Chapter Two: Let's Do It (Over & Over Again)

A week had passed since lights turned on in the house across the way and yet Ren hadn’t seen any movement of someone being inside.

“It’s haunted.”

Zain finished assembling a second afternoon “snack” from the kitchen; a leaning tower of turkey sandwiches stacked precariously on top of one another, set upon three plates.

Another voice chimed in from the living room.

“Definitely haunted. Have you seen the latest alien abduction videos? They’re absolutely here,” said Aditi. She pulled out her phone, ten saved videos of the most recent alien sightings ready to show at a moment’s notice. Sitting beside her, Oliver calmly corrected Aditi as he briefly looked up from scrolling on his phone. 

“Dee, Zain said it’s haunted, not that aliens have infiltrated the house next door.”

“You can’t just dismiss the possibility their neighbor is an alien like that, Ollie! Who says that aliens can’t also haunt homes? Boats? Space boats? Stomachs?! It’s like you missed all of Alien and Signs!” Aditi responded, completely undeterred.

“I love the enthusiasm, but I’m definitely talking ghosts,” Zain said, setting down the stack of sandwiches and plates on the coffee table before half jogging back to the kitchen to grab chips and drink refills. Oliver set his phone down and set a plate and napkin in Aditi’s left hand as she devoured a sandwich in her right. She automatically moved her sandwich over her now plate-occupied hand, thus preventing crumbs from flinging everywhere. 

Such good manners, Ren thought, as Oliver assembled his own plate just in time to look over to Zain, who walked back to the family room, biting a bottle of water between his teeth and carrying two others in his hands. 

Sigh.

Zain, Aditi, and Oliver were determined to watch every skate-related movie they could think of in the next 24 hours. They were gathering inspiration for their own skate videos, taking fastidious notes and discussing the possibilities of various tricks—and impossibilities of movie physics—they could try out later while the final minutes of Grind played on the living room television. Oliver and Dee came over at teenager dawn, i.e., 9AM, for one of their Skatetravaganza sleepovers. They’d already watched Lords of Dogtown and had plans to hit the skate park later in the afternoon to try out new moves to film, and to finish the night, they would dust off Zain’s dad’s “totally ancient” PlayStation 2 to study the holy scriptures: Tony Hawk Pro Skater 2.

Zain was their resident roller skater, charming older folk at the roller rinks and choreographing dance routines to his latest music fixations. His father was an avid roller skater himself, and put Zain in his own skates as soon as he was able to stand, then took every chance they got to go out together, gliding, twirling, and dancing on wheels. 

Oliver Perkins made all the girls swoon despite his shyness and aversion to meeting new people thanks to his heartthrob good looks—shaggy brown hair just barely reaching his shoulders, deep green eyes, and artistic hands like a young Heath Ledger—and virtuosic skateboarding. Aditi Lamba, or more fondly known as Dee, had the steadiest hand and best eye for angles, so she roller bladed alongside the boys to film their stunts, her black-haired pixie cut accentuating her big, dark brown eyes and boundless energy. Zain and Dee had been best friends since meeting on Zain’s first day of elementary school in Maple Grove. The Lamba family lived on the same block as Ren and Zain and often arranged playdates, which inevitably led to Dee and Zain getting into all sorts of mischief and having the run of Maple Grove until Oliver transferred to their middle school.

Ren didn’t question it when Zain and Dee went to the skate park one day and returned with a bewildered Oliver in tow. Zain and Dee chattered breathlessly about meeting “the incredible skater, you should seriously see Ollie’s ollie” as the Ollie in question blinked rapidly in complete silence. His reserved nature didn’t deter Zain and Dee from bringing him around over and over again, and once Oliver gradually relaxed, he spoke quietly and smiled a little more. His gentleness brought much relief to both Ren and Dee’s mom, Tanvi, as Oliver helped temper their rambunctious kids. 

Oliver grounded them with his calm focus while Zain and Dee’s endless curiosity slowly brought him out of his shell. 

Four years later, they remained strong friends and were often found together—at school, at the skate park, adventuring through different parts of The City—and their tight-knit bond further deepened once they dubbed themselves The ’Phores.

