Chapter Text
It had been several weeks of an empty neighboring home. No blinds on the windows, bare front porch, empty backyard, devoid of lights peering from the inside at night. Caitlyn had grown used to the little ghost house. It wasn’t loud, wasn’t bothersome, never messy, never an eyesore. Just a soft shade of yellow that blended in well with the setting sun behind it.
Caitlyn was disappointed the day she saw a movers truck parked in front of the house, but it more so was replaced by curiosity when she looked from her bedroom window down to the shared front yard fence to see her husband already making small talk with the new owners. It led her down to join him, taking time to smooth both her gently curled hair and powder blue dress.
“George,” she called softly, coming outside to stand beside him and catch his attention.
“Caitlyn,” he returned the greeting, outstretching an arm for her to tuck herself into automatically. “What perfect timing. I was just greeting our new neighbors.”
“I see,” she smiled up at him, then finally took an ever curious look at the couple opposite of them.
“Mr. and Mrs. Jessop, this is my lovely wife, Caitlyn,” George introduced her, to which the mirrored husband beamed.
“A pleasure, Caitlyn,” he responded. “This is Violet, my wife. And I’m Tom.”
Caitlyn merely nodded, opting to remain silent as she let her own husband take over the conversation. She instead wanted to look closer at this Violet.
Indeed she was there, standing idly by her husband's side, albeit looking uncomfortable. Or perhaps tired. It had been late in the day, the sky starting to blotch a deep red that complimented the natural red hue in Violet’s hair. It was styled short, combed back, but barely tamed, curling out of control along her hair line and against her neck. Caitlyn found it strange, yet endearing how out of place Violet seemed to feel. The dress she was wearing was simple, matched the faint yellow of the house paint, and buttoned to a collar at her neck that she kept picking at absentmindedly. She didn’t speak, even when Tom spoke for her, put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to his side. Violet smiled at him, eyes hardly crinkling at the corners, and her lips terse with something unsaid.
Caitlyn didn’t pay attention to what Tom and George were talking about. Instead she found it utterly more fascinating to examine the woman she’d likely be spending more time with. Seeing as how her husband was keen to be friends with most of the neighborhood, and thus she had to spend most of her time conversing with other wives, Caitlyn wagered this would be her next forced friend. But just based on a momentary glance, Violet didn’t act like the other wives. Her stature was more unsure, unbalanced, nervous, and loud without speaking. Screaming to those who could properly see it, but just silent and shy to those blind.
“Isn’t that right, honey?” Tom had said to Violet, perking her attention up from where she’d been staring at the ground. Again she just nodded, an absent smile on her face as she agreed to whatever her husband said.
“Oh, how wonderful,” George replied. “Congratulations, the both of you.”
“Thank you,” was what Tom said back, enthusiastically shaking the hand George extended over their shared fence.
.
The next morning Caitlyn watched from the bedroom window as Violet and Tom inaudibly spoke to one another in their brand new front yard. It appeared Violet was attempting to help unload what they hadn’t managed the day before, but Tom seemed insistent in moving everything on his own. At some point, Tom even took his wife’s hand and led her to a new chair freshly placed on their porch, and urged her to sit. For a while she did, but when Tom disappeared back into the home with a box, Violet stood. She brushed off the trousers she was wearing that day, tightened the bandana holding back that unruly hair, and marched to the truck. She only got halfway to the house with her chosen box before Tom reemerged and stole it from her, seemingly instructing her to sit back down with a gentle yet firm demand.
Caitlyn watched Violet huff, open her mouth to argue, but then think better on it, and relent. The woman sunk into her chair, sitting much too unlady-like, which Tom also seemed to comment on in passing with yet another box of mystery appliances or clothing items.
.
