Neighborly(31)

“On our house? Really?” It shoots out of my mouth like a cannonball. It makes sense, though. At the block party, Gina seemed to know insider information about the bidding war.

“He’s a real-estate developer,” Gina inserts. “He had a real vision for that house.”

Oliver shrugs with something like false modesty. “It wasn’t meant to be.” Then he seems to switch tracks to a different spiel, as if someone’s hit a button on his remote control. “I’m all about customization.”

“Oliver is right. The future is all about customization. That’s what matters in a trans-urban, trans-suburban world.”

“She’s always going on about that.” Oliver smiles at her affectionately.

Gina never sits down. Even after we all move into the living room with our glasses in hand, she’s still constantly in motion, calling up to the boys to make sure they’re OK, straightening, aligning, calibrating. I gather that she used to have some sort of high-powered job. Oliver jokes that she transferred all that energy to their home, and that sometimes her need to be hyperorganized means she is thisclose to losing it anytime someone fails to use a coaster. I look down quickly to confirm that I did, indeed, use a coaster.

Gina’s like me, on steroids. A cautionary tale. A worst-case scenario.

No, there are definitely worse scenarios.

Oliver starts doodling on a cocktail napkin with a pen that probably cost more than our month’s groceries. “I had all these plans for your house,” he says, “and I’m happy to give them to you.” He smiles. “Free of charge.”

He talks and draws, saying that frankly, our lot is more valuable than the house. “I was debating between razing and renovating,” he tells us. “You could expand the kitchen, easily. Turn that utility closet into a half bath. I’ll put you in touch with some fantastic contractors.”

“That’d be great,” Doug says. I stare at him, not sure if he’s just humoring Oliver or if he’s delusional. I would have assumed the former, until he spent all that money on bikes and a trailer that he’ll put Sadie in over my dead body. She can barely hold her head up.

As Oliver continues to pontificate and Gina putters and expounds on his ideas with talk of expensive finishes and upgrades, I start to feel distinctly uncomfortable. They’re saying, essentially, that our house is second-rate. We paid everything we had (and much that we didn’t) to get into it, as is. That’s what it said on our offer: as is. No contingencies. We waived them all, gave ourselves no outs, just so we could make it onto this block and be condescended to by Oliver.

“. . . and you can always build up. Another floor, with a guest room and an office, maybe, would increase the value exponentially. I can put you in touch with an architect who’s really well connected to the zoning board . . .”

I can’t help feeling that there’s an edge to Oliver’s speech, to this whole evening. He wants to rub our noses in all that he has and all his professional connections, but he didn’t get our house. We won, and he lost. Maybe he was even the highest bidder, but Nils and Ilsa chose us. They knew Oliver, and yet, they didn’t want their house going to him.

Or maybe he really is just trying to help us improve our house. He doesn’t know that we used up all our savings. Gina e-mailed me all her preschool research today, just like she said she would. They’re well-intentioned know-it-alls.

I’m not really upset with Gina or Oliver. My problem is with Doug. I can’t sit here for another minute, choking on his sycophancy.

I stand up, explaining that Sadie hasn’t had her bottle yet, daring Doug to expose the lie. “Stay,” I tell him, “for as long as you’d like.”

I almost mean it, in that I don’t really feel like being in the same room with him, yet I don’t actually expect him to remain seated. “I’ll be home soon,” he says. “Love you.”

Back out on their doorstep, I hear the dead bolt sliding into place behind me. I have the distinct and disturbing impression that none of them—not Gina, nor Oliver, nor my own husband—was sorry to see me go.

Session 28.

“It’s just so hard for me to trust people.”

“Men or women?”

“Everyone. But in a way, it’s more women.”

“Because of what happened with your best friend?”

“It’s not just ‘what happened.’ It’s what she did.”

“You can’t change the facts of your past. But you can change how they influence your present and your future. You can take back your power.”

“I get so angry sometimes. Can you fix that?”

“We need to figure out what’s underneath the anger. Hurt, disappointment, sadness. Loss. You’ve lost a lot.”

“I don’t think I feel those things.”

“Because you cover them up with anger. Because you don’t want to be powerless. Anger can make you feel powerful.”

“You’re wrong. Anger makes me feel out of control.”





CHAPTER 10

“Hey!” Andie’s in sunglasses and a black sundress that looks like macramé but in a good way. Her strappy wedges are three inches high. She’s holding Fisher in her arms, his sleek Eurotrek stroller left at the base of the porch steps. “Are you up for a walk, by any chance?”