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As soon as I open my front door, the sounds of Kimmy and Marilyn’s party hit me like a rude slap to the face. I waited as long as I could today before I decided to join the festivities. More than once I told myself I didn’t need to go to this thing. Just because I live in this neighborhood doesn’t mean I have to be a part of every damn event that happens outside my door.

Then every time that thought popped into my head, I reminded myself today isn’t about celebrating the dog days of summer or even being a good neighbor. No, today is for finding out about Caroline Townsend and uncovering the secret she’s keeping from the world.

True to the party theme, the heat of the day has settled in on Park Circle earlier than usual. It’s only noon, yet sweat almost instantly begins to form where my hairline meets my forehead. Whoever thought sitting out in this kind of weather celebrating our little cul-de-sac is a good thing must be out of their mind.

As that thought marches through my brain, I see Kimmy waving at me. She seems excited about something. I tepidly wave back, wondering what her big grin could mean as she hurriedly rushes toward me.

I notice there’s no baby on her hip or her troop of misbehaved boy children running around her like madmen. That’s a good sign. However, I can’t get my hopes up. They’re all bound to be somewhere nearby.

“Mr. Prentiss, happy party day! Do you mind if I call you by your first name? Saying mister every time seems so formal, and that’s not what we’re all about here in our tiny corner of the world, are we?” she asks breathlessly before she stops in front of me.

I’m not against people calling me by my first name. Some people. I just don’t feel that close to anyone in this neighborhood.

But I know I won’t make many friends by being rigid and standoffish, so to further my goal for the day, I reluctantly agree to give her my first name. “I’d be thrilled if you would, Kimmy. My name is Adam.”

Her blue eyes get wide and light up like I just informed her she won the lottery. “Ooooh, Adam. That’s such a wonderful name. Tim and I thought about naming our oldest Adam, but then his mother chimed in and said that wouldn’t work because she knew an Adam when she was younger, and he was a terrible bully. So we settled on Trevor.”

I listen to her babble on about my name being some bastard’s from back in the Stone Age and nod repeatedly to pretend like I care. As if Trevor is a better name. That kid may not be a bully, but he’s something.

“Oh, well that’s nice,” I mumble as I close my front door, locking it before I turn around to face her again.

Kimmy’s gaze drifts from my face to my doorknob and then back to me. “Oh, you lock your door even when you’re just coming out to join all of us on the street?”

Instinctively, I know she’s offended for some reason, so I quickly paste a smile on my face and answer, “Habit from a place I lived before this. You never know what kind of people are out there.”

That doesn’t placate her, though. “But you know all of us. We wouldn’t go into your house. I hope you know that.”

I take this opportunity to make sure the neighborhood busybody who also loves to act like the welcome wagon knows that I don’t, in fact, know everyone in our little cul-de-sac. “Actually, you’re right about learning to trust people again, but I don’t know everyone. The woman who just moved into the green house a couple weeks ago and I have never had the chance to meet or talk.”

With just those few words, Kimmy’s off to the races. “Oh, well we have to make sure we remedy that today, Adam. Don’t worry. I’m on the case. I’ll make sure you two are properly introduced, and then you’ll know everyone in the neighborhood.”

She stares up into my face waiting for my undying appreciation for her promise to introduce me to Caroline, so after a few seconds, I give her what she needs. With a smile, I say, “I would so enjoy that, Kimmy. You’re just such a wonderful neighbor. I got so lucky to move into this development with people as terrific as you.”

That’s all it takes for her to beam utter happiness. “Oh, Adam, you are too nice. Thank you! Okay, I’m off. I have to make sure my mother-in-law knows the boys eat at a different time than Misty. I don’t think I told her that before she took them this morning. This is the first time my baby is away, so I guess I’m a little nervous, you know?”

“Completely understandable. Don’t let me keep you from far more important tasks. I’ll see you at the party.”