When Zain proudly declared their collective name to Ren late one afternoon after they sweatily clambered in from skating all day, she accepted it in mom-ly stride.

“Okay, sounds great, just one small, quick note—there are only … three of you?”

Zain gasped. “The audacity—” Zain began as he threw his hands in the air, bemoaning to the ceiling about adults and their inability to understand the deep bonds of friendship. Oliver tucked his hair behind his ear, his gaze boring holes into the floor while Dee yelled excitedly, “it’s short for siphonononphores, Mama Mizukoshi! Wait, no, I meant siphonphos. Siphononomores? Si—”

Ren stared blankly as Dee continued her pronunciation attempts, Zain now corralling the wall into joining his lamentations, until Oliver finally decided to spare his friend the pain of saying words out loud.

“She means siphonophores. They’re these colonial organisms who live in the ocean that are actually a collection of little animals called zooids. They look like bendable cellophane sticks floating in the ocean and have specific jobs to keep the whole system alive. They’re, um … rather beautiful?” Oliver explained, pulling out his phone to show a video of the tiny creatures to Ren.

They really did look like sticks made of malleable crystal.

“It’s the ideal commune and the perfect name for us,” Dee said, pumping her fist in jubilation. Zain nodded sagely as he ruffled Oliver’s hair, a small smile perched on the latter’s face.

“How do you know so much about this, Oliver?” Ren asked. Oliver shrugged as he scratched the back of his jaw, his gaze settling back on the ground.

“Um, you know how my family used to live in Monterey? There wasn’t a lot to do out there since it was more of a small weekender town, so I spent a lot of time at the local aquarium. They, uh, do a lot of research and conservation stuff and have events on the weekends for kids…” He trailed off and shuffled in place. Zain smiled softly and threw his arm across Oliver’s shoulders.

“He wants to be a marine biologist one day, and I, for one, know he would kick marine biology’s ass—”

“Language.”

“—marine biology’s most rotund derrière,” Zain amended, tightening his arm around Oliver, a blush lightly staining Oliver’s cheeks. Dee agreed by taking Oliver’s hand, swaying it back and forth.

The ideal commune, indeed.

Shaking herself into the present, Ren went back to prepping ingredients for dinner. It looked like The ’Phores would be ravenous by evening given their packed schedule. Dee handed Oliver Brink to put on once Grind’s credits finished rolling. “We have to respect the production team’s hard work on every film!” Dee scolded Zain in the background for trying to sneakily switch out the DVDs, an argument they had every time it was movie night. 

Ren tuned them out as she worked on making a spring-centric Italian dinner. The weather had finally settled from a pollen haze nightmare into a steady spring, and it inspired her to open the windows and recreate the vibes of one of her favorite restaurants in The Square. 

Frances was the spot for seasonal Italian fare, and Ren loved going there year-round, but especially in the spring when their patio reopened for the season. They were beloved by Maple Grove’s residents and in-the-know regulars from around the City. Ren usually ushered in spring’s arrival with their verdant flowering broccoli rabe pizza with garlic, lemon, chili, Parmigiano-Reggiano and Pecorino Romano, which harmonized with the budding-tree-lined streets of The Square draping over Frances’ patio.

But that was for when she went to the restaurant. Tonight, she pulled recipes from their cookbook, Franny’s, and planned to make their herbaceous marinated artichokes, sugar snap peas, and ramp kissed bucatini—and also prepped her own original focaccia recipe. While the focaccia dough worked its way toward a final proof on the prepared baking tray, Ren methodically trimmed and washed pounds of snap peas at the sink as the teens commented on movie team names.

“The Siphonophores are so much cooler than, ohmigod did he just say they’re called Pup-n-Suds now?!” Dee shrieked in horror.

“That’s it,” Zain declared, “we need to go outside and touch asphalt.” Dee stood up, aghast, shaking An Extremely Goofy Movie in his face. “I know, I know, we still got one more but I’m gonna burst out of my skin if we don’t get outside. It’s absolutely crucial we get Ollie on the half pipe trying some of those moves out,” Zain explained to Dee. 

