“I’m on the ladder,” I snapped. “Can you help me get down?” The darkness was disorienting, and I clutched the top rung, forcing my panic down.
“Just a second . . .” Matt’s phone’s flashlight illuminated, sweeping over the interior of the room and blinding me as he moved closer. I chanced a descent, making it down one rung before the light bounced, then swung wildly as he tripped over something. He cursed and I paused, my foot hovering in space.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” He grunted, and the flashlight refocused on me. “Here. I’ll help you down.”
We worked in silence, and my tension eased once I was back on firm footing. Making our way downstairs, we stared at the fuse box in ignorance, then discussed our options. Outside, sheets of rain peppered the roof and poured loudly from uncleaned gutters.
“It’s got to be the storm. Probably blew a transformer. I bet the whole neighborhood’s out.” Matt swung the fuse-box door shut and latched it.
I shook my head. “I saw the lights on next door when we came down the stairs.”
“They probably have a generator.” He moved past me and headed to the dining room. Peering through the glass panes of the window, he jumped when a bolt of lightning lit up the sky. “I vote we wait it out, unless you want to drive around and see what areas have power. I’ve got a small generator at the shop. It could get us through the night, if you don’t mind being a little hot.”
I kept close to him, uncomfortable in the dark house. “I could go next door and speak to William. And Cat.” I hadn’t intended to separate their names, but it happened, the gap hanging in the sentence like an out-of-place comma.
“What?” Matt pressed a button on the side of his watch, lighting up the digital dial. “It’s almost nine.”
“No one’s in bed this early. We can ask them how long these outages normally last or—if it’s just us—if there’s an electrician they recommend.” I warmed to the idea. I’d spent most of the day wondering if I should head over to say hi—and being a little surprised they hadn’t shown up here. Wasn’t it a common courtesy to welcome someone to the neighborhood? Or maybe that sort of thing was done only in our old neighborhood, where the homes didn’t have private gates, uniformed staff, or police officers who patrolled the streets on horseback.
“I don’t know,” Matt said slowly, and this was why he’d never really amounted to anything. As I had just told that Asian doctor at Winthorpe—Allyson Cho—you had to act decisively and take the consequences. Grab life by the balls. My husband liked to tickle them with a feather and then wander away.
I rerouted my path and navigated to the back door, my decision made. This was a blessing, actually. The perfect excuse to pop in. Maybe Cat would be in pajamas, her makeup off, and I could replace my Instagram-perfect images of her with something more attainable. I thought of William and wondered what he’d look like. I’d seen him only in a tuxedo—at the party—and in suits at the office. Would he be in workout shorts and a T-shirt? Jeans and a polo? Underwear and no shirt?
I swung open the door to the garage, my sneakers making the transition from wood floors to the spongy welcome mat, and I heard Matt follow me into the dank interior, his phone extended like a sword, the flashlight beam cutting past me and reflecting off the hood of my car.
It wasn’t a surprise. Matt would follow me anywhere.
We rang the bell twice before Cat answered, her cheeks flushed, eyes warm. They’d either been in bed together or she was drunk, and I hesitated on their front porch, rethinking the hour.
“Matt, Neena, hey!” She swung the door open farther, and the three-story foyer glowed with light. “Is everything okay?”
“Our power’s out,” I said, suddenly aware that I should have done as Matt suggested and waited out the storm. Instead, we looked like dripping-wet cling-ons, begging for scraps and favors. I pulled on the top of my leggings, making sure the wide band was holding in my stomach. “We didn’t want to bother you, just wanted to see if it’s a neighborhood-wide thing or just our house. Obviously you have power, but—”
“We have a generator,” she said quickly. “It just started up a little while ago.” She swung her arm, gesturing us in. “Get in before you catch a chill. William’s in the shower, but he’ll be out any minute.”
We ended up in their kitchen, perched on stools at a massive marble island, shot glasses lined up before us as Cat poured an African liquor into each one. I watched her slide the first glass toward Matt.
Her thick, dark hair was up in a messy bun, wisps of it hanging loose. My wish had come true—she was makeup-free, in silk pajama pants and a long-sleeve Mission Valley High soccer T-shirt—but the effect was the opposite of what I’d hoped for. Maybe it was the high school logo across her small chest, but she looked young and beautiful. I watched Matt carefully to see if he noticed. He didn’t seem to, and I stretched my face forward, hoping my neck scars weren’t showing.
“What’s this?” William approached, his stride lazy, his smile wide, and my insecurities grew deeper. He had jeans on, his feet bare, a white T-shirt sticking to a torso that was still damp from his shower. “Are we celebrating?”
Cat lifted a shot glass and held it out to him. “We are celebrating and commiserating. To new neighbors and the headaches of California storms. Cheers.”
Glasses clinked, and over the rim of his glass, William’s eyes met mine for a brief moment. I held the look and tilted back my glass.
Three drinks later, we were lounging around the fireplace, Cat and William on one sofa, Matt and me on the other. I relaxed back on the soft leather, settling into Matt’s side, and put my bare feet up on the ottoman, careful not to disrupt the mirrored tray of lit candles in its center.
“I swear, Neena could give Tiger a run for his money,” Matt protested. “She’s a freak of nature with a putter in her hand. It was the worst place I could have possibly tried to impress her.”
I smiled at his recollection of our first date. “You should have known better, given that my father was a course superintendent.” I lifted the glass, needing a drink at just the mention of my father.
“You grew up playing?” William ran his hand over Cat’s knee, his fingers caressing the joint through the thin fabric.
I pulled my eyes away from the motion. “Yeah. My father wanted a son, so he tortured me with the burden.” I laughed in an attempt to hide the bitterness that crept into the response. Tortured had been an apt description. Hundreds of hours in the sun, sweat dripping down the back of my legs, the sound of his voice raised in frustration at each inaccurate drive. The yelling had been rough, but when he’d picked up the switch, things had turned bad. I’d worn jeans my entire freshman year to hide the welts on the backs of my calves. I still couldn’t sit in a foldable chair without thinking of him settled back in his, boots crossed on the grass, the switch waving through the air in anticipation of my failure.
“She’s really great,” Matt said proudly. “Almost won state her senior year.”
“Further proof that putt-putt was the worst idea of a first date,” I pointed out.