“Great! See you then!” she chirps before hurrying off toward her house to make that call to Tim’s mother.

So that explains why Park Circle is peaceful today. Some crappy music will end that, but for now, I can’t believe how happy I am to know those terrors won’t be around for today’s festivities.

I guess I’m not much of a kid person.

Halfway down the sidewalk to the street, I remember I forgot my contribution to the potluck, so I turn around and hurry back into my air-conditioned house to get the chips and salsa I grabbed from the store last night. I gave those almost stale bakery items on the last chance rack a good, hard look, but I didn’t think it would help my attempt to get to know Caroline better if all anyone was talking about was the past freshness date coffee cake I brought today.

Odd that Kimmy didn’t notice I had nothing in my hands. She really must be off her game. Probably because the little one is away for the first time.

After grabbing the bag of chips and bowl of salsa from my kitchen counter, I head back out into the oppressive heat and begin to make my way down to the tent set up in front of Kimmy and Tim’s house. My neighbors have begun to come out of their respective homes, so I get wave after wave from them that forces me to juggle my potluck offering to wave back.

All of this politeness is fucking exhausting. There. I said it. Well, not said it, but I’m definitely thinking it. I had no idea when I moved into this development that there would be so much niceness required of me. It’s like no one has a bad day around here. They’re always smiling and getting together to celebrate one thing or another like being around people whose only connection to you is their address is perfectly normal. If we didn’t have the internet and the ability to do virtually anything from our laptops and phones, I might be able to understand this need to congregate in the middle of the cul-de-sac on the hottest day of the year. We do, though, so the desire to hang out with one another simply because we live on the same street baffles me most days and downright irritates me today.

“Adam,” Harold the local fisherman who never catches anything but a sunburn says with a big smile. “Great day to have a party, don’t you think?”

I’m a little surprised he isn’t crankier about not being able to drive away to his favorite fishing hole. What I’m not surprised about is that he already knows my first name. That Kimmy is one hell of a town crier. I bet in a past life she was exactly that. I can see her riding like Paul Revere from house to house screaming about someone coming to town.

“It is, but I thought you’d be out on the water instead. I bet those fish would be biting on a day like today.”

In truth, I have no idea what fish would be doing on any day, including today. However, he and I have nothing else in common, so in my attempt to be polite and neighborly, I fall back on the only topic we’ve ever discussed.

He nods sadly, like he’s hurt he’s missing his favorite activity in favor of his wife’s party. “So true, but you know what they say. Happy wife, happy life. Marilyn and Kimmy worked all week on this get-together, so I couldn’t disappoint her.”

Nothing like trying to polish up that ball and chain life he has to lead. Whatever works, I guess. They’ve been married long enough that I’m sure he knows exactly how little he has to do to keep her happy. If that means forgoing fishing for one afternoon to keep the peace, he’s a smart man to do that. It’s not a life I’d want to have to live but more power to him.

“Join the rest of the men where we belong. Leave all the party stuff to the women,” he says, waving me toward where Tim stands near a propane grill he’s dragged out to the street under the tent.

Everything about this is so stereotypical that I can’t help but laugh to myself. These people pride themselves on having very defined roles. I can only imagine the stunned stares of horror if Kimmy picked up a pair of tongs and took her place in front of the grill.

Not that I have any interest in women breaking barriers or men performing any roles considered untraditional, although I can’t help but wonder what those kids of Tim’s would be like if he actually spoke up sometime and told them to behave.

I set my bowl of salsa and family sized bag of tortilla chips on the table under the tent and take the red cup of beer Harold hands me. The scent of steaks barbequing a few feet away makes my mouth water.

“Those smell great,” I say to him, raising my cup to salute his talent at grilling.

“It’s an old Marshall family secret,” he says, tilting his chin up in pride. “My father was a master at cooking on the grill. The secret is to not fuss with the meat like most people do. They insist on turning and turning the steak. This isn’t a spit. That’s the mistake everyone makes, and it means the steak is going to come out like shoe leather. You just have to be patient and let the grill do its work.”