Oliver set his elbows on his knees, leaning forward with bright eyes. “I could use some time in the bowl,” Oliver said, his foot bobbing up and down. Dee deflated slightly and Zain turned to her imploringly, dangling one final piece of bait. 

 “I could really use your eye on some of the new choreography I’m workshopping to that Brazilian Girls song. You up for filming for a bit?” Dee immediately perked back up and dashed to grab her skate-and-film bag from the guest room. Zain grinned after her and Oliver stood up, bringing their dirty dishes to the counter, while Zain tidied up the entertainment center, putting their watched DVDs into neat piles. 

Dee met Oliver and Zain at the front door with their skate gear in hand and Ren waved as they rushed out, closing the door behind them. 

Ren blinked, suddenly alone in the abrupt silence, glanced at her open kitchen window, and set her thoughts adrift.

When Ren finished making her coffee the morning after hearing about Hugo Ahlgren from Eric, she was shocked to look out the kitchen window mid-sip and see that she could actually see the furniture next door. All the covers were removed, and she nearly dropped her mug in the sink once she noticed empty beer bottles on the counter, plates in the drying rack, and books on the counter.

Damn, Ethel was right.

Since then, Ren found herself lingering in her kitchen in the hopes of getting a glimpse of anyone inside. Twice, she was nearly late for work, much to Simon’s ire, but her efforts were in vain. The only indications of life next door were the ever changing array of books, cookware, and trays of food (experiments, maybe?) on industrial racks along one of the walls.

The town gossips were chattier than ever thanks to 636 Rosebud Boulevard’s occupant, and much to Ren’s annoyance, the three of them had spent time with said occupant already.

“Oh, the owner and her sister are so kind, did you know they spent an entire afternoon helping Stan over at the fruit stand put his entire inventory back together the other week? You know, the day of the Great Artichoke Spill?” Bernice informed Ren when she dropped by her bar. 

“The … what now?”

“Oh, Ren, you are far too young for such a poor memory. It was when the delivery man’s dolly fell over with that giant stack of artichoke boxes! Well, Stan just had to alphabetize his vegetables that morning, and that poor delivery driver heaved that dolly over the slip mat and, bam! The big tumble,” Bernice said, emphasizing a bam by banging her frail hands against the bar counter. 

“Those ladies heard the commotion from across the way and rushed over to put all his produce back to rights. Such lovely women,” Bernice gushed a few days after She Had Arrived. 

Chuck, ever the affable one, was absolutely delighted when Ren’s mysterious landlord sent a lush bouquet of gerbera daisies for his birthday, which he proudly displayed in his bespoke pet shop window.

Tom, always gruff and cynical, even had a story of his own.

“She’s got spunk to her, I’ll tell you that. Some real dingleberry set up a table outside Bernice’s pub to swindle people outta money by arm wrestling. Too many people got scammed real good, and after a while she walks by, stops in front of him and you know what she did?” Tom gestured at Ren wildly. Obviously Ren had no idea what happened, and Tom continued on, growing more and more animated. 

“She parked herself right in front of him, slammed her elbow down on the table, bet double his earnings from that week, and decimated his ass with her scrawny right arm. The look on his face!” Tom cackled so loudly, Ren could see his tonsils. 

“And when she told him she used her non-dominant hand? Oh buddy, I thought his head would pop off, he was so mad. And get this! She took all her winnings, gave back the losses folk had who got scammed, and used the rest to buy a round of drinks for the patrons at Bernice’s. What a lass,” Tom said, a dreamy expression on his face.

Ren’s jaw dropped. She won over Tom? TOM? The man who is the literal Merriam-Webster definition of a curmudgeon?!

Ren listened to their stories and felt like they were happening in a parallel universe since she had yet to see any sign of this remarkable person, I guess which tickled Ethel to no end.

“Oh don’t you worry, Ren, I’m sure you’ll have a life-changing encounter soon enough,” Ethel had said, standing at the counter of her shop and removing the cellophane from a pack of cigarettes earlier that week. Zain wandered through Ethyl’s Metals looking for AA batteries for the TV remote control, and Ren waited by the register, flipping through an array of greeting cards, vintage postage stamps, and mismatched buttons. Ethel had just finished telling Ren about meeting Ren’s landlord that morning when she stopped by to drop a check off for the town clock fundraiser—of course she did, Ren thought— before she decided to not-so-gently rib Ren over her grumbling at yet another person who got to meet Her. Ren remained unmoved which made Ethel laugh even harder. 

