Hi guys! I'm working on a new feature for the NAturals- our first serial. Every Sunday, I'll post a few new pages. Enjoy!
xoxo
Lucy
Theresa, as a rule, never spoke to her neighbors. These
people saw her in curlers watering the flowers, in heels going out, and in bare
feet staggering back in. Occasionally, a full day would pass in between the
latter two events. They knew too much already, and therefore didn’t need to
know any more.
Her townhouse was an end unit, luckily. This did much to
encourage her seclusion. From her vantage point of the front office, Theresa
could see most of the complex. If a Girl Scout or Jehovah’s Witness was approaching,
there was ample time to turn off the lights and remove herself from the
vicinity of the window. A lifelong snoop, she assumed her neighbors spent as
much time observing her as she did them.
Theresa loved her job as a virtual assistant. She worked
from home and set her own hours. She spent as much of the day as she wanted
without pants. Best of all, the work was varied. Occasionally, it was
fascinating. Which was why, on a particular Tuesday in spring, she was too
absorbed to notice her neighbor two doors down approaching her doorstep.
By the time the doorbell chimed, it was too late to
pretend she wasn’t home. The neighbor was waving enthusiastically through the
sheers at Theresa. Wonderful, she thought. Just wonderful. An invitation to a
Tupperware party? Bible study group? Participate in the neighborhood rummage
sale?
Whatever the question, Theresa had a flat “no” prepared.
Which was why, on this
particular Tuesday, she was entirely taken aback when the neighbor was not what
she expected.
For one thing, the
young woman standing on her step had purple hair. She had a copious amount of
tattoos. Also, she was the singer in a band Theresa rather enjoyed.
“Hi! I know this is a
ridiculous question to be asking someone in real life, but I’m in the middle of
baking a welcome cake for my brother, and well… Can I borrow a cup of sugar?”
Theresa blinked twice.
“Come in.”
She surprised herself
by being entirely polite, if stilted.
“I’ve seen you play
before. You’re a good singer.”
“Oh, really? Thanks so
much! I swear every time I’m on stage I’m as nervous as the first time. We’re
playing the Blue Room in two weeks and I am losing my shit just thinking about
it. You should totally come out! I’ll buy you a drink. You are such a lifesaver
today.” The singer was a rambler, Theresa thought, but not in an unpleasant
way.
They chatted for a few
moments as she carefully decanted exactly one cup of sugar into a glass
measuring cup.
It
was exactly one week to the day later when it occurred to Theresa that her
cake-baking neighbor had failed to return the borrowed measuring cup. As she
reluctantly found a pair of pants to wear, she considered how correct she had
been in her initial assessment of the people she lived near. When her business
really took off, she reflected, she would move to the country and only receive
visitors that had been invited well in advance.
Satisfied
that her choice of black pants and grey button-down reflected a severe attitude
towards thievery, Theresa tucked her auburn hair into a bun and headed for the
door. She stepped out into the sun and squinted. Theresa was not overly fond of
the sun. Or the outdoors. She removed the dog-walking, lawn-mowing, and
baby-sitting fliers from her door and dropped them into a flower pot. Her
assumption was that one day the moldering pile of papers may deter the
neighbors from piling more on. That day was not today.
Two
doors down, she rapped three staccato knocks. She squared her shoulders. She
was prepared to deliver a brief lecture, kind yet firm, about neighborliness.
No one answered. She knocked again. There was still no answer. Perhaps a note,
then. She turned to go just as the locks noisily disengaged.
“Yeah?”
came a voice, much deeper than the purple-haired girl’s should have been.
Theresa steeled herself to deal with some miscreant boyfriend. She spun smartly
on her heel and came face to face with six feet of biceps and dimples, capped
off with pale green eyes.
“Um,”
she replied like the professional she considered herself.
“Can
I help you?” the tall chiseled man asked. He raised an eyebrow at her as his
grin deepened. Oh, the dimples were on both cheeks and his chin. Oh, there was hair. Artfully tousled light brown
hair. Why was she noticing all of this? Not the reason for her visit.
“I
came for. Um. I gave. I needed… a cup of sugar.”
That
did not come out as planned. What kind of simpering undergrad must she sound
like? Theresa Marie O’Donnelly was a grown woman. She was a small business
owner, a supporter of fair-trade products, and an accomplished home cook. She
did not simper.
“Come
in.” The man’s muscular back rippled through his t-shirt as he turned, clearly
expecting her to follow.
Theresa
took a deep breath, prepared her speech, stepped inside, and simpered.
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