Next Door Hater (Love Under Lockdown)

I may have needed to be an English Professor, by sheer practicality, but what I wanted to be was a creative. Not that having a day job hindered that. If anything, it helped, at least more than it hurt. Some of the best advice I’d ever gotten, directed at novelists but applicable to pretty much anyone in a creative field was to “get yourself a day job you can do part-time, that you don’t hate.”

I was snapped back to reality by a somewhat insistent knocking on the door. Knocking so loud, I could hear it on the second floor. I didn’t want it to disturb my mother so, with little thought to my own safety, I rolled back from the desk and went to answer the door.

“Yes?”

“Oh, hi, um, I’m Hank Gattis, I live next door? Sara and I have an agreement.”

“What kind of agreement?”

“Well, the plumbing is always the best. It is a constant headache really. Anyway, Sara, who I’m assuming is your mother -”

“Yes, she is Hank. I’m Elise, nice to meet you.”

“Back at ya. Anyhoo, your mother and I have a standing agreement that when the plumbing goes all Exorcist, I can come over and use yours.”

“Oh! Of course, yeah, sure, please come in!” I said, opening the door quick as you please.

“Much obliged,” Hank Gattis said, rocketing through the kitchen toward the stairs.

It could have been a lie. A clever rouse to get in, so he could do unspeakable things to me. Though if he was a mad strangler, he was doing an excellent job of acting. Besides which, he wouldn’t have run past me after I’d opened the door. I gradually deflated, my adrenaline level returning to its usual ebb.

“Thanks again,” Hank said, as we passed in the hall, on my way back to work.

“No problem.”

“You and your mom should come by for dinner some time. Our fridge doesn’t work at the moment, but I can make a mean pasta.”

“Sure,” I said, not sure if he was kidding.

Like that he was gone. Disappearing almost as quickly as he had arrived. At least he hadn’t made a nuisance of himself.

Chapter Six - Nate

The bacon and ham sizzled in the pan. Popping and crackling like a fireworks display. I kept a watchful eye, flipper at the read in case of disaster. Fire extinguisher close at hand, should things go truly calamitous. I liked to be prepared to be ready for every eventuality. The ice would only go so far, so it was best to cook, and if possible, eat, all the salvageable meat in one go. I, for one, was well-used to high-protein diets. I wasn’t so sure about Dad.

“Speak of the devil,” I muttered, as he came through the door.

“At every christening. I’ve already rejected him and all his works on your behalf.”

“Well, that’s a relief. Bacon?”

“Squishy and flat or crispy and curly?” Dad asked, sitting at the table.

“Bit of both,” I said, checking the pan.

“I could eat.”

If he were a dog, his ears would be drooping. Dad was good at hiding his emotions, but I always knew.

“What’s wrong?”

“With the world?”

“If you like, though, I was thinking more on the micro level.”

“DNA?”

“Could be,” I conceded.

“Have you always been this awkward?”

“Probably, you would know better than me.”

Dad’s brow furrowed as he considered. He was of something of a philosophical disposition, thrown for a loop by the mildest conundrum. If he ever read Bertrand Russell, he would probably pass out. It really was for the best that he worked a straight-forward sort of job, requiring the most literal and lateral of thinking.

“Now you mention it, I think you were,” he said, the realization dawning on him.

“There you go then. I’d have thought you’d be used to it by now.”

“I suppose I am. Probably why I haven’t put you up for adoption yet.”

“Mum wouldn’t have probably had something to say about that.”

“Probably,” Dad agreed, with a smile that could almost be considered wistful.

A silence fell like an anvil. Memories, both wonderful and painful flooding like rivers into the oceans of our minds. Conventional wisdom held that time healed all wounds. Then again, it also said that it was better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all and swore that wearing a hat could fend off a virus and keep one from getting a cold. Both of which were demonstrable bullshit, giving Conventional Wisdom a 0-2 deficit against Cold Hard Truth.

Then again, I’d had more than one professor tell me that I was far too young to be so jaded. Maybe they were right. Or, and more likely, I was just ahead of the curve.

“How’s Sara?” I asked, next door the only place he could legally go at that point.

“Oh good, I assume.”

“Why assume?”

“I didn’t actually see her. She was probably asleep, they still had her on the night shift. I don’t know who she pissed off but at least she was still employed. Up until recently, anyway. Her daughter was there though. A real cutie, about your age.”