Page 5 of Her Alien Neighbor

“Your kids don’t share a room?”

She shoots me a judgmental side-eye and says, “Jane is five and Jordan is seven. Or have you forgotten how old your godchildren are?”

“No,” I reply sheepishly. “I don’t know how old kids are when they get their own rooms. It’s not like I have any frame of reference.”

“Huh,” Willa says, her brow furrowed as she merges onto 93 North from 293. “I figured you didn’t want kids. Like Aunt Franny.”

While I appreciate the comparison because I always admired how Aunt Franny didn’t bend to society’s expectations, I’m also offended by the assumption. “So, because I haven’t had them yet, you figured I didn’t want them?”

“I mean, you are thirty-eight.”

I smack her arm. “How dare you? I have plenty of time.” I point to my stomach. “Plenty of eggs waiting for their gravy.”

Her lips flatten in mild disgust as she holds up her hand to block a potential second slap. “Don’t attack the driver, dumbass.” Then she sighs. “What’s the plan, then? Wait to have kids until after you’ve gotten your big break in Hollywood?”

My eyes roll toward the passenger window, away from her assessing gaze. “I don’t know. I’m still working on that.”

“Acting is going well, then?”

“Yup,” I reply quickly, hiding my tightened features from her. “Great.”

“You plan on seeing Beth and Caitlyn while you’re in town?” Willa asks suddenly. My teeth clench at the sound of their names.

“Probably not,” I say, hoping that’s the end of it.

“Huh,” Willa mutters as if surprised, though I know I’ve told her more than once that Beth, Caitlyn, and I are no longer friends. “I see them all the time,” she adds with a smile. I don’t turn away from the window to see it, but I can hear the smile in her voice. “Their kids are the same age as Jordan.”

“Wow, interesting.”

I’m glad Beth and Caitlyn have gone on to lead fulfilling lives, but that doesn’t mean I want to hear about it. I haven’t spoken to either of them since graduation. Not even a like or a comment on social media since then, and that’s how I prefer to keep it. They broke my heart when The Incident occurred on prom night, and they didn’t have my back. They abandoned me when I needed them most. After the worst night of my life, they called me a liar and pretended not to know me at all.

The four of us were inseparable throughout high school: me, Beth, Caitlyn, and another girl, Sam. Beth liked to think of herself as the ringleader of our little group, though the only one who actually took orders from her was Caitlyn. I’m not surprised to hear she and Beth are still close. I can’t picture Caitlyn putting on a pair of socks without seeking Beth’s approval first, even in her late thirties.

Sam, on the other hand, was the best. We’ve drifted apart over the years, the distance between us making it easy to lose touch, but I have only fond memories of her.

Willa and I ride the rest of the way in silence, letting the pop hits of the eighties, nineties, and today fill the car. Warmth fills my chest as we pass exit signs for neighboring towns––towns that I couldn’t drive to fast enough to escape the dullness of my hometown once I got my license. Back then, driving forty minutes to stroll around the mall or the park was the highlight of my week. I hated every moment I was stuck in Sudbury.

There are too many painful memories I was sure would follow me everywhere once I left for good. Luckily, that wasn’t the case. I was able to put Sudbury, and the trauma of my youth, behind me. For the most part.

Even on visits home, I could block it all out. By following a strict itinerary of going to my parents’ or my sister’s house directly from the airport and never venturing outside until it was time to fly home, I avoided running into anyone from high school. Anyone who could remind me of the things that happened during those terrible years.

This time, however, I’m not sure how lucky I’ll be.

“Her collection of hats?” Willa asks Mr. Albert Dennings, my late aunt’s lawyer. “She’s leaving me her collection of hats. You’re serious?”

He clears his throat and pushes his small round glasses up the bridge of his nose. “And her limited-edition Christmas bunny ornaments.”

Willa rubs her forehead, looking utterly confused. “It’s not that I expected her to leave me a bag of money.” She turns to me to make sure I’m paying attention. “I want to be very clear about that. I know Aunt Franny didn’t have much. But…hats? Really? I don’t even wear hats. Why would she think I would want her damn hats?”

“What’s the big deal?” I ask. “Just throw them out.”

Willa looks between me and the lawyer. Her hazel eyes are wide and filled with shock at my suggestion. “She wanted me to have them, Vanessa. I can’t just throw them out.” Her hands flop into her lap in a defeated gesture. “Now I have to find a place to store them, and it’s not like we have the room for it.”

This is silly. I can understand waiting maybe a week after inheriting an heirloom, however ugly or unwanted, out of respect, but beyond that? It’s just stuff. And these hats will weigh on her. I know how her mind works. “Want me to throw them out?” I offer. “I don’t mind doing it.”

“No, no,” she mumbles, her eyes unfocused as if she’s trying to hatch a plan on how to get rid of the hats without the ghost of Aunt Franny ever finding out. Then she fusses with her long chestnut-colored hair hanging perfectly straight around her shoulders. “Well, what did she leave Vanessa?” she asks Mr. Dennings.

“Ah,” he says, an eager grin stretching his thin, chapped lips. “Yes, here it is. Vanessa Bradford will inherit the deed to Francesca Norton’s house located at 210 Clarke Lane in Sudbury, as well as her car, which is a 2012 Toyota Avalon, color: obsidian, parked in the garage at 210 Clarke Lane.”

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