She rolled her eyes. “Oh, you wouldn’t know.”
I smiled to myself. “Let’s just say one normally involves a flat iron.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Vera asked, laughing. “And you can pry mine from my cold, dead hands. We’re from the city, too, actually. Only we were never cool enough to live in Brooklyn. We were old fuddies, in the East Village.” She beamed. “So why did you move? Do you have family up here?”
I shook my head, eyes on my plate.
“Where are you from originally?” she asked.
I took a sip of the wine John had opened as soon as we’d sat down. Despite my fears, there was no real reason to lie. “The Pacific Northwest, but I don’t get back there much.”
“That’s where your family is?” Vera pressed.
I swallowed, my throat tightening ever so slightly.
John laid his hand over Vera’s, as if to stop her.
“What?” she asked.
“Don’t be so pushy, V,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. His voice was kind, unlike Davis’s when he used to correct me. His eyes flitted to mine, crinkling at the corners; somehow, he got it.
Vera wriggled her hand out from beneath his. “I’m not being pushy,” she said. Her fork clanged against the plate. “Wait. Am I?”
“No, no, of course not,” I said instinctively. I trailed my finger along the edge of my plate, then took a deep breath, like I had so many times before. Better to spit it out, one fell swoop. “There was a bad accident my junior year of college,” I said. “I lost both my parents. I’m an only child, so . . .”
Her hand landed on mine, warm and baby-soft, but I flinched at her touch, and she pulled away. “Oh god, how awful,” she said. “I didn’t mean to make you upset.”
For a second, the hole inside me where my parents should have been grew so much, it was like I was made of nothing, as empty as a tossed-aside bottle of wine: hard on the outside, tough to crack, but filled with little more than air, dirty dregs. I dabbed my eyes with my napkin, careful not to disturb the Dermablend, then forced a laugh. “Sorry. I don’t even know why I’m crying.”
I expected to hear the usual half-hearted response—oh, so sorry for bringing it up, I didn’t mean to pry—but to my surprise, John’s eyes clouded. His face sagged, looked suddenly older. Vera bit her lip.
“It doesn’t get any easier, does it?” he asked, once more taking Vera’s hand.
I widened my eyes, willing him to go on.
He cleared his throat. “My parents died a year apart. Lung cancer,” he said. “Mom when I was twenty-six. Dad when I was twenty-seven.”
I shook my head, but didn’t say anything, because I knew there wasn’t a single word in the English language that would suffice. Words were made to describe, to explain, not to console.
“I’m not an only child, but my brother was only nineteen.” John’s eyes penetrated deep. “He’s got schizophrenia, been in a home for years.”
“Christ,” I said for the second time that night.
Vera forced a laugh. “Welcome to the neighborhood! We sure do know how to keep things light.”
John’s head swiveled toward her. “Seriously, though, if I hadn’t met Vera, I don’t know what I would have done.” He turned his hand over, lacing his fingers through hers.
My insides ached; I’d thought the same thing, not so long ago. From the beginning, Davis had felt almost like a healer, my very own emotional balm. He was the family I’d lost, the unconditional love I craved.
Or I’d thought he was, at least.
Vera unlaced her fingers and fiddled with her napkin. “We’re so glad you moved in,” she said, changing the subject. “The woman who lived in your place before, well, she and I were quite close—I guess we all were.” Her eyes briefly caught John’s. “She moved to a place right in town, but even before then . . .” Vera folded her napkin into a tight little square, then shook it, undoing her work. “Anyway, I was afraid the new tenant wouldn’t be cool, but look.” She smiled. “Here you are.” I felt myself blush.
“Should we go out to the gazebo in back?” John asked, clearing his throat and pushing his plate forward. “We’ve still got half a bottle of wine to at least attempt to drink away all our sorrows, and it’s not too hot out.”
“Let’s do,” Vera said, voice light. “And I promise not to ask any more serious questions.”
“I’m going to hold you to that, V,” John said.
When I didn’t object, John scooted his chair back and stood, tossing his napkin onto his plate.
“So were you friends with the previous tenant, too?” I asked him as we squeezed through the doorway to the living room.
“Rachel?” he asked, the name on the whiteboard clinking into place like ice in whiskey. “Of course we were friends,” he said. “She was my neighbor, just like you.”
FIVE
The two of them came to life beneath the string lights of the gazebo.
John looked almost painfully striking, his jaw strong, eyes bright. Nestled beside him, Vera was a siren. A goddess-witch, her hair now free, cascading past her shoulders.
It wasn’t just that they were beautiful. They were the kind of people who made you feel like you were in high school all over again, who took everything you’d been forcing down your throat about body positivity and loving yourself since you were sixteen years old and shot it straight to hell. You could be as beautiful as you told yourself you were, but you would never be them. Cheerful, easy, in love. The kind of people who made you want, desperately, to be liked.
Vera and John can be very charming. But they only really care about themselves.
Vera patted the space beside her, and I sat down as directed, clinging to my glass.
“So what brought you guys up here?” I asked.
Vera smiled, and the two shared a brief conspiratorial look, as if they delighted in telling their story, one chapter in the history of them. “We wanted to open an art gallery forever,” Vera said. “But we could never afford the space in the city, so one day, we decided, let’s do it! I run the day-to-day—I was trained in arts management at Pratt—and John paints in his cabin-slash-studio in the woods. I show his pieces, as well as others’.”
“Wow,” I said. “That sounds so idyllic. It’s one of those things people always talk about doing but never do.”
Vera’s smile faltered, just the tiniest bit, and I wondered if I’d misstepped.