Near lunch Caitlyn was washing her dishes, a view of her backyard looking back at her from the window just above their sink. This time it was the murmur of unintelligible voices that caught her attention. Leaning just a little unnaturally over the bubbles, Caitlyn could pear over in the neighboring backyard. It also was separated by a waist high, white picket fence just as the front yard was. Past it, Caitlyn saw the new couple speaking again. This time they were staring at the ground. Tom pointed to the area of grass against the back of the house and tucked against their little wooden patio, gesturing wildly. He was clearly excited about something. Proposing some kind of idea. In contrast, Violet had her hands on her hips, head cocked, lip puckered in thought. When her husband was waiting for a response it took her a second to conjure up the words. She spoke with a slight shake of her head, like she was unsure about what Tom was asking.
But the man didn’t give up, sliding up to his wife and gathering both her hands in his, looking as if pleading with her while wearing a charming grin. Violet didn’t seem to be phased by said charm though, honestly looking more tired than anything, before Caitlyn watched her nod and Tom kissed her cheek in glee.
.
“What’s for dinner this evening, dear?”
“Roast,” Caitlyn answered simply, not looking up from her writing desk in the corner. She had been writing a letter to her mother.
“Hm,” George hummed, uncertain, and Caitlyn could hear the crinkle of his newspaper as he turned the page from the couch in the adjacent room.
Sighing, Caitlyn took a beat, set her pen down, then smoothed her skirt like she habitually did.
“Do you not want roast?”
“No, no,” George didn’t look up from his reading, his leg crossing one over the other. “Roast is fine.”
Caitlyn paused, eyed him though he wasn’t looking back, then picked her pen back up, poised to continue her interrupted thought. “Roast it is then,” she concluded.
But not even a minute later, half spoken, half mumbled:
“I was just thinking how it’s been awhile since we’ve had a nice lambchop. Especially with the weather changing…”
Caitlyn stood, closed her desk, hiding away her letter and pen. Without words she moved to the front door, changing which shoes she was wearing to more suitable walking ones, grabbing a coat, and then her purse.
“Where are you going?” George asked, and Caitlyn couldn’t– despite several years of marriage– tell whether or not he was playing dumb. She again answered without paying him a glance, as he paid her only one during his question. Once satisfied, he returned to his reading.
“Shopping.”
“Ah,” he said. Another turn of the page.
As the front door opened, George said farewell to his wife with one more little drab.
“Well, don’t be too long. It’ll be getting dark soon.”
Caitlyn adjusted herself in her coat once she was outside, shifting so the collar laid flat, and let a huff of exasperation puff past her lips into the ever chilling air.
She swore she could still almost hear that damned newspaper even from the sidewalk.
But she calmed herself, collected her mind, and focused on the task ahead. Caitlyn had only hoped George would’ve brought this up earlier so she didn’t have to do so much last minute shopping, but she supposed he was a man deaf to the intricacies of cooking and the planning that has to go into it. Caitlyn struggled with as much herself, and she worked very hard to not let it show, lest her husband take to teasing her in front of all their friends at the next holiday party.
Starting down the sidewalk towards the store, she was stopped as she was startled by a newly familiar voice.
“Where are you off to this late, Mrs. Thomas?”
With a jump, Caitlyn turned to see Tom on his new front porch, standing and leaning on the railing with a half lit cigar in his hand. He chuckled and apologized for the sudden words, to which Caitlyn only blushed at the minor embarrassment, and stilled her beating heart. She prayed he didn’t misread those reactions, but there was little she could do about what a man saw on a woman’s face.
“It’s alright,” she exhaled. “I’m just going on a last minute grocery run.”
“Impromptu menu change?” Tom questioned, puffing through an inhale on the cigar.
“Something like that.”
Caitlyn eyed said cigar, and he must’ve tracked it, glancing down at it himself before snuffing it in a nearby tray.
“Bad habit,” Tom explained, then setting it down before he returned to the main topic of conversation. “I have to say, I’ve been spoiled with Violet. Her meals are always…” and Tom pursed his lips, kissing his fingertips and flourishing them out into the air. “Spectacular.”