“Best not to doubt the universe’s timing is all I’m saying,” Ethel intoned as Zain made it to the register, batteries in hand. 

Whatever, Ren thought as she forcefully dimpled the focaccia dough, the universe clearly hates me.

Determined not to let it get to her—well, any more than it already had—Ren put the fully loaded focaccia into the preheated oven, then set about cleaning the kitchen while Zain, Oliver, and Aditi were out as part of her weekly routine. This week was a little different from usual. Zain typically spent the weekends at his dad’s place, but since he was out of town this weekend to show his work at a pottery exhibit in Los Angeles, Zain was spending the weekend at Ren’s. 

She deep cleaned the house on Saturday mornings as a way to process (avoid) her problems, which only grew with Simon’s demands that had reached a new fever pitch as he was putting together a multi-department-wide proposal for Ahlgren. He went through fresh decks like a match dropped in acres of kindling and everyone felt the crunch, but with Ren overseeing the other Senior Designers on the team, all of Simon’s wrath came down on her.

She grit her teeth as she snapped her gloves onto her hands. He is not going to ruin these days off, I swear to god.

Ren had a tried and true cleaning system, which she fine tuned while dealing with pregnancy insomnia. During those hellish months, she was banned from using her touchstone cleaning supplies, and she went through mountains of bottles of “pregnancy safe” solvents which nearly ate into the future diaper budget. They barely did the job and she often grumbled how it was worse than using a generic window cleaner.

The curse of being a responsible parent.

Still, those months taught her how to efficiently clean under less-than-ideal circumstances, and ever since then, she never took her favorite caustic supplies for granted. 

She always started with the bathroom, to give the hardcore bleach and mildew sprays time to eat through accumulated grime in the bathtub and sinks while she scrubbed the toilet, wiping the seat down with more bleach. Making sure to run the fan and have the single opaque window open, she kept a mask on to keep from getting secondhand high off the fumes. This time around, she burned through multiple Magic Erasers on grout and tile stains, imagining Simon’s face in the tile’s rivets and scrubbing his grimy face out of existence.

… well, at least out of mind.

After getting the bulk of her frustration out in the bathroom, she turned her attention to the bedrooms, opened windows to air them out, carefully dusted under various odds and ends, put away laundry she had done the day before, and vacuumed the rugs and wooden floors in each of their rooms. She mopped the floor until it gleamed, shut the windows, and flipped over the reeds in her bedroom’s diffuser. Once she finished, she vacuumed the front entry and hallway in preparation for her final mop-through.

Then, it was the kitchen. She always made sure to keep it near-immaculate, but on Saturdays, she focused on cleaning out the fridge—throwing away questionable leftovers, spoiled fruits and vegetables, and running inventory on condiments and scratch goods—and wiped down the shelves. The counters always gleamed and with the oven in action, she couldn’t run the self-clean cycle just yet, so Ren shifted her focus to tackling the living room, but as the kitchen grew steadily warmer from the hot oven, she opened the kitchen window to let a breeze rush in.

She stood in front of the window for a moment, sighing with relief as the fresh air cooled down her overheated neck, and simply breathed. Ren carved these pockets of time out where she could simply be but it became increasingly harder for her to find even minutes per day where she wasn’t rushing about doing everything.

Fucking capitalism.

Taking an extra minute before rolling her shoulders out, Ren brandished her Swiffer duster like a feathery rapier as she dusted the living room, only pausing in her ministrations to change the song on her go-to playlist via the TV. Jessie Ware swayed through the room, and as she stood on a step stool in the corner and hummed along to the music, she heard a light tapping. Pausing mid-swipe, she craned her neck toward the hall leading to the front door. The window shades were pulled up on the window next to the door allowing an unobstructed view to the outside. Seeing no one there, she shrugged—Must be the TV—and resumed her furious dusting.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

Ren sang along to the music, drowning out the background taps, as the song reached its crescendo.