Tim’s explanation gets a steady stream of nods from me. Beside me, Harold stuffs his face with pretzel twists he’s grabbing straight from the bag.

“He’s right. It’s the same with cooking fish. Actually, it’s the same with everything about fish,” he says as pretzel pieces fly out of his overstuffed mouth. “Patience. It’s the key to everything in a man’s life, don’t you think?”

The two men proceed to list every part of their lives that has improved since they realized they just have to be patient. Harold just keeps listing things that have to do with fish and fishing, but Tim focuses on his work and his kids, although he lists Kimmy as one of those areas of his life that have become so much better once he accepted that patience was the key to everything.

Harold laughs at his mention of his wife and adds, “Same with Marilyn. I used to get pissed off when she arranged all these little parties. I mean, who the hell needs to stand out in the street ten times a year, for God’s sake? Not that I don’t like you guys, but you know. Then I realized one day that’s her thing. Her roses and these neighborhood parties, so I roll with it. So I miss a day out on the water. The fish will be back there tomorrow.”

“How about you, Adam?” Tim asks as he clicks together the metal rods of the tongs above the steaks. “You aren’t married, so that has to mean you have far less need for patience in your life, I’m guessing.”

My first name sounds odd coming out of his mouth. I liked being Mr. Prentiss, but I guess all good things must come to an end. It’s just that now that they know my first name, it feels like they’ve inducted me into whatever club they have with the other men in the neighborhood, and I’m not sure I’m liking that.

As for patience, well, I’m the king of that.

“My job requires patience. I have to do a lot of searching online for the companies I work for, and that can get tedious sometimes. That’s when I have to sit back and take a breath. Everything happens when it’s supposed to.”

I sound rather Zen saying that. I’m not, but I like the idea of my neighbors thinking I am. Calm people are able to control situations better.

Harold points his stubby, wrinkled finger at me and smiles. “That right there is the key. It’s even more than patience. It’s knowing things happen when they happen. You try to force it, and you know what you get? Bupkis.”

Tim clicks those metal tongs together again and nods. “It’s true of everything. I told Kimmy the other day not to push things. She’s not in tune with patience at all, let me tell you. The twins ate a whole pack of gum last week, and it’s been a goddamned nightmare trying to get them to shit it out. She has those kids on the toilet for hours every day doing all that pushing. I swear to God they’re going to blow out their assholes. I told her to just let it happen. That gum will come out. It’s not like it’s going to stay in them forever.”

Sure my expression shows how disgusted I am at hearing about his kids’ bathroom habits, I turn my head and focus on the giant bag of chips I bought. Maybe if I can pretend like I’m struggling with getting them open, I can avoid having to hear more about the constipation of two four-year-old boys.

Thankfully, Jared joining us under the tent means Tim all but forgets to continue his discussion of what sounds like damn child abuse by his overeager wife. With a huge smile, he welcomes him.

“It’s about time! Where the hell have you been? I thought maybe you were going to duck out today.”

Jared throws his head back and laughs. “Thought I’d leave you guys to have to deal with your women, huh? I just got back from a late run. That’s all. Suzanne is still at the office, but she said she’ll definitely be here this afternoon. What’s that you’re cooking there, Tim? It smells fantastic!”

“Steak,” our grill master proudly answers. “Not that you’re going to have any since you’ve been all vegetarian.”

Holding his hand up as if to stop Tim before he goes any further, Jared says, “I abandoned that weeks ago. I ate chicken you made on the grill at the Fourth of July party, remember? That vegetarian thing just wasn’t for me. I was fine with the food, but it was killing my running. My protein level went way down. Can’t have that.”

“Chicken isn’t steak,” Harold teases him.

That makes Tim join in again. “Yeah, chicken is different than steak, but I’m glad to hear you gave up on all those damn vegetables. A man needs to eat meat. It’s an unwritten law. Men equal meat. I don’t make the rules. I just live by them,” he says with a chuckle.

