1
Hope
The neighborhood is quiet. Calm. Serene almost.
It’s precisely the type of surroundings I need. The kind I spent my teenage years riding my bike in. The residents are friendly, slightly curious, and definitely close. The couple across the street is talking over their white picket fence to their neighbors on the right.
They laugh. They talk. They’ve formed friendships.
Something I lack.
I had friends once.
They died a month ago in a horrible wreck.
Leslie and Miles Lambert weren’t just my best friends, they were my family. They understood my quirks. Embraced them and encouraged me to stop hiding who I really am—a shy introvert who can’t identify with others.
I have alexithymia, which means I have a hard time connecting with people. Reading their emotions. I never know if someone is annoyed with me, laughing at me, or trying to avoid me.
It’s not often I have people accepting of who I am.
Leslie and Miles did.
Until they couldn’t.
The crash was so unexpected. They were getting ready for a baby and about to close on the perfect house. One they’d dreamed of owning for as long as I’d known them.
One day they were there, and now, they’re not, and I’m not entirely confident about how I’ll go on without them.
“Hey, kid, stop daydreaming and tell me where you want this crap.” I spin to face the moving truck only to see my older brother, Luca, and some of his friends holding the larger, heavier boxes, waiting for my direction.
“The spare room, please.” I smile softly, my dark hair falling to the side.
My new house is nothing fancy. It’s a modest size and will work for as long as I need it. The cute duplex has a small front porch, perfect for a wicker chair in the summer when it’s not too hot. There's an upstairs, middle floor, and basement, so plenty of room to grow. The fenced-in backyard is a plus also.
After Luca convinced me to get the intermediate SUV instead of the ordinary car I was going to purchase in a couple of weeks, I’m glad for the large garage as well.
Striding towards the moving truck, I begin to climb in the back when hands on my hips stop my momentum. “I don’t think so, Hope.”
“I can help.” I glare at my brother as he puts me on my feet beside the truck.
Planting my hands where he let me go, my dirty look deepens. He laughs at me. “I told you, this is why we’re here, kid. We have the muscles, we do the lifting.”
“And I told you, the furniture and heavy boxes. I was only going to grab the small ones,” I explain. I’m not entirely useless.
Rolling his eyes at me, he shakes his head, enters the truck, and comes back a second later with a blanket. “Take this, then tell them where you want the couch positioned.”
I can’t tell if he’s angry or amused because he’s scowling yet smirking, so I nod my head and walk away. I hate how insecure I still am about that. Especially with Luca. He knows I can’t read emotions. My own are difficult enough, but others are a mystery and painful to figure out. You’d think after twenty-two years that I’d be comfortable with him about it.
“Amused, Hopeless, I’m amused!” he calls out as I’m about to step up on the porch.
Glancing back at him, I grin and nod. Before I get a chance to reply, though, my new neighbor opens his door with an unreadable expression on his face and steps outside.
Unsure of myself with a stranger but not wanting to be rude, I greet him. “Hello, I’m Hope Carson, your new neighbor.” I plaster a smile on my face because Leslie always told me that people like it, it makes them feel welcome.
He doesn’t seem to since he doesn’t move or say a thing.
I look back to the truck to see Luca moving things around, unaware of my new neighbor's presence. The more time that passes, the more uncomfortable I become, and I begin to second guess myself.
“Umm, how are you?” I walk up my steps, so I don’t feel so tiny as I speak to him. It doesn’t help that he’s as big as Luca.
The man’s eyes narrow, and it’s then I identify that he’s angry about something, but I’m not sure what. Whispering, “I’m sorry,” I walk inside, trying to push him from my mind.
“You’re being loud,” he clips out, and I’m stopped mid-way through the door.
“We are?” It’s the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday. The realtor mentioned this was a good time to move in because people worked during the week for the most part, so we wouldn’t be disturbing their relaxing evenings.
“Yeah, banging, swearing. You’re being loud,” he says again.
“We’ll be quieter,” I respond. The last thing I want to do is get on the bad side of my new neighbor.
He frowns at me before saying, “Good.” Looking like he wants to add more, I wait. But nothing else comes, so I smile, shrug a shoulder, and walk inside.
I don’t need to be told that he’s wondering what’s wrong with me. I see that same questioning look a lot, and it’s always followed by a number of rude questions. While people usually just think I'm weird, they don’t bother to consider I might be lacking due to a mental defect and not because I’m a broken mess.
Though, it’s true, I am broken. Unequivocally broken.
Well, my brain is, anyways.
“That guy hassling you?” Coen, my brother’s best friend since grade school and my pseudo big brother, asks as he stares at the other man. I missed Coen when he was deployed and then struggled afterwards for so many years. Having him back is reassuring.
“No. He asked that we keep it down. The swearing and loud noise was bothering him. Cou
ld you tell the others, please?” Coen furrows his brow as I walk past him, but I’m too excited about the house to try and decipher his meaning.
I can hear Luca step up onto the porch, and he and Coen are speaking in hushed tones while I show their other friends where I want the furniture.
Looking at the couch placed in the middle of the room, I decide I don’t like it. “Maybe not there,” I say as I glance around the room. Noticing two of them rolling their eyes at my indecision, I tell them, “Never mind, there is fine,” with another obligatory smile.
Pretending like I understand everyone is exhausting, and with my current condition, it’s doubled up. I find myself nearly too tired to stand much longer.