Caitlyn felt a slight feeling of shame and jealousy, a familiar burn when she was being actively compared to another wife. Jealousy because of her much-to-be-desired cooking skills and the words it earns her with her displeased husband, and shame in feeling like nothing more but a workhorse that merely lets her owner bad mouth her in public. It was a feeling she wasn’t a stranger to, anything but. However, she’s grown up in a house and world where she’s gotten quite good at hiding it. At least on her expression.
“I’ll have to ask her for tips sometime, then,” Caitlyn settled on.
“I’m sure she’d be happy to share,” Tom nodded.
Then he waved her off as she made her way to the store.
He nor Violet were outside when she returned, hands full of bags.
.
The next day the moving truck was gone, and Caitlyn witnessed from the dining room window Tom driving up a well-cared-for pickup into the street spot in front of their home for the first time. Violet came out to greet him, looking more interested in a single box he seemed to bring along with him than him in particular. It appeared perhaps one box got forgotten in their initial moving process, but upon a lucky glance, Caitlyn was able to glean the word “childhood” scribbled on the box in faded black. In fact the box looked older and more worn than the others, and it occurred then to Caitlyn this was likely a box of prized possessions from Violet’s past. She certainly looked happy to receive it, and wasn’t about to let Tom be the one to carry it inside. She rushed inside with the box before he could whisk it away from her.
Caitlyn could feel the moment George came up behind her to peak over her shoulder. She could smell his cologne on his collar, a bottle she bought him last Christmas. She could smell the coffee in his hot cup, a gift from her father. Smell the mint on his breath, the toothpaste his particular favorite. He refused to use anything else.
“Spying on the new neighbors, are we?”
“Not spying,” Caitlyn defended, turning around to face him. He was dressed for work, pressed suit fitting nicely on his frame. Though, on brand, he left his tie crooked. And Caitlyn knew he did it on purpose, so she could be the one to notice and fix it.
When she was a child she thought such a thing was adorable and romantic, and she indeed remarked as such the first time she got to fix George’s tie. So now he knew, and now he liked to let her live out that dream over and over again. It was sweet of him. But only just until Caitlyn grew up and now considered it a bother. Because if she ever didn’t fix it, George would most certainly see it as a slight.
“Then what are you doing?” he questioned as he sipped over her deft hands straightening out the offending clothing accessory.
“I just so happened to see them as I was walking by.”
“Mhm.”
Caitlyn shot a careful look his way. One that couldn’t quite be considered a glare, but was as close as she allowed herself to get. She never appreciated his condescension, even if it was only to tease her. His teasing wasn’t a good feeling anymore, not like how when they met and she assumed everything was supposed to be. Caitlyn just chalked it up to the usual fading of the spark of love older couples cited. Though she never would have assumed it would happen this early into their marriage. She never minded it though, not particularly bothered by the lack of a spark anymore.
“I’m off to work then,” George announced, taking one more large gulp of coffee before kissing his wife’s cheek. “I’ll be home for dinner.”
“Have a good day,” Caitlyn recited, like she did every weekday, and she felt the air return to her lungs after the door shut behind him.
.
Later in the week, while George was off at work, Caitlyn happened to see Violet sending her own husband off to whatever his job was. She followed him out to his truck, let him bend down to kiss her instead of getting up on her toes like any other eager wife would, and spared him one single wave before promptly turning away and going back inside.
Caitlyn felt a pang of kinship in that. Relatability. Violet had the same sense of eagerness to get the moment over with that Caitlyn recognized in herself each and every day.
.
It was beautifully sunny this other day, a perfect day for hanging laundry. And it just so happened to match up perfectly for when Caitlyn needed to hang her newly cleaned linens. Stepping outside into her backyard, Caitlyn had a woven basket on her hip, and a small stool carried in her opposite hand. Fresh morning dew was still slipping off the blades of grass despite the clock hitting noon not but a few minutes ago. It sprinkled over the exposed part of Caitlyn’s foot in her slides, and she shivered at the ticklish feeling. So she thumped down her stool under a line, half way between two posts at the far end of their yard, and set her basket down next to it. Clipping several wooden clothespins on the edge of the sash tying around her waist, she readied herself for the task ahead.
