Second First Impressions

“Believe it or not, this is a big improvement.” The way he’s folded his little blanket makes my heart feel weird.

Melanie leans in farther behind me. “Aw, look. There’s his turtle tank. He was scared TJ would get pneumonia out in the yard when he gets him back.”

It grates when she acts like I might not know something about him. I dug that tank out of the storage closet myself. “Yeah, I know.”

“It’s so cute how bad he misses his boy. Oh my God,” Melanie gasps, and I’m sure she’s seen something truly scandalous. She finishes with: “He’s borrowed Reptiles and Amphibians for Dummies from the actual library. He’ll be a cute dad one day, don’t you think?”

He’d parade his baby around like his perfect little trophy.

“In the far distant future, when he’s grown up himself.” I tug Melanie out of his doorway. “Come away from there. Let him have some privacy.”

When we go into my cottage, she says, “It’s exactly like he described it. He said it’s like Pooh Bear’s house in a tree. No wonder he’s always trying to slither in here.” She knocks on the wall I share with him. “You are next-door neighbors with a hot boy. A silly, weird one, but undeniably hot. How does that feel?”

“It mainly feels irritating, but in a nice way.”

“How?” Melanie is smiling and perplexed.

“Like when my oven timer goes off and he tells me through the wall that he had a dream that I was cooking him a lovely dinner.”

“He dreams about your cottage,” Melanie says blandly. I keep a bowl of candy on my coffee table—exactly where Teddy put his—and she takes one. “And he can keep on dreaming where you’re concerned.”

“I’ll get some snacks.” I stayed up late, pre-preparing a snack platter, all the while warning myself that Mel might cancel. After all, she’s young and fun. I’m about to reveal a 1950s-housewife level of effort. “Want to sit in the courtyard?”

“Sure, after I take a look around.” She practically zips herself into a full-body forensic suit. I’m not too bothered; there’s nothing scandalous to find.

I put the cheese platter and crackers out in the courtyard on what I’ve come to think of as Teddy’s table. Next, lemonade and some glasses. Friday evening and I’m actually doing something social with someone my own age.

“You’re so neat,” Melanie’s voice calls from faraway inside.

“I guess,” I reply right as Teddy skids into the courtyard on the heels of his sneakers, holding a walkie-talkie like he’s a security guard. He takes one look at the food on the table and says, “Yessssssssssss.”

(Here’s a secret: I made a larger cheese plate than I needed to.)

(A bigger secret: My heart just skidded into my rib cage on the heels of its sneakers.)

“I am absolutely—” He’s interrupted by his walkie-talkie’s static crackle. “Starving.”

“You left your door unlocked,” I accuse him. “Melanie just broke in. What are you doing here? This is a private function.”

“Nothing to steal in there.” He shrugs. I am about to argue when we’re interrupted.

“What’s your 10–20, Panda Bear?” R

enata’s sharp voice says from the walkie-talkie. When he doesn’t answer, she tries again. “I told him that this wouldn’t work. Come IN, Panda Bear, what’s your 20? OVER.” A couple of seconds later, a flock of birds fly over us.

Teddy allows himself a soul-deep sigh then presses the side button. “Affirmative, Fashion Victim, that’s a big 10–4. I might be a while. Babe Ruth’s put out a big plate of cheese and grapes and crackers. There’s even a third glass, just for me. Over.”

Renata replies, “Cheese party in the courtyard on a Friday evening. Is there wine? Describe what sort of cheeses. Over, obviously.”

I go inside as he begins describing them to her—hard yellow doorstop, gooey white hockey puck, gross one with mystery bits—then find Melanie in my bedroom picking through the things on top of my dresser. “Teddy’s here.”

“Good, good,” she says, distracted. “Is this all your makeup?” She opens an eyeshadow tin with her fingernail like she’s prizing the lid off a Petri dish.

I lie. “I’m not sure. Maybe there’s more in the bathroom.”

“Already looked there. Okay, so a lot of this is very old and needs to go in the bin.” (She’s not wrong. I used that palette for prom.) “I’ll want to see your clothes at some point too. That’s Week 3 of the Method.”

I lower my voice. “We won’t go into full details of the Sasaki Method while he’s here. We’ll let him sit with us until he gets bored and wanders off.”