The Woman Next Door

The moving truck arrived on a Saturday in late April, and I watched from my kitchen window as furniture and boxes were carried into the house next door. Nothing unusual about that, people moved in and out of our neighborhood all the time. What was unusual was my reaction when I finally saw my new neighbor.

She was tall, maybe five-foot-nine, with auburn hair that caught the afternoon sun like fire. She directed the movers with confident gestures, laughing at something one of them said, and even from this distance I could tell she was beautiful. Not just attractive, beautiful in a way that made my chest feel tight.

I stepped back from the window, heart pounding, and wondered what the hell was wrong with me.

My name is Ellen Parker. I'm forty-four years old, a high school English teacher, and for the past twenty years I've been what I'd call contentedly single. I date occasionally, men, always men, but nothing ever sticks. I've told myself it's because I'm too independent, too set in my ways, too busy with work to make room for a relationship.

I've never let myself consider other explanations.

I met Diana Webb properly three days later, when she knocked on my door holding a bottle of wine and an apologetic smile.

"Hi, I'm Diana. Your new neighbor." She gestured at the house next door. "I'm so sorry about all the noise this weekend. The movers were here until almost midnight on Sunday."

"I barely noticed," I lied. I'd noticed everything. Every car that pulled up, every light that went on, every shadowy figure passing behind the curtains.

"Well, consider this a peace offering anyway." She held out the wine, a nice Malbec, I noted. "And hopefully the start of a beautiful neighbor-ship."

I laughed despite myself. "Neighbor-ship?"

"It's a thing. I'm making it a thing." Her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled. They were green, I realized. Deep forest green with flecks of gold near the pupils.

"Would you like to come in? I was just about to open some wine myself."

She hesitated for just a moment, then nodded. "That sounds perfect, actually. I've been unpacking for three days straight and I could really use a break."

I stepped aside to let her in, and as she passed me, I caught a whiff of her perfume, something warm and slightly spicy, like cinnamon and sandalwood. My stomach flipped in a way it hadn't in years.

Definitely something wrong with me.

We ended up talking for hours. Diana was recently divorced, amicably, she insisted, and had moved from Denver for a fresh start. She was a freelance graphic designer, which meant she worked from home and had flexible hours. She loved hiking and terrible reality TV and books that made her cry.

"I'm a shameless crier," she admitted, refilling both our glasses. "Happy endings, sad endings, dog food commercials. My ex used to say I had faulty tear ducts."

"Your ex sounds like a real charmer."

"She had her moments." Diana caught my expression and smiled. "Oh, did I not mention? I was married to a woman. Does that weird you out?"

My brain stuttered. She was, she had been,

"No," I managed. "Not at all. I'm just surprised, I guess."

"Surprised that I'm gay, or surprised that I mentioned it so casually?"

"Both? Neither?" I took a large gulp of wine. "I don't know. I haven't had a lot of, I mean, I don't have many, " I was babbling. Why was I babbling?

"Queer friends?" Diana supplied helpfully.

"Right. That."

"Well, now you have one." She clinked her glass against mine. "To new friends and new beginnings."

I echoed the toast, but my mind was spinning. Something about Diana's revelation had knocked something loose inside me, some door I'd kept carefully locked for decades.

I didn't let myself think about what might be behind it.

Over the following weeks, Diana became a regular presence in my life. We had coffee in the mornings, me before school and her before she started her design work. We shared dinners when neither of us felt like cooking alone. We watched movies on her oversized couch, a massive sectional she'd splurged on because, in her words, "If I'm going to be single, I'm going to be comfortable about it."

I started looking forward to seeing her in ways that confused me. The highlight of my day became that first knock on the door, that first glimpse of her smile. I found myself choosing my outfits more carefully, wearing lipstick when I never bothered before, actually blow-drying my hair.

My colleague Sarah noticed at work.

"You look different lately," she said during lunch. "Good different. Glowing."

"I started using a new moisturizer."

"Uh-huh." Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Is this moisturizer tall with red hair? Because I saw her leaving your house the other morning."

"She's my neighbor. We have coffee together sometimes."