One heavy, wet bedsheet, she lifts it from the basket, steps on the stool, and throws it over the line only to clip it in place once adequately spread. Caitlyn had only gotten halfway through her basket before she noticed she wasn’t alone outside that day. It was when she stepped down in the direction of the neighbors yard did she see the peaking of red hair under a pale blue bandana over the fence. Barely through the separate slates, Caitlyn could observe Violet on her knees, and when inching ever nearer, she could see the woman tending to the patch of grass she saw Tom pointing out before.
A small square of dirt had been upturned and churned, smoothed enough for rows to start to form. Violet sat hunched over, her back to Caitlyn, and a towel just under her knees to protect the lovely pale dress that matched the blue of her bandana perfectly.
“Starting a garden?” Caitlyn asked before she could stop herself, her innate curiosity and lack of men around winning in that moment.
However, it seemed to only throw Violet off kilter in the sense that she wasn’t expecting to be spoken to, not that she thought she was also alone outside. When she turned, her cheeks were bright with the warm sun, and her gloved hand came to shield her eyes so she could properly look at Caitlyn.
It occurs to Caitlyn only now this is the first thing she’s said to the woman, and if she was lucky, she was also going to hear Violet’s voice clearly for the first time.
But as her mouth opened to speak, Tom called from inside, snatching both women's attention, and forcing Violet to only do so much as throw an apologetic smile Caitlyn’s way before being ushered inside.
.
“I’m home, darling.”
“Welcome back,” Caitlyn greeted, a practiced smile on her lips and oven mitts on her hands. “You’re just in time for dinner.”
“What’s on the menu?” He asked, his jacket shed and thrown on the coat rack, now approaching Caitlyn in the kitchen to watch her remove a dish from the oven and set it back down to cool.
“I thought I’d give those lamb chops another try,” she said, not looking to him. The steam rose and hit her face, making her cheeks flush. “Seeing as last time I made it, it didn’t really turn out all that well…”
George chuckled, never minding the downcast disappointment in his wife’s face only to come up and hug her from behind. He kissed her cheek, hands resting on her waist as he whispered in her ear.
“Yes, but I love that you tried.”
Caitlyn just nodded, hoping her sudden stiffness wasn’t noticed by George. He had an affinity to hug from behind whether it be while she cooked or cleaned, or while they slept in bed. It was his common form of affection, and one Caitlyn didn’t used to mind. Not until he used it, primarily in bed, to touch her in places she’d rather not have been touched in that moment.
All of a sudden, those warm hugs that were supposed to feel secure only made Caitlyn believe she was trapped. He had to be the one to let go, to decide it was over, as making the move to do so herself would raise questions from George. Worry that Caitlyn didn’t like the hugs and had been lying to him. Which she had, but to herself as well. Trying to convince herself that it was just because she was tired or burnt out, that there was something wrong with her. Perhaps she was ill, not feeling well, as that would explain why she detested the attention.
She wanted to like the hugs like she used to. When they were a young couple, just starting out, and everything was new and exciting. Not like now where when she feels arms wrap around her middle her instinct is to flinch away. But she can’t. Not unless she wanted to start a fight. So, she stayed still, let it happen, made excuses to move so he’d have to let go. Like in this situation.
“I need to set the table, George,” Caitlyn tried to lace her voice with a playfulness that meant she was enjoying the embrace and found his antics perhaps adorable. It seemed to work along with a fake grin to seal the deal, as he relented, offering to help in the task.
And once plates were set, glasses filled, meat served, the couple sat in a quiet world filled only with the sounds of chewing and silverware. To Caitlyn’s right was their large dining room window, and just outside of it, she saw the warm light of next door. A figure passed by a window of their own, but it was too quick of a motion to tell if it was Violet or Tom.
She wondered what Violet had made for dinner. She wondered if Tom was being honest or biased when he said Violet was a good cook. Caitlyn thought to herself if Violet was sitting at her dining table too, munching softly and wiping her face with the napkin in her lap like a proper lady.
