Social Neighbor (The Social Series Book 1) (10 page)

It had been nearly a week and the evidence of how small and ashamed I felt still burned my cheeks. I’d assumed that the sting my encounter with Ms. Brunette had caused would last a day or two. Tops. I was wrong. Workplace stress hadn’t encouraged me to rally. It was quite the opposite.

Over the last few days, one by one, employees were called into Chris’s office to discuss their future at Social She. Some came out looking relieved and others came out looking…tired, disappointed. I knew I’d be forced to walk the plank soon. I could feel it.

I didn’t need another day of that kind of anxiety, especially not around this time of the year, which had always been tough for me.

Twenty-two years since that day.

I wouldn’t think about that now. I definitely didn’t need stress over my professional life mingling with stress from my personal life. It made for an unsavory emotional smorgasbord that I had no appetite for.

Not now.

I snuffed out memories of the day my life changed and chose to take that Friday off, give myself a long weekend to work on my books and lick my wounds. I’d gone out and stocked up on my favorite tea, new sketch paper and the best pencils I could find on Amazon just so I could work on the illustrations all day, and what did I have instead? A fair sized mess in my kitchen, a small box full of freshly baked cookies, none of which were for me to enjoy, and a note addressed to my noisy neighbor who had been pleasantly quiet for a few days but was very much back to his same old antics. I had neglected children’s books lying around my small desk and a headache.

Instead of working I’d been pacing the floor waiting for him to knock it off. I tried putting on my headphones with my music to drown out his, but my creative mojo was most definitely snuffed out by growing agitation and the general melancholy that had blanketed everything that week.

This has to work. He has to be nice if I’m nice, right?

I stood in front of his door like an idiot mumbling to myself, unsure of what the plan was but desperate for a change. I’d tried noise complaints, but they had gone largely ignored.

Be stern? Be kind? Be charming? Be a raging bitch?

I heard shouting from inside his apartment and my fingers instinctively tightened around the box of cookies. The door jolted and swung open with me frozen in place.

A small round, middle-aged woman in medical scrubs, whose eyes remained downcast as she scurried out the door, cleared her throat, paying no mind to me and yelled back into the apartment, doing her best to be heard over loud music. “Mr. Stone, Margaret already paid me for one month of home healthcare!” The music blaring from within switched off abruptly, gaining my attention.

“Out!” a deep muffled voice barked from within the apartment making me startle.

“Asshole. Too old for this shit,” the woman muttered as she made her way down the hall. I glanced after her and wondered what in the hell just happened.

“And shut the damn door!” The same muffled voice boomed from within. I glanced down to the small carton of chocolate chip cookies and grimaced, realizing that I’d creased the box under my tense grip.

I swallowed hard and cleared my throat loudly to make my presence known. “Um, hello?” The booming voice that I’d just heard remained silent. “I’m your neighbor. We’re friends on Facebook, I think,” I offered feebly, thinking that I sounded pathetic.

No answer. Nothing
.

“I-I’ve never really introduced myself, though. I, uh, I live next door. Well, Matt and I. He’s my roommate. I brought some cookies.” I held out the creased carton to no one, feeling really uncomfortable with his silence, but determined to establish some sort of rapport.

“No thank you. I’m on the gluten-free bandwagon. Shut the door.” He sounded…strange, more muffled than before like he had a mouth full of food or a scarf wrapped around his face. Either way, I had to lean forward and squint to make out what he was saying. Who knew why people squinted to hear better anyway? It made no sense.

“Out!” he bellowed again, his disembodied voice remaining garbled by who knew what.

I recoiled slightly, feeling as though a rabid dog had just snarled, showing off a mouth full of glistening teeth. “Oh. Um. Okay. Sorry. Goodnight, then. I mean, afternoon. Good afternoon. Sorry.” I took one step into his apartment chancing a glance at a photo of a brown haired man with an enchanting smile, his arm resting comfortably around an older woman and his other hand stuffed into his pocket. She looked happy, and I wondered if my neighbor, the chubby, balding, insurance salesman had a wife and son. If he did, why hadn’t I seen or heard evidence of them?

They probably hate him. That’s why!

How could the enchanting man in the photo possibly be a product of the neighbor who was a blatant prick?

I pulled his door shut, feeling like an idiot for attempting niceties. My cheeks burned red-hot with embarrassment and anger. His music came back suddenly and loudly, forcing me to grit my teeth.

Without further delay, I scurried back to my apartment and tossed the box of cookies on my counter feeling frustrated.

What a jerk!

“Shut the door,” I mocked in the deepest, most garbled asshole voice I could manage. There was nothing more disagreeable than a wounded ego for lunch, but a wounded ego was what I had.

Asshole!

“I baked cookies, prick!” I yelled at our adjoining wall. “
Homemade
cookies!” I added, charging the wall in the living room to deliver a blow with my foot. I hopped on my other foot as a bolt of pain shot through my toes and up my shin. “Gah! Ass! Hole!”

Displaced chocolate chip cookies were my lunch for the day and they would have to suffice. They did little in terms of proper sustenance but they plied my wounded ego just fine.

I managed to scarf down six cookies and the last of the milk in the carton before will power to walk away finally kicked in. Mr. Wall Ball was a moron for not taking the cookies. His loss.