“Can we keep loving on the edge of doubt? /  you should let me save the day / please thank the pain—”

“Hello? I’ve tried knocking a few times but I’m not sure—”

Ren screamed. 

And fell off the step stool, crashing to the floor in a sprawl of limbs, her duster flying across the room to hang off a floor lamp. Heart racing, she quickly assessed the damage—knees (intact), hands (still attached to her body), nerves (to be determined)—she whipped her head toward the front entry again only to stop midway at a disembodied hand held still, mid-knock on the kitchen window.

“Oh my god, are you okay?!”

Scrambling to her feet, Ren stood and was about to yell at this interloper with a single finger raised until she looked upon a deeply worried, olive-skinned woman with dark, wavy mahogany hair cut to a dramatic, asymmetrical bob resting at her chin and abruptly paused. The woman’s dark gray eyes were wide with concern, her lips turning more red as she bit them nervously. Her high cheekbones and sharp jawline offset a prominent yet straight nose.

Ren stood and stared, her mouth agape.

Silence.

The woman’s eyes creased in further dismay.

“Shit, do you have a concussion? Do you need me to call someone?” the woman asked, her timbre even and deep. She leaned further out the window toward Ren’s kitchen, looking like she was about to crawl through—sills be damned—which managed to shake Ren out of koi mouth syndrome. Ren walked over to the window, unsuccessfully holding back a wince.

“I’m fine, just the hazards of singing along to music, and being jumpy about people speaking at normal volumes,” Ren responded as she finally stood in front of the kitchen sink window, observing the woman’s relieved smile smooth out her features. Getting a closer look, Ren noticed she was around her age, and as the woman pushed her hair back, Ren caught a glimpse of multiple helix ring piercings in her left ear.

“Are you absolutely sure? That was a pretty nasty fall. I didn’t mean to startle you so badly, it’s just, I saw you cleaning and wanted to finally introduce myself to you since we seem to keep missing each other… I’m Nico, by the way.” The woman—Nico—held out her right hand to grasp Ren’s in a shockingly firm handshake.

Whoa, strong grip. Hang on, a strong grip…? 

Ren took in a bracing breath—ignored the twinge in her side—and smiled normally, wait, too many teeth, okay that’s better. 

“You must be the landlord! Er, well, my landlord as it were, hahaha,” get a fucking grip, Ren, “It’s great to finally meet you after all these years, I’m Ren Mizukoshi, which of course you already know. I’d yell at my son Zain to come out and greet you as well but he’s out right now with his friends,” Ren replied, flexing her hand as she brought it back to her side. Nico grinned, leaning her elbows against her window ledge, her nose wrinkling as the breeze shifted. She sniffed the air.

“Mmmm, is that a focaccia I smell? With,” she took a deeper inhale, “roasted tomato, garlic and thyme?”

Ren relaxed and smiled (in a totally normal way, for real this time).

“It’s just about finished. Want a slice?” Ren asked, to which Nico grinned with an emphatic, “oh, hell yeah.”

Hell yeah.

“I absolutely love this song. Everything Janet touches sounds so effortless, y’know?”

Nico set her glass of sparkling water with a slice of lemon on the counter next to her window, humming along to “Go Deep,” which played from Ren’s living room. Ren made a sound of agreement as she checked the focaccia resting on a cooling rack on the granite island, gauging whether or not she would burn her hands if she attempted to cut it. The see-how-long-one-can-touch-a-hot-metal-pan-until-they-yelp test indicated it needed a few more minutes yet and she rinsed her finger, wiping it on the towel hanging from the cabinet’s towel rod. She walked a few steps to the refrigerator, grabbed a wine glass on the way, and poured a measure of pinot grigio after pulling it, the snap peas, and the artichokes out of the fridge before returning to Nico.

“She’s so fucking badass. Whenever I listen to her I feel like I’m completely transported, especially when I listen to ‘Rock With U’ at night. Like, maybe I can become even a fraction as cool as she is just by listening to it on repeat,” Ren said, taking a sip of wine. Nico nodded, raising her glass of sparkling water in reply.

