Page 59 of The Neighborly Thing To Do
“Because it makes me happy to see you happy. I like when you feel good, Cassidy. It’s that simple.” He stands and clears our plates, apparently thinking that the conversation is done and there’s nothing more to add.
And really, is he wrong? I don’t get it. No, that’s not true—I do get it. It makes me happy to see Georgia happy, so I’d watch TV shows she liked, play games she liked, eat food she liked. It makes me happy when Finn is happy, so I’m sure I’ll find plenty of things to do to capitalize on that. I’m just not used to people doing it for me.
But Finn is already going through the cabinets for snacks, so I take a deep breath and force myself to accept that it’s real.
“I’ll make the call,” I murmur, pulling out my cellphone as he makes a plate for me.
After my bath, Finn dries me off with gentle, adoring movements. Then he has me pull on my bathrobe and nothing else, and sets up another movie while we eat lunch in the living room.
But eventually, it’s time to get dressed. I stand in our bedroom, staring at my dresser drawer, and contemplate what to wear. Should I put on my khakis from work? Another dress?
No, I eventually decide. Town meetings have never been a formal event before and I’m not going to make today one just because I’m scared. I’m their neighbor, not a well-dressed stranger trying to audition for the role. They can see me as their neighbor or they can see me as nothing.
So, with jean shorts, a Hearthstone School District t-shirt I stole from Georgia last year, flip-flops, and my wedding ring, I head downstairs.
I take in Finn in the living room, examining my old mural on the wall until he hears me. He turns and smiles. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” I quip, straightening my shirt as I walk up to him. I’ve done my best not to think about it all day, but it’s all coming back now. My chest feels too tight.
I’m not actually being thrown out of town, I remind myself. I’m married to Finn. Assuming he wants to stay married to me regardless of how this goes—and I do believe he does—then at worst we’ll move into his apartment above the workshop together. We’ll figure this out. This is not the end.
I look around my home. I know logically that it’s not like I’ll immediately be thrown out if the vote doesn’t go my way, but I get the sinking, horrifying feeling that I’ll never see this place again.
Where is Georgia going to come home to, if I lose this house? She’s so young; it’s not fair for her to lose her childhood home yet.
“Hey.” Finn takes my face in his huge hands, shutting out the world and tilting my head so I can only look at him. “Cassidy.Wife.Look at me. Listen to me: tonight is going to be fine. We’ll be back here later tonight, secure and happy knowing that this house is yours forever. No one will take this place, alright? I won’t let them.”
“You can’t control everything, Finn.”
“This one I can,” he says enigmatically, stroking his thumbs over my cheeks before stepping back. “We need to go now, but I need you to say you believe me. This is your house. You will be back here. No one can take it from you.”
I force a deep breath. I always told Georgia you couldn’t go into things expecting to fail, because that only caused the failure. I have to treat this the same. “I believe it,” I tell him. Another deep breath. “I believe it.” There we go; now it sounds almost sincere.
He takes my hand and we walk outside. He lifts me up so we can fly, beating his wings and getting ready to go when a voice calls out, “Finny!”
I freeze. “Finny?” I murmur, testing the name.
“Not a sexy name for my wife to call me,” he returns, just as quiet as he turns us toward the two giant gargoyles lumbering toward us.
“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Delaney,” I say, mortified that I have to face the couple whose son married me without telling them first, without inviting them, and for nefarious reasons. It doesn’t matter that the marriage wasn’t real then and is now; any way you slice it, I’m sure they’re not my biggest fan. And it doesn’t help that I’m in Finn’s arms, being carried around like a child.
Mr. Delaney is as reclusive as his son is with everyone but me, but Mrs. Delaney is a social butterfly. She loved to check in on Georgia when she was young and playing outside, and she gave me a lot of tips for caring for my plants in the garden beds before I knew what to do with them. She also cooked us so much food during my first few months here. Dishes would show up sometimes, left on our porch when we were busy. Other times,she’d knock and talk to Georgia and give me a minute to breathe. She always knew which one I needed without ever asking.
I’d hate for her to hate me now, but I can’t see what else she could think. It’s her son’s life I’ve messed with.
She smiles and stops a few feet from us, her husband coming up behind her. “Hello, dear. You look lovely, by the way. I keep telling my son that he’ll get nowhere hiding you from us. We should do dinner tonight.”
“Mom,” Finn groans, sounding much younger than his actual age for a moment.
“What? You don’t get to keep her to yourself forever, Finny. She’s yourwife. She’s family now.”
Family. Fuck. I refuse to start crying before we even get to the bad parts of the town meeting, but Mrs. Delaney seems to be trying to make it happen anyway.
“I’d love to do dinner,” I murmur. There. Simple. We are going to have dinner because I married their son, and I’ll still be here tonight so I can have dinner. And if I keep acting like I believe it, maybe it’ll be true.
“Good. Do you have any allergies, dear?”
“You’re going to make us late, Mom,” Finn interrupts, squeezing me tighter.