I’m already wishing Kimmy would step in under the tent so this conversation could end, but then again, that might bring us all back around to her kids’ intestinal difficulties, and I definitely could do without hearing any more about that. All three men continue to jabber on about what it means to be a man, even as I wonder if any of them truly know.

“Tim, I can’t find the white tablecloth I bought at Walmart yesterday,” his wife calls out from their front doorstep. “Did you see it?”

He rolls his eyes before looking at all of us for sympathy. As if Kimmy and her overzealous need to have the perfect party are the worst of his problems and not those kids, half of which can’t shit for the past week.

“I don’t know where it is,” he answers her, sounding whiny. “Check the hall table. I think you might have left it there.”

For her part, his wife is all smiles and waves at us standing there with him. “Okay, thanks! I hope you guys are making enough for everyone. You know, women get hungry too!”

She turns around and heads back in the house as he rolls his eyes again. “Women. You can’t live with them. You can’t shoot them,” he says, butching up his voice compared to how it sounded when he answered her.

Interesting how he so nonchalantly mentions attempted murder or actual murder of his wife, even as a joke, and not one of us bats an eyelash. If I said anything close to that to anyone at the companies I freelance with, I’d be relieved of my job on the spot. But in suburbia, casual mentions of killing the woman you love go by without even a single gasp of surprise.

I’ve known that kind of thing is perfectly acceptable for men to say in passing since I was a child. My father used to say nearly the exact words about my mother, who in her defense was nowhere near as irritating as Kimmy here. Nobody ever said he shouldn’t joke about shooting her because she wanted him to take out the garbage during the football game or expected him to mow the lawn when all he wanted to do was lay around on a Saturday off from work.

“Mr. Prentiss, it’s good to see you again,” Jared says, raising his red cup full of beer in the air.

“Adam,” Harold corrects him.

Jared seems confused for a few seconds but then shrugs. “Okay, Adam. Still good to see you. As a single guy, I bet you wish you didn’t get roped into these neighborhood things, though.”

I smile and shake my head, as if he isn’t almost completely reading my mind. “You know how it is. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. Plus, I’m not sure even if I wanted to say no I could when Kimmy came knocking on my door the other day. Tim, your wife has a way of being very persuasive,” I answer, punctuating my statement with a chuckle.

Better to get the attention off me and back on the women since I know these men will spend all afternoon talking about how much they drive them crazy.

Once more, Kimmy’s husband clicks those tongs together before holding them over the steaks that he hasn’t touched once since I walked over. “Don’t I know it. You can’t think I wanted four kids, can you? Who the hell can afford all of those mouths to feed in this day and age? But she wanted a girl, and when my wife wants something, God help you if you don’t just let it happen. You either fight it or you let it wash over you and enjoy the ride.”

The three men in front of me laugh at his veiled reference to his sex life, yet another topic that’s perfectly acceptable at these suburbia gatherings but not most places in life. His mention of not being able to afford all of those kids confirms what I suspected all along, in addition to my belief that they continued to try for a girl until they got Misty.

I doubt Jared can honestly join in on their patience discussion concerning his wife, though. He may be athletic and look like he’s the one with the power, but I have no doubt Suzanne wears the pants in that family. She certainly makes more money as a lawyer than he does as a manager of a sporting goods store. I may not be married, but I know money makes a difference in the power structure of anything, including between a husband and wife.

Right on cue, Harold starts in about just letting things happen and having control over yourself to be patient, and I watch as Jared turns away from the conversation and focuses on my tortilla chips and salsa. No doubt, he doesn’t have much to contribute to that discussion.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spy Caroline walk out her front door and feel my mood perk up. The prospect of having to listen to these men talk about their delusions they have about their lives all day had begun to depress me, but things are finally looking up.

It’s time to find out about the woman in the green house.