“I feel that.”

A natural break in conversation came as Ren’s playlist rolled to SZA, Ren and Nico taking in the music in a comfortable silence. As it wound down, Nico gestured to the prepped ingredients Ren pulled from the fridge.

“Looks like you’re making a feast over there,” Nico observed. Ren huffed a laugh as she walked back to the island, grabbing pots and pans.

“Making dinner for four when three of them are teenagers is going to look like I’m hosting a banquet. I’ve got some marinated artichokes, snap peas, and will get the pasta going once they’re on the way back from the skate park. In the meantime, though, we can snack.” Ren transferred the focaccia from the rimmed baking sheet onto a cutting board and grabbed a serrated knife from an island drawer to cut square slices of the relatively cooled bread. 

“I’m impressed you can get teenagers to eat so many vegetables,” Nico remarked as Ren transferred the cut slices back to the cooling rack.

“Zain’s dad and I love food and always forced Zain to try everything we ate. He’s pretty open minded, and it helps that one of his best friends is Indian and has good taste, and the other has said on record, I kid you not, ‘I wish I could eat like this every day.’” 

Nico laughed and strands of hair fell forward from behind her ear, framing part of her face. 

Ren finished setting the last of the bread onto the cooling rack, and took two end pieces—the golden edges crispy and still puffing steam—and placed them on paper towels, handing one to Nico over the sink by standing on her tiptoes. Nico leaned further out of the window to take the proffered carbs and without hesitating, took a large bite, her teeth sinking into the blistered tomato.

“Oh, Ren, this is fantastic. Did you add some black pepper as well? It has this wonderful fruity spiciness coming from it, I’m guessing Aranya peppercorn? This crumb is beautiful, look at those airy pockets, and wow you used some good olive oil didn’t you? The edges are so crispy from the dough frying in the pan, the saltiness too is balanced beautifully with the acid from the tomato—”

Ren’s face heated as Nico got lost in examining the bread’s profile in exacting detail. Ren could scarcely breathe as she tried to take in Nico’s deluge of compliments and fanned her face, hoping to mask her blush as a wine flush.

Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod.

“—and the thyme didn’t burn so it lends that lemony feel to it too and an earthiness. Absolutely fantastic,” Nico said, wiping her mouth with the paper towel, crows-feet adorning her eyes as she smiled, causing Ren’s face to turn a shade that made boiled crab look undercooked. 

Ren didn’t know what to say. She floundered trying to respond, Nico looking increasingly bemused as she tilted her head to the side.

Thankfully, Ren was spared of needing to use words when a timer sounded from across the way. Nico turned toward it, absentmindedly wiping her fingers on the same paper towel that touched her lips.

“Hang on a sec,” Nico said as she walked away from the window, moving into a part of the kitchen out of Ren’s view. Ren—no longer exposed to Nico’s face—suddenly remembered she had lungs and sucked in a huge gulp of air, trying to keep her body alive as her brain stuttered. She drained half her glass of wine between gasps of air, half choking from forgetting to alternate between inhaling wine and inhaling oxygen.

Eyes watering in pain, Ren slapped her face to calm herself down, all the while trying to understand what she needed to calm down from. Nico was a surprise, a surprise she never saw coming, and she certainly didn’t expect such a deviation from her carefully managed Saturday routine. There were no slots for sudden meetings that included easy conversation with a landlord, let alone sharing food with them. 

Who even hung out with their landlords?!

“Sorry about that, didn’t mean to disappear for so long. Here, as thanks for that delicious focaccia.”

Ren looked up from her musings (read: panic) to Nico handing her an ice pack and a container of cookies, enough for Ren and three hungry, hungry teenagers. She took them from Nico’s outstretched hand, set aside the ice pack, and poked one of the delicate, golden-hued cookies, lightly coated in icing. At Nico’s encouraging nod, Ren picked up the cookie she prodded and took a bite into it and—

Holy fucking shit.

