“I’m being honest.”
She leaned back into the chair.
“Woman to woman.”
There was something so casual about the way he said it.
Like I was warning myself that the rain was coming.
I stood.
He picked up his coffee.
He took it to the sink.
“Then from woman to woman,” I said, “you should go home.”
That night, I told Irvin everything.
His expression changed the second that I repeated his words.
“Did he really say that?”
“Every word.”
He shook his head.
“Then I’m done helping her.”
And I meant it.
When he called for a strange noise in his garage, he told him to contact pest control.
When she texted him over a door sticking, he sent him a number of maintenance personnel.
But Vanessa didn’t stop.
He just stopped pretending.
He leaned across the fence when Irvin was outside.
She brought cookies that she claimed she had done too many.
I found excuses to touch his arm.
Every time, he walked away.
Then he announced a neighborhood barbecue.
Irvin got an invitation.
I didn’t.
He showed it to me.
“I’m not going.”
I looked out the window at Vanessa’s house.
Then he thought of all the little emergencies he had invented.
The bottle.
The shelf.
The lights.
The hinges.
And suddenly, an idea was formed.
“Actually,” I said, “I think you should leave.”
Irvin stared at me.
“Why?”
“Trust me.”
He studied my face.
Then he smiled slowly.
“Should I be worried?”
“Not about me.
The next afternoon, Irvin went to the barbecue alone.
I waited half an hour.
Then he walked next door carrying a large gift box.
