Neighborly(74)

He colors. He’s wondering what I know that he doesn’t. “Is there a reason you’re the AV’s representative?”

“I was the first to volunteer, and now Kat doesn’t want anyone else just showing up. She trusts me.”

“And what about what I want? Who I trust?”

“They’re assuming Kat speaks for both of you. Doesn’t she?”

“I like people!” he nearly yells. A nurse walking by casts him a quick reproving glance, and he gives her a reflexive smile. That’s his tic. “I like people,” he says softly. “We moved to the AV to have them around, and now she’s making the executive decision to only have you here.”

“Well,” I say finally, “talk to your wife about it.”

He turns and stalks away, leaving me to follow him.

In the waiting room, I see someone he’d apparently prefer. It’s Andie, in a halter dress and high-heeled sandals. Doug seems happy to see her, yet not surprised. Did he call her? Or did she call him? The block knows to go through me, but Andie’s not exactly on the block.

She’s sitting beside Doug’s parents, and they’re all talking like old friends. Andie’s good at forging connections with people immediately. It’s crossed my mind before that it’s an act, just a really good one, but Nolan assures me that Andie is 100 percent real. And I have to admit, the vast majority of the time I’m as captivated by Andie as everyone else. She’s like the cheerleader that you just can’t manage to hate, because she’s rooting for you, too. She has a star quality that somehow only burns brighter because she reveals just enough of her foibles—her messy car, her shyness at girls’ night, the bitten nails with the hundred-dollar manicure.

Scott has his finger in a paperback spy thriller, holding his place, while Andie and Melody talk with great animation. At Doug’s entrance, Andie leaps to her feet and embraces him, rubbing his back in a way that seems far too intimate. But Andie is a truly friendly person, and an empathetic one, so perhaps I’m misreading the situation. Andie’s the one who wanted to opt out of the spreadsheet. No one questions her love for Nolan.

When she sees me behind Doug, she releases him immediately. She greets me with an equally giant hug, sans the back rub, almost like she’s trying to illustrate just how normal her previous one had been. But then, Andie is a touchy-feely sort of person.

“You met Andie?” Doug asks his parents.

“She introduced herself,” Melody says approvingly.

“Sadie’s vitals were stable all last night and today,” Doug reports. “No diarrhea, no fever.” Doug grins. “The tests and cultures have all come back, and they’re negative. If everything stays normal through tomorrow, this could be her last night in the PICU.”

“That’s great news,” Melody says.

“Damn straight,” Scott seconds.

“You must be so relieved.” Andie gives Doug one of her sweet smiles.

“I’m feeling pretty good,” Doug says. Then why did it look so awful between him and Kat just a few minutes ago? You’d think Sadie’s recovery would have brought them together. “If all goes well, Sadie’ll move to a regular hospital room for observation, and then she comes home.”

My emotions are a complicated brew. I’m happy that Sadie’s turned a corner. I’d love to see her acting like a normal baby again—squirming and squalling and laughing. But it means that I have a lot of work left and not much time. At the hospital, I can just keep stopping by, but once Kat’s home, I’ll need to be invited in. She could freeze me out so easily. She could connect with the other women, who’ll greet her like a returning hero. This is a very loving neighborhood, after all. A forgiving one, too.

That’s why I moved here. Unlike the other couples, I already knew about openness, and I was trying to get in. Not just to the AV but to that very block.

Really, I was recruited. No, that’s too strong a word. Lured. No, still wrong. It’s more like I was convinced, told that it would help my marriage, and I believed that it would.

Through years of experience and observation, here’s what I’ve learned: when openness works, it works because it’s temporary. People can talk differently and flirt differently because they don’t have to look each other in the eyes for the rest of their lives. They avoid the routine. They don’t have to do the boring stuff, like getting the kids ready for school. They’ll never depend on each other. They can fuck without giving a fuck.

Sex slows down in marriage because it’s hard to really share yourself with someone, tell them everything about yourself, and then still want them sexually. Openness tries to give people a way around that, and sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn’t. But I love that the AV lets you try.

“Well, let’s go celebrate,” Scott says, getting to his feet. “Should we take a trip to the cafeteria?”

“I’ve barely been eating, but all of a sudden, I’m ravenous,” Doug says. He asks Andie if she wants to go with them. I’m conspicuously left out.

Melody and Scott probably wish Kat was more like Andie—poised, expensively dressed, with impeccable social graces. Kat probably wishes that herself.

I hate when I start feeling sorry for Katrina.

Melody has wound her arm through Scott’s, and they’re about to head to the cafeteria. I’m hoping Andie will go with them, and then I can get some alone time with Kat.