Lemon immediately punched through—the back of her mouth going dry at the sudden onslaught of sour citrus—as her teeth sank into the soft crumb, the sweet, buttery flavor meeting the lemon to mellow out the initial tartness of the cookie. She chewed and swallowed, took another bite, then another, before suddenly realizing she had devoured the entire thing. The combination of flavors made every mouthful addictive, and she held the container closer to her chest.

Nico’s smile turned sly.

“Like what you taste?”

Ren shrugged exaggeratedly, feigning nonchalance and said, “It’s, you know, only the best thing I’ve put in my mouth in the last few months.” She froze, internally screaming at her phrasing, but Nico didn’t seem to notice—or very kindly pretended not to—and she laughed from her belly, her voice rasping as she waved her hand in front of her face.

“I’m glad to be of service. I had a batch just come out of the oven while another tray had the icing set. Figured this would work with your Italian themed dinner,” Nico said. Ren set the container down on the island and grabbed a couple more slices of focaccia to hand back to Nico.

“For the road,” Ren said. Nico held it up in thanks as she turned back to her own kitchen, her phone on the counter flashing with a phone call.

“I gotta take this, but don’t be a stranger, okay? And make sure to ice that right side of yours, don’t think I missed that wince!”

Ren nodded as Nico waved once more, already working her way through a second slice of focaccia as she closed her windows, answered her phone and moved to another room. Ren closed her own windows as she shivered, noticing that the evening had grown chillier. She wandered back into the living room, finishing up her cleaning frenzy from what felt like hours ago, and set the ice pack Nico gave her on her side. Her playlist kept going, but Ren couldn’t hear a word of it as she collapsed onto the sofa. 

She laughs a lot, huh? Ren thought to herself.

Before she lost herself in her musings, she checked her phone and read a text from Zain, saying they would be back in half an hour.

Sighing heavily, Ren braced herself on her knees, stood up and wandered back to the kitchen. She set a pot of water to boil—salting it until it tasted of the sea—and heated a pan to prepare the pasta sauce. She plated the bread, set pasta in the salted water, and began the final preparations for dinner. Her mind was full of conversation and her mouth still tartly sweet as she hummed along in time to the trumpet crooning through the TV speakers.

A tray of cookies cooled on a counter in a kitchen fifteen feet away.

“Oh wow, these snap peas are delicious, Mama Mizukoshi!” Dee said after her first bite of dinner.

“I NEED BREAD NOW!” Zain yelled out like Cookie Monster, miming a devourer over their bounty. Ren gave him a look before turning to smile at Dee. Oliver methodically added food to his plate in neat piles and quietly tucked into the meal, nodding as he took an alternating bite of artichoke and focaccia, humming to himself. As Zain continued his single-minded quest to conquer not just his plate but very likely half of the table as well, Ren ate her own share of snap peas, artichokes, and bucatini. 

The teenagers recapped their day at the skatepark, verbally listed off video edits and cuts for their YouTube channel, and gossiped about a few newer faces who were there “just to watch,” much to Dee’s consternation. They speculated over who the newcomers were—“spies from a rival skate crew,” Zain crowed, Oliver shooting him an unamused look—though Dee was adamant that they were just voyeurs who didn’t care about the art of skating. Ren nodded along even though she couldn’t quite follow a conversation riddled with young people’s jargon, when suddenly Zain stopped mid-bite, his gaze fixed on the counter.

“Ma, what’s with the mystery box? Did Jean drop by?”

Ren suddenly found herself the center of attention of three focused teens. Zain, for all his court jesting and theatrics, was sharply observant, a trait he inherited from his father, and she pushed back from the table to bring over the container in question.

“We did, in fact, get a box of cookies from our neighbor,” Ren replied, Zain halfway to a fist pump for guessing correctly, “but,” she continued with gravitas, “we got it from the one next door.”

Zain froze. 

Oliver glanced back and forth between Zain and Dee, whose already wide eyes were now in danger of overtaking half her face. 

Ren waited.

“You met the neighbor and you buried the lede this long?!”

“Our alien overlords brought a peace offering?!”

Zain and Dee shouted simultaneously while Oliver just blinked, his mouth agape. Choosing to ignore Zain’s indignation over Ren not immediately offering this breaking news report, she proffered the container and they all leaned forward with bated breath. Dee turned away a little, hands covering her eyes; Oliver tilted his head with overwhelming curiosity; and Zain audibly gulped.

