It doesn’t take long for them to be done. I heap them onto my plate, turn off the grill, and take a seat at my little bistro table.
This really wasn’t my life five years ago. After my divorce, I didn’t exercise, and I ate my feelings. I got a wake-up call a year later when my doctor told me I was prediabetic and I needed to make changes. Those changes happened slowly, but they happened. I lost all of the weight I had gained—and then some—and I developed an exercise and eating regimen that I could live with and still enjoy.
To be honest, I actually like exercising. I crank up the music on my headphones—I’m not that asshole who plays loud music in a high-rise condo building—and I tend to zone out. It’s the one time of day my brain isn’t thinking about code or meetings or whether or not my coworker is trying to stab me in the back. It brings me peace before I start my day. Some days, I even do another workout after work. But today was not one of those days.
I look out over the city and the lake, enjoying every bite of my dinner, and wondering if I have any Halo Top ice cream in my freezer, when I hear the neighbor’s sliding door open.
I have never actually seen my new neighbor. He bought the condo next to mine two months ago and, as far as I can tell, moved in about two weeks ago. Due to the large frosted plate glass wall between us, I can’t actually see him now.
Me, being me, a huge dork, I pull out my best Ned Flanders and say, “Hi diddley ho, neighborino!”
I hear a deep chuckle from the other side of the glass before, “Well, hello there, neighbor.”
I hear a chair scraping on the concrete floor, and then the crack of a beer being opened.
“Tough day at the office?” I inquire.
“You could say that,” he mutters.
“Sorry, if you’d rather I not talk, just say so. I won’t be offended,” I offer.
“You’re good,” he tells me quickly. “I’m Alex, by the way.”
“I’m Hannah,” I introduce myself. We can’t shake hands, so I stick my hand to the glass. “Nice to meet you.”
That gets another chuckle before he leans toward the glass and gives it a high five.
“Nice to meet you, Hannah. So, what do you do?”
“I’m a software developer for one of those ridiculously large corporations that have way too much money and often get accused of spying on everyone. And you?”
He chuckles again. “Doctor,” he replies, sounding defeated.
“Oh dear,” I murmur. “Tough times, these are.”
“Too true,” he responds. “Especially when you’re a pulmonologist.”
“Oh dear,” I repeat myself. “So, I’m assuming you really did have a rough day.”
There is silence from the other side of the glass before I hear a heavy sigh. “I lost my first COVID patient today. It was… tough to witness.”
“I’m so sorry, Alex. I can’t even imagine,” I tell him.
I hear another heavy sigh. “Thanks, Hannah. I am hoping it will also be the last COVID patient I lose, but I’m not hopeful. This virus it’s… What it can do is awful. I hope like hell we can contain it, find a vaccine, find a cure, and move forward.”
“I hope so, too,” I whisper.
“I’m sorry to be a total downer,” he says. “I’m not normally like this.”
“It’s all good, Alex. I’m going to head inside and leave you to it. I’ve got a blind date with a book boyfriend.”
Another deep, rumbling chuckle comes from the other side of the glass. “A what?”
“I found this website that will send you a new book every month. They don’t tell you what it is, but based on your interests, they will pick one for you, wrap it in brown paper and string, and send it to you. Since I like romance…” I trail off.
He’s still chuckling when he says, “I see. Intriguing concept. Do they also do thrillers and mystery?”
“They do! You should check them out.” I rattle off the website for him.
“I absolutely will do that. Thank you, Hannah.”
“No problem, Alex. I hope you manage to have a good night,” I tell him, standing up and grabbing my plate and my wine glass.
“Thank you, Hannah. You, too.”
Day 3
“I’m sorry to hear that, Alex,” my tone mournful.
“I root for the Roughriders, Hannah, it’s not like I had to put down my beloved dog,” Alex says, laughing.
“You’re on the wrong side of the Banjo Bowl, Alex! You’ve got to come over to the Blue,” I inform him.
“Nah, I think you need some green in your CFL diet,” he says. “Please don’t tell me you root for the Argos here,” he begs.
“Hell no! My ex-husband used to play for them. He got the Argonauts in the divorce.”
It is the third night of the two of us sitting out on our respective balconies, shooting the shit. In getting to know each other, we have discovered we both grew up in the Prairies, him in Regina, me in Winnipeg. We both follow the Canadian Football League but not NFL. We both read a lot, with some of the same favorite authors; I don’t only read romance, you know. We both exercise daily and eat healthy, and we both love the diversity of restaurants Toronto has to offer.
It’s been fun getting to know him. I still haven’t poked my head around the frosted glass barrier and neither has he, for that matter.
I hear him laughing at my comment. When he sobers up, he asks, “So you’re divorced, too?”
I sigh, leaning my head against the back of my oversized wicker chair, tucking my feet up on the seat. “Yeah. It was five years ago. I’m over it. We met in college and married right after graduation. His dad’s accounting firm hired him, which allowed him to play football while still having a career. The first few years were great. But then he started cheating on me at away games and well… Let’s just say there are some things I can’t forgive.”
“I know the feeling,” he murmurs.
“You, too?” I ask.
A deep, heavy sigh. “Yeah. Been divorced for six months now. Evidently, I was so focused on my patients and building up my practice that I wasn’t so focused on her. She didn’t like that, so she found someone who was focused on her.”
“I’m so sorry, Alex,” I whisper.
“It’s all good, Hannah. It’s not like she didn’t know what she was getting herself into; we met during my residency. Just makes me wonder if she was cheating on me then, too, since I was working insane hours.”
“I know we haven’t known each other long, but…” I trail off and pause a moment. “Well, if you ever need it, I would gladly help you bury a body.”
Hearing his deep, rich laughter coming from the other side of the glass is exactly the outcome I was hoping for.
I put my feet on the balcony floor and push myself out of my chair. “And with that, I’m off to bed. Have a good night, Alex.”
I press my hand to the glass. After a moment, Alex returns the gesture. I drop my hand to pick up my tablet and phone, and then grab my wine glass in my other hand.
“Sweet dreams, crazy pants,” Alex says, still chuckling.