Neighborly(52)

I lift her up and carry her downstairs. “Sadie,” I say, “do you remember Brandon? And this is Zoe. They’re going to take you on a walk. A sightseeing tour of the neighborhood.”

“Sweet Sadie,” Brandon croons, taking her from me. “Even when she’s cross, she’s beautiful, Kat.” She already sounds calmer in his arms. Her cries are more piteous than angry. What am I doing wrong? Why is she so mad at me?

Because she can be. That’s what Dr. Morrison would say. I’d been a perfect child for my mother because I had no choice. I was trying to win her over. Sadie knows she’s got me, completely, and that’s what I want for her. Absolute security.

After Brandon does some impressive jujitsu moves with the fabric, she’s fastened to his chest, gazing up at him, the sobs on her lips replaced by curiosity.

“It’s just the newness,” Brandon says. “I’m an unknown quantity.”

This whole neighborhood is. At the thought, my gratitude becomes mixed with unease.

“Speaking of newness and unknown quantities, how are you doing after the other night?”

“Girls’ night, you mean?”

“I know they talked to you about becoming open. Don’t worry, they expect you to be kind of freaked out.”

“Good. Because I am.” That’s not all I’m freaked out about, though. I don’t know what to believe—whether I really just drank too much and blacked out like Doug thinks or if I was the victim of foul play.

He laughs. “I was the only person who wasn’t freaked the first time I learned about it. I was like, ‘Bring it on! New experiences in suburbia!’ Though I won’t let Gina catch me calling it suburbia.” He turns more serious. “Openness works for certain kinds of marriages. Not every marriage is cut out for it.”

“You and Stone are cut out for it?”

“I thought we were.”

“What happened?”

“There was a little stalking incident. That can happen with the closeted types.”

I stare at him, trying to unravel what he’s said. “So one of the husbands was stalking you?”

“As it turned out, I’m really more of a cuddler anyway!” He grins, trying to make light.

Who did the stalking? Oliver, maybe? Andie said Oliver had been with both men and women. “I’m more of a cuddler these days, too.”

“Could I give you a little piece of advice?”

“Absolutely.”

“Sometimes people say yes who should say no. Like . . .” He looks behind him. “Yolanda and Wyatt. She doesn’t feel like she can say no, and she’s so afraid of losing him that she said yes. Now she’s stuck. All she can do is layer on more and more rules.”

“I could tell sometimes she feels kind of insecure. But he seems to really love her.”

“He does, but . . .” He glances toward the street again. “She’s gotten herself in this bad position. She gets together with men she doesn’t want, because what she really wants is for Wyatt to stop her at the door. She wants him to grab her arm and say, ‘Don’t go.’ She never would again. But he never does.”

It’s obvious this isn’t just idle gossip. Brandon is truly sad for Yolanda and the state of her marriage. For whatever reason, though, I can tell that he really wants me to have this information. It could even be the real reason he came over this morning.

“Poor Yolanda,” I say. “Thanks for warning me.”

He looks down at Sadie, who is calm as a lake now, and I assume he’s going to unwrap her and hand her back. Instead, he says, “I’ll have her back in a jiff.”

Before I can respond, Zoe gives me a wave, and the three of them are off down the street.

If someone like Brandon lives happily on this block, then it could be a good place after all. I really want that to be true. We just got here, and to sell the house and start all over somewhere else, to have to admit to Doug’s parents that we made a mistake . . .

I’m not going to sell my house and move away, so I need to follow Andie’s marital advice to its logical conclusion. I need to let all this go. Accept Doug’s explanation. Three (or four or more) strong drinks and a shot after a year of abstinence could very well mimic the effects of ketamine. People have hallucinations with too much alcohol, and I could have imagined the muscle rigidity. It’s not like I’ve never had a blackout before.

Brandon is a kind and genuine person, and he loves this neighborhood. He loves these neighbors. The same neighbors who took care of me in my blacked-out state and brought me home safely and texted me again and again about how much they like me. The ones who want me to join their club, strange as it may be. And then there’s Andie.

I’m lucky.

I think it again, making the thought bigger, louder, more vivid, like Dr. Morrison taught me to do. It’s like it’s written in the sky.





I


AM


LUCKY


Doug texts me, checking on how I’m feeling. He tells me not to worry about making dinner. It’s not lovey-dovey, but it shows that he’s not happy with how yesterday went, either. He’s also prepared to let things go.

When he arrives home, he holds up a bag. “Your favorite,” he says. “Sushi.”