a few minutes away, and I drive extra slowly, gathering myself. I manage to find a parking space close to the entrance. I decide that instead of using a cart, I’ll snap Sadie’s car seat into the stroller and just fill up the mesh bottom underneath. That’s the quickest way.

Shit, where’s the list? I forgot it, and that was before I found that note. That’s just my normal mommy brain.

I hate that expression, mommy brain. It’s so insulting. But, in my case, accurate.

I remove Sadie’s stroller from the trunk and then lift her car seat into it, waiting for the reassuring snap that tells me I’ve done it right. I wish life had more reassuring snaps, just a split second of limbic soothing: “Correct, now proceed.”

I take a few deep breaths and then we cross the parking lot. Sadie’s still sucking on that pacifier, a baby crack pipe, but I can’t worry about that now. She’s a baby. College is almost eighteen years away.

I’ve got more immediate things to worry about.

No, I don’t. It’s just a scrawled note on some cardboard.

But it wasn’t scrawled at all. It was in a neat, even script, carefully printed rather than written in cursive. The person was taking her time. It wasn’t the heat of the moment. It was a considered act—two considered acts—and that makes it much scarier. Twice is a pattern. Someone’s holding a grudge.

This is about trash, literally. How seriously can anyone take it? I will not take this seriously. I will not.

The double doors slide open at our approach, and Sadie and I glide inside. I don’t have my list, but my brain is working just fine. She’s moved past rice cereals and loves the purees I make. I started with a small amount, just an experiment, so I’m ready to make a big batch, frozen in the special ice trays with their eco-friendly green lids, designed for just this purpose. I like having things match their purpose.

I look around at the organic fruits and vegetables, hoping for sweet potatoes, since those are her favorite. I’m trying to smile at all the people who are smiling at Sadie and me―much more at Sadie, really―though it feels so unnatural, so counter to my emotions, that I hope it’s not coming across as a pained grimace.

I put my head down and focus on the produce. If I don’t see their smiles, then it’s not unfriendly when I don’t smile back.

I hum “Apron Strings,” a song I love and, fortunately, one of Sadie’s favorites, based on frequency of leg kicks. I toss a bunch of organic apples in a bag. Just fine, we are just fine.

“Hey, Katrina!”

I nearly jump. When I look up, it’s Fanny (dammit, I forgot to ask Doug her name), beaming. Sadie is smiling back, around her pacifier.

“Oh, hi!” I say with an extra-wide smile that I hope appears genuine rather than clownish.

“Did you have fun at the party?”

“It was the most amazing block party I’ve ever been to. Everyone’s so welcoming and so kind.”

She nods, like she’s heard it many times before but it never gets old. “I knew you and your family would be a great addition.” She beams again. “And how are you settling in?”

“It’s coming along,” I say, trying to act normal. Do you ever seem less normal than when you’re trying to act it?

She adopts a sympathetic expression. “Moving is just about the most stressful thing there is. And with a little one? Even one this precious.” She’s doing sort of a baby-talk thing on the last sentence, directing it at Sadie, which Sadie seems to appreciate.

“Yeah, it’s been pretty stressful.” Made more so by some neighbor who chooses to remain nameless. Would Fanny have a guess who it is? No, I can’t tell her. She might wonder what I did that was so un-neighborly to begin with. “Well, I should finish the shopping. I need to get Sadie home and down for her nap.”

“That’s it,” she says with approval. “Stick to a schedule. It’s the thing that keeps you sane!” She pauses to cast an adoring look at Sadie. “I raised my girls in this neighborhood and watched it change around me. But only in good ways.”

“What ways?”

“The property values have gone through the roof, obviously, but it’s just stayed so—accessible, I think that’s the right word. If anything, it’s only gotten friendlier. People truly want to know each other.” Another pause. “Everything about each other.” Her face turns so thoughtful it’s nearly grave. “The AV is a very special place, Kat. You’ll see.”

I try to tell my tightening chest: that wasn’t a warning; it was a promise that there are good things to come. I’ve arrived.

Before I can think of a proper response, she’s walking away. “See you soon!” she says gaily.

Sadie and I get through the rest of our shopping trip without interference. Once we’re home, I decide to take the old advice: nap while your baby naps. But I’ve never been able to do it when she’s in her crib; I need her flush against me.

We lie together on the love seat, my feet dangling just a little off the edge (good to be only five four when you can’t fit a full-size couch). Sadie is pancaked to my chest, and we breathe together, slowly, deeply, hypnotically. Doug and I talked about having Sadie nap only in her crib so she’s used to being on her own, but I’m just not ready to be on my own at the moment. Doug would understand if I told him about my morning, about getting a second note.