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This has to end. I choose a Sunday afternoon, when I’m sure she’s home, to go and talk to her. I am bringing a peace offering of hazelnut spread and wafer cookies and my heart as an open book.
Jane lives in the nicest house in the nicest suburb of Queens. She has a lawn, a dog, a fireplace, and a bathtub so big it’s like a small swimming pool. She has a life I never could have possibly imagined for myself, and yet she always seemed so bored with it. I actually feel sorry forhersometimes.
I park my car in front of her house and honk. Waiting a few minutes, I honk again, but I quickly realize she’s not coming to the door.
The front window curtains are closed. I approach the place, carrying the goodies I brought in my arm. I ring the doorbell, and the sound echoes through the empty front yard.
“Jane?” I knock on the door. My voice falls flat and on deaf ears because silence is all I hear, and it bothers me immensely. “Jane, I brought yummers!”
I try to look inside, but all the curtains and blinds are drawn. Her dog Pip, the tiniest Pomeranian ever, barks at me as I get close. So, I know she is home. She goes everywhere except for work with him, and even then, he goes to doggy daycare.
The theory that she’s home only grows stronger when I see her car in the garage. I debate for a second if I should just use the key under the front mat, but I don’t want to invade her privacy in that way.
Her next-door neighbors, a very loud red-headed family of five, just arrived from the supermarket, judging by the infinite number of plastic bags they’re carrying inside.
“Big shopping day?” I comment to the mother, and for a second, I dread the possibility that Jane spread venom about me to them too.
“It’s our biggest of the month!” she says with a bright smile. “Harold, you can’t carry that many bags. Give it here.”
Harold is the youngest of the bunch it looks like. They also have a girl the same age as Sophia, and the eldest son is going to college soon.
“Do you know if Jane is home?” I ask the father of the family, who, loaded up as he is, looks like a hermit crab carrying a shell way too big for its size.
“Uh, I heard her car late yesterday!” the man says, very polite and friendly. “Didn’t hear anything today, though.”
“That’s alright. Thank you!” I say and go sit on Jane’s stoop to wait.
She’s likely not going to come out until I’m gone, stubborn as she is. Despite all that’s been happening and how she has reacted, I truly want to patch things up with her.
When I started college, I was one of the few in my class who worked and studied as hard as I did. I hadn’t qualified for a student loan, but that didn’t stop me from going after my dream. Jane was the first one to offer me friendship and make me feel included in that environment, and such a change in her attitude right now hurts me beyond belief.
I glue my ear to the door, and I hear nothing but her dog barking. Not really wanting to give up on my original intent, but too humiliated to continue waiting, I stand up and turn around.
“I’m going to leave the things I brought here on the chair, okay?” I announce in a friendly voice. “It’s a hazelnut spread and chocolate wafers, your favorites.”
I leave my offer where I said I would, then turn around to go home. But flames of hope burn inside me when I hear the front door unlocking. I turn around to see Jane coming out with the frowniest of faces.
“What do you want?” she asks, so dry I feel like I’m swallowing sand.
“I want peace, Jane,” I say in an exhale, letting my arms fall to my sides. “You’ve been talking about me to everyone we know, and not very nice things. I don’t think I deserve it.”
“You don’t?” she scoffs at me. “Alright, Joyce, maybe you don’t. But you definitely don’t deserve my brother and I’m trying to make you see that!”
I tense up my shoulders and look at her with big, sad eyes. “So, you’re just going to shun me until I give up on him and me?”
“Ugh, Joyce!” Jane places both hands on her scalp, almost clawing it off her skull. “It’s not that simple!”
I cross my arms and stare her down with a firm stance. I’m already ready to cry, but I'm not going to let her intimidate me.
“Then explain it to me, Jane,” I say, my voice starting to shake.
“I don’t have to explain myself to you!” She’s an inch away from crying herself, but hers would be tears of rage.
I swallow my own tears and don’t let my face show how distressed I am. Instead, I keep my arms crossed, and stomp a foot on the ground, impatient.
“If you don’t want me around anymore, I won’t be around anymore, Jane—”
“Will you break up with Logan?” Her eyes gleam, hopeful.