Ren ripped the lid off.

“And the peace offering is delicious!”

They stared at the cookies, unmoving. Seconds passed as Ren continued to awkwardly hold the container with one hand in the air still holding the lid, until Oliver finally broke out of his reverie, removed three cookies and put one on each of their plates. Dee carefully picked hers up to examine it, suspicious of what type of sweet treat an alien could possibly make, and Zain warily looked down at his own plate. Oliver took his cookie and took a small bite. 

He smiled and took another. 

Zain’s jaw dropped and Dee gasped. If Oliver, ever cautious and careful Oliver, could so bravely eat it and express a rare display of unbridled contentment, then so could his fellow ’Phores.

Zain and Dee took their own bites and Zain gravely nodded.

“The ghost can stay.”

As the three of them ate through the cookie box, Ren got up to get herself more water. She walked to the sink, stopped by the freezer to grab some ice, and filled her glass from the drinking water faucet, looking out the window to Nico’s shuttered abode.

“Sooooo what was she like?”

Ren blinked and turned to Zain as he began putting leftovers into storage containers. Oliver and Dee gathered dinner plates from the table to bring to the sink. Ren turned, leaning back against the counter and thought of her conversation with Nico. The look on Nico’s face as she bit into Ren’s focaccia popped into her mind and Ren lightly shook herself out of it.

“I think you’ll like her. She seems to really enjoy music, can clearly bake the hell out of dessert, and has a cool sense of style. No, I mean it, she’s got all these rings and looks like the type of person who has a leather jacket.”

“You take in the weirdest details about people, Mom, but all right. Sick. Think she’ll stop by again?” Zain asked.

“I know you just want more cookies,” Ren said, moving out of the way as Oliver insisted on washing up to thank her for the meal, Dee helping him dry dishes while Zain put leftovers into the refrigerator and wiped the table down.

“Mom. I’m fifteen going on sixteen. Of course I want more cookies, I have a whole third stomach devoted to them,” Zain replied. Oliver loaded the last plate into the dishwasher as Dee finished drying the last pan. As soon as they completed their tasks, Zain called them to arms and they thundered down the hall, readying themselves for virtual skate battle. 

Ren laughed and shook her head, leaving the teenagers to their video games, and went to take her second shower of the day. After she sudsed and scrubbed, she padded into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her as the ’Phores played Tony Hawk in the living room. She slid into bed and pulled out her phone to mindlessly scroll through Instagram, liking a photo Aya posted of tulips blooming at the botanical gardens, and looked through the latest posts by her favorite chefs. After ten minutes of scrolling, she grew bored, and set her phone to charge, swapping it for Banana Yoshimoto’s 'Kitchen,' since she wanted to read actual books again.

She cracked it open—determined to make it through the first few pages for the umpteenth time—and instead let the words on the page lull her to drowsiness. Her mind drifted as Mikage waxed poetic about her relatable love of kitchens, and Ren began nodding off. Unfaced with the same insomnia-induced grief felt in the darkened hours of night, Ren let her eyes shut. 

Echoes of a husky laugh greeted Ren in her dreams.

Author's Notes

Thank you so much for reading chapter two and for your patience with how long it took to publish it. Once I came back from Japan in mid-June, my personal life exploded in some ways, one of which was the sudden passing of my friend and hairstylist of the last 13 years, Giovanni. I dedicate this chapter to him, as he always read and supported my writing, from my music critic years to my personal essays and everything in-between. You are missed.

Chapter related notes / website updates:

• Franny's was a real restaurant in Brooklyn that closed in 2017, which I sadly never got to try.
• I included a link within the story to "Ren's Playlist" though it is really one of the YouTube playlists for Neighbors, which will be updated with every chapter release. Songs featured will be references made in the story, what I envisioned the characters listening to, or what the mood of the chapter may be.
• We are still looking for an email subscription service so that you will know when chapters are updated. For now, you can enter your email in the submission box in the footer, and once we have a service in place, I will manually add you to the list.