Page 3 of Circle of Strangers
I nod, offering as little information as possible to this friendly stranger.
“And your husband? At least, I assume it’s your husband. The tall man with dark hair,” she adds, though I don’t know where she’s going with this.
“Yes, it’s just the four of us here.”
“Well, welcome to Saguaro Circle.” She awkwardly splays her hand out as if she’s showcasing the cul-de-sac behind her Vanna White style. Sozi’s laugh is nervous, which might make her disarming to anyone else. “We’re kind of like one big dysfunctional family. There’s a little bit of drama but a lot of love. I like to think that’s one of the many charms of living here.”
My brows knit. Why would anyone consider any of that to be a perk?
“You ever see one of those perfect families?” She rests a hand on a cocked hip. “It’s almost creepy. It’s not natural. I’ve always felt like a little bit of discord is healthy. It means everyone’s comfortable enough to speak up, to voice their feelings. It’s not normal for everyone to be happy all the time, you know? Authenticity is such an underrated thing these days. Everyone’s striving to live these manicured lives that aren’t even real.” Sozi releases a quick breath and offers an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. All I wanted to do was introduce myself and here I am lecturing you.”
She lifts a hand to her mouth, covering her pretty smile for half a second. A delivery man in a brown truck pulls out of the driveway on the other side of us, all but craning his neck to check her out, but she can’t be bothered to notice. Sozi either has no idea how gorgeous she is or she’s simply pretending not to know.
Either way . . . interesting.
“I used to teach media studies for one of the local colleges,” she continues. “One of my favorite classes to teach was Social Media and Family Studies. I authored the curriculum myself actually.”
With her chestnut waves, toned physique, bronzed complexion, and megawatt smile, Sozi gives off more of a Pilates teacher vibe than that of a college professor.
Once again, I’m intrigued.
“You stopped teaching a class you loved?” I ask.
“After Ezra came along, we decided I should stay at home.” Her emphasis onweis subtle yet undeniably there. “At least until Ezra’s in kindergarten. You can’t get this time back, you know? Teaching will always be there.”
“You don’t have to explain your life choices to me,” I say with a firm but gentle tone. “I’m not here to judge.”
At least, I’m not here to judge the kinds of things most people would judge. I couldn’t care less what kind of cars are parked in her garage, where she gets her hair done, how long it has been since her last manicure, if she passes out with a bottle of wine on her nightstand each night, or what golf club they belong to.
My judgmental nature is more of the discerning type—can I trust you? That’s what I care about.
Everything else is meaningless in my world.
“That’s refreshing.” Relief colors her eyes. “I love that. I guess I’m just used to having to explain that to other women, especially the career-driven ones. And I should know. I used to be one. Put a lot of blood, sweat, and tears into earning my PhD. Now I make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and watchBlueyfor a living. But hey, at least I get to wear jeans on Fridays.”
She’s trying to be cutesy and relatable, but I’ve never found humor in dumbing down the role of a stay-at-home mom. And I’d hardly venture to say it makes someone less “driven,” nor would I dare to say it doesn’t qualify as a career—it’s one of the most demanding, thankless jobs in existence.
“I’m sure you do much more than that.” I offer a kind smile and eye my front door, an attempt to signal that this conversation is over.
“I was thinking before it gets too hot, we should do a little cul-de-sac barbecue,” Sozi says, oblivious. “That way you can meet the family.”
She places air quotes around the word “family,” then rolls her eyes at herself. Her cheeks turn a warm shade of crimson, too, as if asking me to hang out makes her feel vulnerable. Perhaps she’s afraid of rejection.
“They’re going to speculate about you,” she adds. “If you keep to yourself, I mean. The rumor mill here can be quite ... voracious. Best to get ahead of it.”
She’s giving insta-friend vibes now. I can almost smell the loneliness wafting off her, mixed with the faint trace of some expensive perfume.
My polite smile breaks for a moment. “They can speculate all they want. I don’t mind.”
The whole reason we chose this neighborhood was because everything seemed buttoned up and a world away. Privacy stacked on top of privacy. Towering hedges, concrete fences, gated entrances, private drives, and meandering roads a person could get lost on if they don’t know where they’re going. The first time we toured this place, I didn’t see a single soul outside. No barking dogs. No kids chasing basketballs into streets. No men loitering in their garages drinking beers.
It was perfect.
Sozi’s eagerness fades quicker than an Arizona sunset. I don’t mean to offend her, but she can’t possibly expect me to jump at the chance to rub elbows with a bunch of gossiping, desperate-housewife types? I refused to partake in the whole neighborhood clique thing in San Diego. I’m sure as hell not doing it here.
Besides, I stay plenty busy with my own family.
Not looking to join another.
