Page 10 of Circle of Strangers
This one could get messy.
6
I find myself at Sozi’s Monday afternoon—not because I want to be here, but because I need more insight on Oscar and Mara’s situation.
Sozi hands me a glass of chilled rosé, the ice cubes clinking as they settle. We’re lounging on her back patio while the kids are in school, feet propped up on the wicker ottoman, the desert heat tempered by the breeze whispering through her covered pergola. The early-afternoon sun casts a golden glow over the manicured rock garden—everything in this neighborhood feels so pristine, so controlled.
“Mara and Oscar,” Sozi starts, leaning back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other. Her eyes twinkle like those of a woman who lives for gossip. I can’t blame her, though. The day-to-day grind of a stay-at-home mom can be monotonous and severely lacking sufficient adult interactions. Not everyone is cut out for that. “God, they’re such a mess, aren’t they?”
I raise an eyebrow, sipping my wine, waiting for her to elaborate. Sozi doesn’t need much prompting. All I have to do is sit here in silence, appear slightly curious, and she word vomits the rest.
“They’re the classic ‘can’t live with them, can’t live without them’ couple.” She swirls her pink liquid before taking a sip. “Always fighting, always making up. It’s like our very own soap opera. Who needs reality TV when we have the Morenos?”
“That’s one way to put it,” I say, thinking of the occasional raised voices I’ve overheard drifting through their windows lately.
“You haven’t been around them enough yet, but I’ve always noticed the way Mara’s laughter always seems just a little too sharp, too forced when Oscar’s around. And whenever they’re together in public, it’s like nothing’s wrong—they’re smiling, picture-perfect, arm in arm. Did I ever tell you how they ended up here?” Sozi’s eyes glimmer as she bites her bottom lip, anxious to spill more tea. “Oscar left his last wife for Mara.”
My glass makes it only halfway to my lips. “You mentioned she had a thing for married men.”
“Right. Oscar’s wife—well, let’s just say she didn’t take it well. Started stalking Mara, following her around town, even showed up at her work once. Total psycho.”
I glance across the yard to the high walls that enclose the community. “Is that why they moved here?”
“Mm-hmm,” Sozi hums. “They needed somewhere safe. A place the ex couldn’t get to. Our neighborhood is like a prettier, more peaceful Fort Knox. Keeps everyone out, even the crazies.”
I nod, not needing to fake the understanding in my eyes. I love it here for those exact same reasons. The tall gates, the security cameras, the guarded checkpoints. There’s something comforting about knowing there’s only one way in and one way out. It’s the perfect place to keep people—certain people—out.
As Sozi rambles on, a thought flickers through my mind: maybe everyone here is hiding behind those gates, keeping something—or someone—out.
Maybe I’m not the only one.
Sozi interrupts my reverie with a sigh, sinking deeper into her chair. “It’s funny, though. For all the drama, Mara and Oscar always end up having each other’s backs. They fight like cats and dogs, but the second someone tries to come between them, it’s like they snap back together. Weird, right?”
“They’re both cheaters. Maybe they understand each other better than most.”
Sozi laughs, soft and throaty. “Maybe that’s it. It’s not like either of them is blameless. Mara’s had her fair share of indiscretions, and Oscar ... well, we know how he got here.”
I roll my eyes. The thought of grown adults behaving like teenagers when it comes to relationships is obnoxious. “Sounds exhausting.”
“Oh, it is,” Sozi agrees, her expression softening as she stares out at the horizon. After a dramatic pause, she leans in. “I mean, I get why Mara wants to stay here. Keeping things locked up tight, keeping the wrong ones out of your life. I ... well, let’s just say I have some family I like to keep at arm’s length, too.”
The air between us shifts.
“Actual family members, or are these former neighbors you once considered family?” I’m teasing. She doesn’t smile. Bad joke, I suppose. Or perhaps she doesn’t get it. Sozi doesn’t come off as the brightest.
“Actual family members,” she says. “I have a younger sister back in Boston, where I grew up. Complete hot mess. I used to loan her money all the time—until she stopped paying it back. And my mother—if you can call her that—can’t trust her as far as you can throw her. If I let her in my house and turned my back for two seconds, I guarantee all my jewelry would mysteriously disappear.”
I’d take a kleptomaniac mother over one who served raw hamburger sandwiches any day of the week.
“Some of us win the lottery when it comes to the family we’re born into.” I take the tiniest sip of wine. I didn’t want to be rude when she offered, but showing up at school pickup with alcohol on my breath wouldn’t be a good look for me. “And some of us aren’t so lucky.”
“That’s one way to put it.” Sozi’s lips press together before she continues. “I had an ... interesting childhood, I guess you could say. My father passed away when I was eleven. Drunk driving accident. He was driving.” Sozi sighs, swirling her wineglass—a gesture that suggests the irony is lost on her. “My mother wasn’t exactly around much. And when she was, she shouldn’t have been. She’d disappear for days, come back with bruises or worse. Sometimes she’d forget to feed us, other times she’d forget we even existed. It’s probably why my sister is so messed up.”
There’s a strange tug in my chest, and I imagine it’s something akin to empathy, or at least what empathy might feel like were I able to feel such a thing.
I almost feel sorry for her.
No wonder she’s desperate for attention and validation and connection, no wonder she refers to the people who live on Saguaro Circle as “family.”
