Page 11 of Her Alien Neighbor

Denise scratches her forehead, looking weary, and says, “There’s a basement, right?”

I nod.

“Why don’t we give that a look?”

The basement is a total disaster. A sea of boxes covers the floor, and tall stacks of books and photo albums practically touch the ceiling. I didn’t realize Denise would want to look down here, but that was a foolish assumption. Obviously, she would want to see the entire house.

When she asks to get a closer look at the water heater, I have to kick aside several boxes just to clear a path.

“Oof,” she grunts when she looks at the water heater’s manufacturer label. “This thing is pushing thirty. You’re going to need to get it replaced before you sell.”

“Uh, even if it’s working perfectly?” I ask, my voice breaking on the last word.

“Oh yeah,” Denise mutters, typing something into her phone. “It’s on borrowed time, and it’s something that prospective buyers won’t want to deal with. If you get a new one, it’ll help sell this place faster.”

Nodding, I try to remain calm. “Okay, that makes sense. So, how much does a new water heater cost?” I’m embarrassed to ask the question, but I need the answer.

“Could be anywhere from eight hundred to two thousand dollars.”

A squeaky gasp tumbles out of my mouth in response. “That’s something I’d have to pay upfront?” The last time I checked my bank account, I had seventy-nine dollars. There’s no way I can afford to buy a new water heater for a house I don’t even want to live in.

Denise looks at me as if I’ve grown horns. “Yes.”

She continues pointing out less urgent flaws I should cover up as we go back upstairs, but I’m not really listening. The chipped paint and dents in the walls are hardly a priority when I need to drop at least eight hundred dollars on a water heater.

The moment we step outside for an exterior peek at the house, our ears are assaulted by the combination of a power drill, blaring music that’s shaking the thin windows, and the boisterous laughter of men, one of whom has become my sworn enemy.

Denise has to yell her questions at me, and storms ahead with a deep scowl when I ask her to repeat herself a third time.

“What. The fuck. Is this.” I ground out, mostly to myself since I know Denise can’t hear me. We make it to the part of the property that borders Axil’s and I find a pile of trash next to the shed, spreading out over his property line onto mine––three half-full beer bottles are spilling onto the soil beneath the primary bedroom window.

Denise shoots me a look of disgust, and I mirror it, knowing Axil is responsible for this. There wasn’t even a stray napkin here this morning when I opened the blinds. He must’ve just dumped this here.

I am going to kill him.

Stepping in front of Denise, I take the lead the rest of the way to ensure she’s protected from any tripwires or animal traps Axil may have set. I shoot a lethal glare at his stunning, four-story mansion, even though I know he can’t see me. When we make it back to the front lawn, we’re both grumbling about the noise. Out here, it’s quieter, and we can hear each other, but the symphony of dude sounds is still very clear.

“All right,” she says with an upbeat smile, though I know she’s about to give me some good news before the bad news, and I know the bad news is going to be extremely bad. “Storing the personal items and covering chipped paint are easy fixes that will greatly improve the overall look of the house. Unfortunately,” she says, her eyes dropping to the ground, “there’s the water heater, the roof seems to be in need of repair in a few spots, and the layout might be an issue. I suggest we stage those smaller rooms, at least, to give the place a fresh look.”

More costs that I’m sure will need to be covered upfront. Fantastic. “How much would it cost to do the staging?”

“Uh, well,” Denise starts, her head tilting side to side as she mentally prepares an estimate, “if we staged the whole house, which I recommend, maybe around fifteen hundred? But if money is tight, we could just do the bedrooms, and it would be around four hundred.”

I can’t seem to swallow the lump in my throat. I haven’t added up the total in my head yet, but I know it’s way more than I have. More than I’ve ever had, actually. It seems I can’t sell this house without spending a ton of money, and if I do spend the money, I might not get very much for the house, if I get a buyer at all.

Denise tells me she’ll email me a more detailed summary of our meeting with names of repair men she’s used before who can help me with the roof. We say our good-byes, and I storm back inside and into the bathroom, grabbing all the toilet paper I can carry, save for three rolls I leave for myself.

Then I sneak out into the trash-covered path between my bedroom window and Axil’s shed. I hear laughter coming from the other side of his house, so, knowing he’s elsewhere, I grab one end of the toilet paper and launch the rest over the roof of his shed. I grab the second roll and launch it from the other side of the shed and continue on until I’m racing around the tiny shack and wrapping it in white. Part of me hopes Axil’s inside, and only discovers my act of revenge when he opens the door and tears through several layers of Aunt Franny’s discount one-ply toilet paper.

I drop the bare cardboard rolls onto the top of the trash pile and smile at my work. Then I march back inside and pull a bottle of vodka from the freezer. Dumping the rest of the orange juice into a tall glass, the orange juice I told Axil was gone, I add the vodka in with it.

I’m tempted to mix a more sophisticated cocktail, but Aunt Franny’s fridge and cupboards are sparse, and I’m too impatient to get creative. Dropping a few ice cubes into my former signature drink––before I could legally imbibe––I make my way into the large bathroom and climb into the empty tub.

The music Axil’s brother is playing is just as horrid as I imagined it. I can almost make out the words to a Beatles’ song, but then a screeching yodel breaks through and I can’t hear anything else. The window above the tub rattles, and I wonder when the glass will shatter. Probably while I’m lying in the tub. That seems on pace with my luck lately, and the kind of nonsense that seems to follow me around in Sudbury.

I sit up enough to take another sip of my drink when a folded piece of paper beneath the soap dish catches my eye. Leaning forward, I tug the paper free to examine it. It’s a folded envelope with my name on it.

Did…Aunt Franny leave this for me?

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