Save the Date(19)

“Because you’re not the only one who lives on this street, Don!” I heard my dad snap, and, relieved, I took the rest of the stairs down to the front hall two at a time, now knowing exactly what I would see.

Sure enough, my dad was standing in the foyer across from Don Perkins, our two-doors-down neighbor. He was in his sixties and had lived on our street longer than we had. He was nosy, forever in our business, always calling or stopping by when he thought things were too loud. He was also in the Gardeners’ Association with my dad, and over the years, a rivalry had developed, Don always trying to outdo my father’s garden in the yearly competition. This rivalry was mostly one-sided, though, since he’d never once won and my dad had won three times, the last two years consecutively. This had only served to make him a worse neighbor, and his complaints increased with each one of my dad’s victories. Don had, of course, become a character in the strip—though the fictional Grants’ neighbor Ron was eventually revealed to have a soft side under his gruff exterior, which I really didn’t foresee happening with the real-life Don.

“Morning,” I said, widening my eyes at my dad as I came to stand next to him.

“Oh,” Don said, giving me a curt nod by way of a greeting. “You’re still here, are you?”

“Um,” I said, glancing at my father.

“Thought maybe you’d gotten them all off to college, now that you’re selling this place.”

“Charlie’s starting Stanwich in the fall,” my dad said, giving me a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Why on earth would you go there?” Don asked, shaking his head. “Oh—were you not a very good student?”

“You know I teach there, right?” my dad asked, his voice frosty.

“My condolences.”

My dad’s face turned a very dark shade of red. “Listen here—”

“Like I said, Jeffrey,” Don said, talking over him, his very bushy eyebrows meeting in a frown, “I don’t want to be disturbed this weekend. There have already been all kinds of people coming and going, your alarm going off . . .”

“As I’m sure you remember, Donald, we sent out a letter to all the neighbors about this wedding months ago—letting you know it would be happening and asking for your patience and good neighborliness for just the one night.”

Don snorted as he looked through the open kitchen door, toward our backyard. My dad immediately took a step to block his sight line. He always suspected that Don’s coming over to complain about things were just excuses to see what my dad was doing with his garden and steal a win from him by spying.

“Well,” Don said with a huffy sigh, “it had better not get too loud tomorrow night. There are noise ordinances in this town, you know.”

“Yes,” my dad said, his tone getting calmer and more pleasant, always a bad sign. “Just like there are zoning laws that would have prevented you from building that gazebo. But some of us don’t feel the need to mention these things. Yet.”

“Yeah, well,” Don muttered, glaring at my father. He glanced toward the backyard one more time, then shook his head. “Just keep it down and we won’t have a problem.”

“Charlie,” my dad said, giving me a look that clearly told me whatever would follow wouldn’t exactly be a suggestion, “why don’t you show Don out? Through the front door.”

“Sure thing,” I said, quickly crossing to the front door and motioning for Don to follow, as my dad stalked away. “Hey, have you been having problems getting the Sentinel?” I asked as I pulled the door open for him. “The papergirl hasn’t been delivering to us.”

Don scoffed. “I don’t read the Sentinel,” he said, heading down the front steps. “I subscribe to actual newspapers.”

“Hey, hey, Maddie.” I turned to see J.J. passing through the front hall, his phone to his ear. “Yeah, I know it’s been a while. But isn’t it good to hear from me? Wait, not even a little?”

I shut the door, then headed into the kitchen. Linnie, Rodney, Will, and Bill were clustered around the center island. I could see that Will was wearing the same green fleece as Bill, except that under WHERE THERE’S A WILL was written WILL, which seemed to me to be a few too many Wills for one piece of clothing.

“Well, if you’d told me it was your birthday, I wouldn’t have broken up with you!” J.J. said, following me into the kitchen. “Maddie? Hello?”

“Date search going well?” Linnie asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“This is just like the ’86 Mets.” J.J. had a habit of bringing everything back to baseball; as far as he was concerned, there was a baseball analogy for every situation in life.

“Is it, though?” Rodney asked.

“Everyone counted them out too. But then—”

“Okay,” Will said, in a voice that wasn’t particularly loud, but was authoritative enough that we all quieted down. “I’ve made a list of the vendors Clementine was working with, and I’ve gotten in contact with all of them, so they know not to reach out to her. I’m still trying to reach Party in the Stars. . . .”

“What’s that?” J.J. asked.

Will shot him a look that made it clear he didn’t appreciate the interruption. “Wedding band.”