“Do you ever wonder,” he says, “if we’d taken the time to get toknow the neighbors back then, if we’d had a real community around us…Do you ever wonder if things would have been different?”
Different?I stare at him, confused and uncertain. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
He fidgets a moment, and I can feel it through the mattress, a small jolt as he settles back into place. “We didn’t get to know everyone then, and I know we were both busy, but sometimes I think about how…how it was just the two of us. Your friends weren’t here, and we weren’t particularly close to my family, not that I really wanted to be. But the people who live here…even the ones you haven’t met, I think you’d like them. Elizabeth’s wife and the Trans and—”
“I remember Mrs. Patterson,” I say. She’s really the only neighbor I remember. “I used to see her sometimes, when we went on walks down the street? She used to garden in her yard. She always waved when she saw us.”
“Yeah,” he says, some of the tense lines around his mouth relaxing. “She moved recently. Her husband passed and she moved to be closer to her kids. But they…they had a great marriage, the two of them. I got to know them better the last few years. I got to know everyone here better, and it just made me think…if we’d known them then, if we’d had some kind of support, some advice from people who had been through the same kind of things…I don’t know.” He swallows. “I know you didn’t want me to meet your parents, or your sister, or Ritu back then, but sometimes I wonder if—”
“They wouldn’t have been that for us,” I interject. “My parents? They wouldn’t have been that kind of support you’re talking about.”
His expression falls slightly. The smallest of movements, but I catch it, the beginnings of his retreat, and I want to stop him. I want toexplain.
“My sister,” I say, and he looks back at me, giving me hisattention, “when she dropped out of college, when she had Ritu, my parents supported her financially and with their time. They helped take care of all the practical things, and they helped take care of Ritu, but emotionally? They withdrew. From herandfrom me.” Old, lingering hurt creeps back up, and my chest tightens. “They were always happiest when I was successful, so…they wouldn’t have been happy with things then.”They wouldn’t have been happy with me.“But maybe you’re right. Maybe we should have made more effort to get to know the neighbors back then.”
He watches me a second. “You’d have liked Mrs. Patterson,” he finally says.
“Yeah?”
His mouth curves into a gentle smile. “Yeah. The two of you would have hit it off. She was always full of opinions, just like you.”
For a moment, I can see this alternate world. One where the two of us had dinners with the Pattersons, with others on the street, people who might have lifted us up when we were both down. Who might have been there for us when we couldn’t—or didn’t know how to—help each other. People who might have shown us how to walk through rocky times, how to make it out on the other side.
Regret builds inside me, the sensation heavy, a stone sinking in my chest.
“Anyway,” he says, “sometimes I wish we’d done that differently.”
“Yeah,” I say. “There are things I wish I’d done differently too.”
Our eyes meet, and I’m not sure if he’s been moving, or if I have, but we’re closer than we were before. He’s no longer on the edge of the bed. He’s just a few inches away from me.
If I leaned toward him, we’d be touching. It would hardly take any effort. Part of me wonders what would happen if I did it. If he’d stay completely still or if he’d meet me halfway there.
A loud fight breaks out on the television, disrupting my thoughts, and I shift away. “But there’s no use replaying the past,” I say. “It’s not like we can do anything about it now.”
He leans back against the headboard, creating more distance between us. “Yeah,” he says. “You’re right.”
“Though maybe we should have held some town meetings back then,” I joke, referring to the silly meeting that’s taking place onscreen, trying to lighten the mood. “Maybe we could have met the neighbors that way.”
He watches the show for a few minutes, then shakes his head good-naturedly. “I don’t know,” he says. “Those meetings didn’t really seem to help the neighbors grow closer together. The drama only seemed to tear them apart. Though I have been thinking about…” He stops, pausing a moment. “You know when Lorelai and Sookie started that inn?”
“Yeah,” I say, slightly puzzled. “I remember that.”
He nods, and the gesture strikes me as off. Almost like he’s nervous. “Well, the first time I saw that, saw them buy that broken-down old place and repair it and fix it up, I thought…it seemed like a nice idea. You know, taking an old property and turning it into aninn.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I liked the idea of it being this place, this home for people to stay in when they’re visiting. But it would also be a spot for people who lived in town. For them to gather. Or have lunch. And last year, I came across this property.” He rubs the back of his neck. “It’s, umm, a little farther from here. Closer to the coast, but not quite all the way in Galveston. It doesn’t have a view of the sea exactly, but there’s this inlet. More like a bay, really, but it overlooks some water. It was pretty beat up. In bad shape, but I…uhh.” He trails off, clearing his throat. “Anyway, it reminded me of the show. And I thoughtmaybe someone could turn it into an inn. I don’t know. It sounded nice.”
My heart squeezes. I can understand why this idea appeals to him. Why he’d want to create a space that makes others feel at home. “It does sound nice,” I tell him.
He relaxes a bit when I say this, reclining his head against the headboard.
I’m curious, filled with a thousand questions, but something tells me to approach this carefully. “I can see you running an inn,” I say. “Being an innkeeper.” From the way he responds, I can tell this was the right thing to say. His mouth forms a tentative, unsure smile, and my pulse skips a beat.
“Thanks.”
We return to the show, and fifteen minutes later, I’m fully absorbed by the love triangle taking place onscreen.