Page 47 of Here You Are

“You call her Widow Jenkins? Isn’t that kind of…sad?” he asks while he digs into his food.

“She likes it. She thinks it helps her gain sympathy and says she’s never had a ‘street name’ before. It comes from a movie my sister and I used to watch and quote all the time.”

“Hmm, maybe you’ll have to show me that movie sometime,” he suggests.

I snort a laugh. “Yeah, that one might be hard to track down. It wasn’t really a mainstream film.”

“Oh my God, was it like an illegal film?”

“Whoa, whoa. We were watching this as children. It was from a Christian movie subscription, so the exact opposite of what I believe you're envisioning,” I respond.

Ben and I keep eating while listening to WJ and the Thompsons talk about their plan to bully the city into buying more trees for the local park. Personally, I would hate to see that group coming to my city council meeting and submit to their demands.

I soon tired of listening to the old people gripe about neighborhood drama that could be directed to the HOA. Ben must have sensed me tuning out and decided to engage me in conversation.

“What do you do in your free time? I don’t want to give off creepy, stalker vibes, but I don’t see you leaving all that much. We spend a lot of time outside, and I'm in no way monitoring your movements. I just want to be very clear about that. Do you work?”

I laugh at his insistence that he is not watching me through his windows.

“Yes, I work. I work from home, and you are correct. I don’t leave the house much. I'm a classic recluse. I force myself to go for runs in the morning and a weekly trip to the grocery store. Sometimes, I visit my sister in the city. Otherwise, I just work, binge-watch TV, and hang out with all of my friends,” I say, gesturing to the crowd we are hanging out with. “How about you?”

“For fun, I spend time with my kids, working outside, taking care of the lawn, and fixing things.

“Obviously,” I interrupt.

With a laugh, he continues, “For peace and quiet, I go to work. It is the most relaxing part of my day,” he says with a grin. “Parenting by myself doesn’t leave a lot of time for extra-curricular activities. I really value my couch time at the end of the day. It feels like the one time in my day I can fully relax and not do girly shit.”

“I can’t imagine. I have my whole day to myself, and my only obligation is to my clients. I do feel a deep sense of obligation to make sure I'm watching enough content on all of my streaming services.

“Well, that is a noble cause.”

“We could get together and have a movie night, since it seems we have that in common. I'm kind of a night owl, so after the kids get to bed, I don’t really know what to do with myself anymore. Since we moved here, my only friends are too far away for a casual hangout,” Ben says to me.

“Oh. Sure. We could do that sometime,” I say back with every intention of never engaging in a movie night with Grass Daddy. It’s not that I don’t like him or that he gives me the ick. It just seems like his life is so much different from mine that we wouldn’t have anything in common.

“Really?” Ben asks. “Or are you just agreeing with me to avoid creating an awkward situation?”

“Um, I don’t know. What if I only want to watch girly stuff? You said that it’s your only time to feel manly.”

“Let me clear up any confusion for you. I feel manly 100% of the time. Even when I'm wearing makeup, playing Barbie in a tutu, nothing can distract from my manliness. I’m too hairy and sweaty. And, if I didn’t love girly shit, I would be in a lot of trouble. It is my whole life. Please, hit me with more girly shit.”

I can’t help the girly giggle that escapes me.

“Okay. I'll check my to-watch list and see what would fit into that category. We’ll be in touch.”

The night continues with drinks, snacks, and lawn games. I’m actually having a great time in a rousing game of bean bag toss. It’s Ben and Mr. Thompson versus Mrs. Thompson and me. I didn’t know if those teams seemed fair, but Mrs. Thompson is a hustler. She told me they always play bean bag toss at her A.A. conventions, so she has had a lot of practice.

The neighborhood men went to work setting up a mini fireworks show, while the kids ran around with sparklers. Whoever thought it was a good idea to give kids fire sticks probably never met a child. The scene is a suburban homeowner's dream, and I can’t help feeling a little sad that I don’t have a family of my own to share it with. Good thing I have Widow Jenkins, so I don’t feel like the only old maid on the block.

“Okay, everyone! Grab a seat; the show is about to start!” Mr. Erickson hollers at everyone.

I plop down on the picnic table for the show. Ben and his three girls make their way over to the table next to me. Linden is in her dad’s lap and immediately falls asleep, probably exhausted from terrorizing the neighborhood. To my surprise, Taylen crawls into my lap and snuggles up against me. She has been watching me out of the side of her eye tonight while spending time with Ben, and must have decided I was a safe lap to sit on. Brooklyn sits down in between Ben and me.

“Do you want me to take Tay?” Brooklyn asks. “I can hold her if you don’t want to.”

I look down at the little girl in my lap, and while I’m feeling a little uncomfortable with the situation, I’m finding that I don’t mind it.

“She’s okay here. You can just relax and watch the fireworks. You're really good at helping your dad out with her, huh?”