“Rose. Can you hear me?” I pitch my voice a little higher. I’m like a mom in the library who is trying to scold her kids but also trying not to make a scene. I’m getting screechy and clearly don’t have the mom cred required to pull this off. I’ve never been a mom…just a pseudo-mom, so I guess that tracks.
“I’m naked out here, Rosie. I could use a hand. The door is stuck.”
I start kicking the base of it at this point because nothing else is working. My algae-covered toes are going to pay for this, but what’s my other option? I know for a fact the front door is locked. I triple-checked it last night before I went to bed. Part of my pseudo-mom duties.
“Rose, if you are awake and you’re hearing this and not rescuing me, I swear on our last name that I will—”
The sound of a clearing throat behind me stops me mid-threat.
I freeze, but not before landing one last firm kick to the bottom of the door. The shock of the impact reverberates up my spine, and I wince, my grip on the towel slipping.
I frantically use both hands to claw at the top of the measly piece of cotton that’s the only thing standing between me and this stranger.
I peek over my shoulder to find a man standing on the opposite side of the privacy wall separating my deck from my neighbor’s. He’s tall enough that I can see his shoulders, neck, and head. He’s got a five o’clock shadow of stubble lining a hard-edged jaw. His eyes are shielded by a baseball cap, so I can’t tell where he’s looking, and that’s almost worse because I can’t defend his gaze.
I chronicle my options in a millisecond. Either I stand here with my back to him, not entirely sure how much of my rear end is covered. Or I turn and give him a full-frontal view of me in my towel, but at least I know what I’m working with.
I always like to know what I’m working with.
“Oh, hello,” I say, spinning to face him. My face feels like the surface of the sun, but my grip on the towel doesn’t waver. I beam my best smile in my neighbor’s direction and refuse to shrink back.
That’s one of the lessons Gram instilled in me—never cower. She always used to say that no one would believe in me unless I believed in myself.
So, I’m going to fake like I’m perfectly unperturbed. Standing here with my lady bits nearly hanging out and a door that should work but doesn’t? Water off a duck’s back. Water off my back. It’s all evaporated, anyway—I’m sure of it. I am a picture of nonchalance and grace.
Ironically, it’s in this moment that Gram’s other bit of wisdom flies straight to mind. That is, never leave the house in an ugly pair of underwear. She said it helped with confidence. She would also give wild examples of why nice undergarments were essential. What if you croak? Gram would ask. You want someone at the morgue undressing you and seeing ugly panties? No, you don’t! Or she would go on when she was on a roll. What if you meet someone? You never know when you want to be dressed to impress.
I don’t know what kind of social calendar Gram thought I was keeping while she was still alive, but fancy underpants have never been my priority.
Present circumstances have me thinking that maybe I should have taken her advice to heart. Honestly, at this point, I wouldn’t be picky. I’d take underwear of any variety—fancy, ratty, clean, dirty, granny. This woman just wants some clothing!
I straighten, and the towel slips a fraction of an inch. I gulp and press it more firmly into place, and with it, my perma-smile. “I’m your new neighbor—well, one of them. My sister sleeps like the dead. I’ve been trying to get her attention.” I gesture to the door with my non-towel-clenching hand. “I seem to have locked myself out, though I never locked the door. It’s the darndest thing.”
All this time I’m babbling, the stranger next door is standing there. He hasn’t said a word, hasn’t moved a muscle. I don’t know if he’s blinking because, again, I can’t see his eyes. It’s like he’s a statue. Maybe he is. That would be a relief of epic proportions.
“I’m so sorry if I woke you up. I only wanted to check the air conditioning unit. It seems like it’s about to take off on me.” I chuckle, but my laughter sounds hollow in my ear. Let’s all hope I don’t have to cross paths with this guy around town too often. It’s bad enough I have to live with the knowledge that he’s going to be right next door. We share a wall, for heaven’s sake. The mortification is going to follow me around like a tail, and you better believe it’ll be between my legs for the foreseeable future. I may be channeling Gram right now, but my fake confidence is already doing a walk of shame.
“Anyway, I’ll let you go. I’m sure my sister is almost up and can help me out of this conundrum.” I pound on the door with my full fist for effect.
Statue man clears his throat again.
It’s alive, my sassy brain says in my best Frankenstein voice.
Good to know near nakedness and supreme humiliation doesn’t stop my mind from making its cultural references.
“May I?” He motions toward the door, and I glance at it—and at him—confused.
“Oh!” I realize he’s asking for permission to join me on my side of the deck to try to help me. “Of course. Be my guest.”
Be my guest? Who am I? Lumiere the candlestick? I do feel a bit like I’m melting, so maybe?
He turns and skirts the length of the privacy wall, walking out into the grass that our backyards share and then back alongside the wall toward me. He’s bigger up close. His shoulders are broad underneath a white V-neck shirt. He’s wearing worn blue jeans that are so faded they nearly match the white of his shirt. His hat is black with the letters M-E across the front in white-threaded script.
I’ve changed my mind, and I’m thankful for his hat. I don’t want to see what his eyes are doing. Is he judging me? Is he laughing at me? Is he disgusted with my all-too-on-display body? Worse, is he attracted to me?
I debate the merits of announcing that I have a boyfriend, but I stop short. Chances are he’s not looking at me greedily. Hungrily. That sort of things only happens in romance novels, and let’s face it, this is the worst meet-cute in the history of meet-cutes.
I’m not cute right now, nor am I looking for a man. Because I have Holland, and this guy is…who knows what he is. Thank goodness I have a filter, because had I blurted out something that would have made it sound like I thought he was coming on to me only to have him shut me down, my humiliation levels would have sailed straight off the charts. As it is, I’m wishing my towel would magically turn into a turtle shell that I could tuck into.
My neighbor smells like spearmint, and I take a step back to give him full access to the door. His hand, which is twice the size of mine, wraps around the door handle. He pulls up, then out, while at the same time angling his shoulder into the center of the door. It springs open, and I’m so relieved I could hug him.
But I’m not going to do that because I’m still in a towel, and I don’t know this man at all.
“Thank you so much,” I rush to say, blowing past him in my hurry to get inside and clothed. “You’re a life saver. I’ll be on my way. I’m sure I’ll see you around.” I say the last words as I’m shutting the door behind myself. When it clicks shut, I sink down to the ground, letting the towel pool around me.