If I were smart, I would have focused on channeling my frustration to get a few illustrations done before my day off was completely wasted, but my unpleasant morning had spoiled my creative appetite and the sugar high that I’d been floating on for the last half an hour was tanking. It was just as well, I supposed. I was tired anyway.

The only upside to my ruined day off was the
Law and Order
marathon that was playing on the television. My eyes peered over at my work in progress then back to the TV. It was no use beating myself up over it. I would just have to try again the next day even if I had to remand myself to our apartment until some progress had been made.

“Prick,” I muttered, still angry with my ghost of a neighbor. “Loudest ghost I’ve ever
not
met.”

Just then, Matt came through the door with a paper bag in his arms.

“If you’re still pouting about your goliath asshole, I’m here to save the day. Still pouting?”

“Perhaps a little,” I admitted from the couch.

“Yeah, well based on those yoga pants, sweatshirt, and ratty ponytail that you’re rocking, I’m going to say you’re pouting a lot, so…”

“…I figured…” he huffed setting the bag down on our small dining table. “…that if my very best friend was going to bum around the apartment all day then I should too.” He looked up smiling at me as he pulled the contents of the bag out one by one.

“For the record, I am pouting about multiple things. Not just him.”

“Regardless. Anyway, I got a few of your favorite things, which had me singing that song in the market. You know the one.” Matt held his finger out like a composer and began giving me his own rendition of the musical pop culture classic, “My Favorite Things.” “Which had me thinking that we should watch
The Sound of Music
.” He reached into the bag again and held up the DVD of
The Sound of Music
like a showcase showdown model on
The Price Is Right
.

“A musical?” I asked, smiling in spite of myself.

“Mhmm,” he hummed and nodded, biting into a piece of beef jerky that he also produced from his bag of “favorite things.”

“Your gay-level just pegged out. Just in case you were wondering,” I muttered, hopping up from the couch to see what other goodies he’d brought home.

“I know,” he nodded, grinning.

“Fine. Let’s do it. Should we invite Cal? Is he free?”

“He’s working,” Matt pouted with his bottom lip rolled out for effect. “He’s coming by tonight, though.” His pout was instantly replaced by a devilish smile.

“Probably best, anyway. Our neighbor is being a real jerk today. We will have to turn on the surround sound just to hear the movie.”

“Are you implying that we should drown out our neighbor’s noise with a musical?”

“Exactly. Yes, we should absolutely do that.”

“Who’s gay-level is pegged out now?”

“Touché,” I smiled, snagging the remote for the surround sound.

Matt and I watched
The Sound of Music
—loudly—in companionable silence for the most part. We both swooned over Captain Von Trapp in all his tall, dark and handsome intrigue. It only encouraged thoughts of my own recent tall, dark and handsome man full of intrigue. Incidentally, he was full of shit, too.

I caught Matt checking his cell phone a time or two as I’m sure he caught me checking mine a time or two, though I’m certain Matt didn’t look half as disappointed as I did. Why couldn’t I stop reading his text message over and over again? It was driving me crazy. Matt’s slight smile every time his phone chimed made me want to roll my eyes.

He and Cal had been carrying on in the glow of a budding relationship, and I would have been lying if I said I wasn’t slightly jealous, because I was. I was green with envy.

As Captain Von Trapp and Maria’s love story was coming to a satisfying end, my phone chimed in my lap making me jump and fumble with it like a high school girl waiting for her crush to call.

It was a text from my dad.

Dad: Just checking in with you. I was hoping we could have dinner soon.

Me: Yeah. That’s fine. I’ll let you know when.

Dad: Actually, is tonight okay? We have reservations at the new French place down the street. Chez Thibodaux. Want to join us?

Me: Rain check. I don’t feel up to going out.

Dad: I’d really like it if you came. Liza misses you too.

Me: Okay, dad. What time?

Dad: 6:30. Need a ride?

Me: No. I’ll see you there.

Dad: Thank you.

“You all right?” Matt asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

“Yeah. I’m fine. My dad wants me to have dinner with him and the step-monster tonight.”

“I don’t know why in the world you call her that. Liza is awesome and you know it.” Matt rolled his eyes.

“You only say that because she tips well at the spa.”

“True. She also has fab hair. Do you want me to go with you to dinner?”

“No. Cal is coming over tonight. Don’t ruin your plans for me.”

“I can cancel,” he offered.

“No. Don’t do that. You guys have a good time—in
your
bed only, please! And I’ll be back after dinner.”

“So the couch and kitchen counters aren’t off limits?”

I mocked gagging as I slid off the couch and made a beeline for my room so that I could shower and get ready for a trying evening in the company of my father and stepmother. I wasn’t looking forward to it and I had to wonder why he’d asked me to dinner on such short notice.

Usually our encounters were pre-planned well in advance. Birthdays, anniversaries, Christmas and the like. I preferred them that way. When I knew a little reunion was coming I had time to get myself in order before facing him. Today was nothing special, but something told me that there had to be a reason for his impromptu dinner invitation. I guess I’d find out soon enough.

Graham

Something More

A
lot had happened since I’d last seen Flor, and none of it had been good. It felt like ages since I’d laid eyes on her and yet it had only been six days.