Page 23 of Yes No Maybe

“How does it feel?” I ask rather than question the writing itself, which feels too personal.

“Like a fucking relief,” he breathes out before taking a long swig of his beer.

“Even if the whole neighborhood knows?” My head bobs toward Rose and Vernon’s table. They’ve sent daily text alerts about it. “It seems like a lot of pressure. Do they report everything that happens around here?”

“Just about, but it’s meant to bring the neighborhood together, and the support is nice…. Most of the time.”

Again, I expect him to make a quick exit. But he lingers. So, I tilt my bottle to the crowd. “Okay then, what can you tell me about the other neighbors?”

He points to a burly man standing near the roasters. “Ed is strictly a beer drinker. Head of the neighborhood watch. You’ve probably seen him in his golf cart.”

“The one always checking the perimeter?”

“Right.” Jack nods to the woman beside him, whose loud laughter suggests her mixed drink isn’t her first. “That’s Renita, who’s married to him and Mary Kay.”

“Ah, the anemic pink Cadillac.”

“She’s good. I’ve even bought shit from her.”

“I’ll definitely avoid her then.” I laugh lightly.

“Absolutely. Then, steer clear of our Girl Scout cookie supplier and those three Boy Scouts. They’ll get you for popcorn sales,” he says, pointing them out.

“Oh, is that the porch couple?” I ask, motioning to an older couple dancing, who are on their front porch no matter the hour or the weather like they’re cursed fixtures, cemented in place. “It’s the first time I’ve seen them away from the porch.”

“Yes, Dan and Diane. One time, I went on a walk at, like, 2 a.m., and passing their dark house, I heard someone say, ‘Good morning, Jack,’ and I nearly shit myself.”

“Creepy.”

“Fucking diabolical. I told ‘em so.” Jack’s eyes meet mine. “And they laughed.”

I grimace, imagining it. “I will limit my runs to the daylight hours, then.”

Jack motions toward our end of the street. “If you cross the concrete bridge over the gully next to my place, you can hop on the cross-city trail and avoid the neighbors altogether.”

“Good to know.” The song changes to “November Rain” by Guns N’ Roses, and a sigh putters from me. “I love this song.”

Eyes fixed on the band, I sway, mesmerized. Jack eases away my dwindling beer and reaches for my hand.

I must look as confused as I feel because he says, “A neighborly dance. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Us killing each other?”

A smirk rises on his left cheek. “We aren’t that bad, are we?”

“I’d call us… cordially volatile.”

“I like that.Let us read, and let us dance; these two amusements will never do any harm to the world.”

I gawk. “You’re quoting Voltaire to me? Is that how you typically get women to dance with you?”

“Not typically… but I’m impressed that you recognize Voltaire. Did it work?”

My hand slips into his while his fingers circle my waist. “Such tactics only work on the nerdiest subset of the population.”

“Then, we have that in common.” He drags me close by the waist, but not too close.

“A property line and nerdiness—I suppose that’s something.” My hand rests on his shoulder, but it’s a struggle, forcing it to stay there. It wants to roam down the hard hill of his bicep like I’m a hormonal teenager discovering muscles for the first time.

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