Behind closed doors

My fiancé and I are usually on pretty different schedules.  When not working on a show or film (during which I usually come home around midnight or later), I leave several hours earlier than he does in the morning, when it's still dark, and usually come home in the early afternoon, while he's on a more normal office schedule, leaving during morning rush hour and coming home in the evening when most people do.  This means that since moving into our apartment a little more than a year ago, we've each seen and become familiar with different sets of neighbors.  I know the big burly Irishman who's a stay-at-home dad during the day, and he knows the woman who babysits her niece in the evenings; I know the man who takes his toddler granddaughter into the fitness room for play time (yeah, weights as a toy for a toddler seems like a brilliant idea), and he knows the man who likes to assume there's no one in the fitness room and turn off all the lights without looking, in a misguided attempt to save energy; I know the guy at the end of the hall who likes to compliment my shoes, and he knows the family next to them who likes to order takeout.  But a week after moving here, one set of neighbors neither of us had yet seen were the ones next door.  We heard the dogs running around inside, and we heard the excited dog barks when we came home and walked by their door, but we had yet to meet them.  And both being animal lovers, we both hoped a chance encounter could result in us being friends (by "us," I mean my fiancé and me and the neighbors' dogs -- under the guise of being friends with the human neighbors, of course). 

 

So it was with disappointment the day I finally met the woman next door as I came home one mid-afternoon and saw she was most definitely not interested in a neighborly friendship.  As I approached my door and the tall, blonde, pretty, mid-thirties woman emerged from hers, I gave her a smile and said hi, but she met my greeting with pursed lips and cold, averted eyes.

 

"Bizarre," I thought.  "Ah well, guess we won't get to be friends with the dogs next door...."

 

When my fiancé came home, I told him, "So I finally saw the woman next door.  I don't know if she was in her own little world or in a bad mood or what, but she pretty much completely ignored me when I said hi."

 

"I've heard a guy talking in there too," he replied.  "Maybe he's friendlier."

 

And sure enough, it wasn't long before I encountered the man of the apartment as he took out some trash one afternoon.  Also in his 30s, looking a bit like Antonio Banderas, he was quick with a warm smile and a "Hi, how are you?"

  

"Curious that he's so much friendlier than his wife," I thought.
 

Eventually my fiancé encountered him too and was also met with a smile and a greeting.  Several times over the ensuing months, I'd see him and his wife out for hand-holding walks with their dogs during the day, and if I ever encountered them together, he would say a hello while she ignored me.  And when I encountered her as she entered or exited her apartment, I never got more than a pursed smile and quickly averted eyes.
 

One day my fiancé came home from work and said, "I just rode the elevator up with the wife.  She was perfectly pleasant.  Said hello and smiled, and when she went in to her apartment she said, 'Have a nice day.' " 

 

"Huh. Maybe she likes men more than women." 

 

"She looks like she might be pregnant, so maybe that's making her in a better mood."
 

"Yeah, maybe.  I didn't notice she was pregnant last time I saw her."

 

And so it was that one day not long after Christmas, there appeared a baby carriage in the hallway and a "Shhh, baby sleeping inside" sign on the door.

 

"Ha. Do they know that their dogs bark more than any person on this floor? I don't think it's humans they have to worry about waking their baby," I said to my fiancé with a smile.

 

And like many growing families do, they decided to move.  The door would be ajar many days when I'd come home and I'd see packing boxes outside.  A realtor started showing their apartment.  I didn't see the wife anymore, and I never saw the baby -- who, judging from the lack of cries during the day despite the paper-thin walls was clearly spending daytimes elsewhere -- but I'd still sometimes see the man walking their dogs by himself.  And my fiancé saw the wife with her baby every once in a while as he got home from work.

 

And then last Saturday there was a moving truck outside the apartment building, and while my fiancé and I spent all day being as lazy as possible inside our apartment, we listened to all the hubbub next door as the couple, their two dogs, and their baby moved out. 

 

"Well I guess we've officially failed at becoming friends with our neighbors -- human or canine," I commented to my fiancé from the comfort of our couch, curled up with the cat we're catsitting.

 

But then the next day, we came back from a walk and heard voices speaking in Spanish as we approached and saw their door ajar, with a short, pretty, brunette woman standing in the doorway, who peeked out and smiled and said hello in a thick accent.  As we entered our own door, I said, "Huh," to my fiancé. 

 

"Yeah, I guess it's a two-part move.  Or they're back to clean."
 

"Well -- but doesn't that have to be the people that just moved in?  Can you move in the day after someone moves out? Because they were speaking in Spanish. That wasn't the same people."
 

"What???" he said like I was speaking gobbledygook.  "Our neighbors speak Spanish."
 

"What do you mean?  Maybe he's Hispanic, but the wife sure isn't.  She's like of Eastern European or Scandinavian heritage or something. They definitely speak English to each other."
 

"What are you talking about?" he replied like I was crazy.  "She's not Eastern European. She's Hispanic."
 

"She's a tall, pale blonde. She's not Hispanic. And they don't speak Spanish to each other."
 

"Jessica, the wife is a short brunette Hispanic woman.  That was her standing in the doorway."
 

".....Nuh-unh.  That's not the wife."
 

"Yes. That's the wife."
 

".....That's not the wife I'VE seen him with. That is definitely not the woman I see going in and out of the apartment and going for walks with him."
 

"That's the wife with the baby.  That's the wife that lives there and comes home from work every evening."
 

"...................OH..... Well that's... interesting" 

 

So..... do we have a farce situation here like the play Boeing Boeing or a Patricia Highsmith suspense thriller?  ..... You never know what goes on behind closed doors.