Caitlyn wondered if it would be inappropriate to ask for some cooking lessons.
Caitlyn decided she didn’t care.
.
“Mrs. Jessop!” Caitlyn waved from her backyard, coming outside into the beautiful summer day to see Violet hunched over her supposed garden again.
This time she had a sun hat on, white, with a sash tied around it. Again, she had a towel under her knees to protect her dress, but when she heard her name called, she slowly stood, squinting in the light.
“I’m not disrupting you, am I?” Caitlyn made it to their shared fence, placing her hands atop it to pick at the chipping paint. Merely, she was anxious to finally hear Violet’s voice, as once she realized she had never heard it properly, she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Strange, Caitlyn thought, that a woman’s voice was so intriguing.
“Not at all.”
And there, just three words. But the first ones that came from Violet’s lips to meet Caitlyn’s ears. Her voice was gravely, lower than expected, like she had a constant itch in the back of her throat. It wasn’t loud, but hardly quiet. Commanding, demanding, assertive, confident. Caitlyn almost envied it, wishing she could have such a voice around her husband, although perhaps that’s why Violet didn’t seem to talk much before. Maybe Tom doesn’t like the authority in his wife’s voice. Threatening, she’s sure he’d call it. Threatening to what? Well, that’s anyone's guess.
“What can I do for you?” Violet continued, having slipped off her gardening gloves and began twisting them around. Caitlyn glanced at the motion, surprised by the strength in her hands, and for but a moment was worried that Violet would actually tear them apart somehow.
“I was just curious,” she decided to answer the question instead of speaking on her random observations. “Your husband mentioned the other day you were quite the culinary expert.”
“Oh,” Violet exhaled a surprised breath, almost taken aback, but smiled regardless. “I wouldn’t say an expert… He flatters me.”
“I have to admit I’m rather jealous.”
“And why's that?” Violet stopped the twisting of the gloves in favor of crossing her arms. Her hip cocked out, putting a bevel on her leg and making her appear slightly shorter. “I’m sure you’re an excellent cook yourself.”
But Caitlyn scoffed at herself, surprised at a bubble of laughter that came up her throat without her permission. The mere idea of someone calling her a cook, never mind a good one, was ludicrous to her.
“Forgive me,” Caitlyn cleared her throat, her fingertips touching her lips still in a smile. “If only you knew how wrong you were.”
“Does George put you down so much that it’s funny?”
While in her little shocked fit, Caitlyn failed to see the grin fall from Violet’s face, failed to see her own body language tense and her arms pressed closer together in a tighter cross. Violet’s brows were slightly furrowed together in what Caitlyn could only describe as frustration, curiosity, and a tinge of sadness in the begging of her piercing grey eyes.
“I’m sorry– Did I upset yo–?”
“It’s not you who should be apologizing," Violet mumbled, cutting her neighbor off. But she mirrored Caitlyn, cleared her throat, smoothed out her pretty dress before perking her head back up to make proper eye contact. “Sorry. I just get a little peeved about… certain things.”
Violet seemed to be apologizing for her lack of social skills, but Caitlyn would argue Violet wasn’t lacking such skills. She had the skill set for a world she didn’t know but wanted. One where women didn’t have such a hard time speaking their minds or worrying about who was listening. A world where your neighbor could question your husband’s actions and actually care about the answer. And just in that tiny moment, whether or not Violet meant for it, or felt it happen, a tie was made between the two women. Caitlyn was almost vindicated in her theory that perhaps Violet and herself were more alike than they originally thought. Her chest hammered at the prospect of a real friend, someone she could genuinely talk to, without fear. No matter how far in the distance that reality was, just the idea that it could exist made Caitlyn nearly shiver with goosebumps.
“No need to be sorry. It’s… refreshing, actually,” Caitlyn tried to reassure her, tried to get Violet to see they were one of the same mind.
“Really…” Violet sighed, less like a question, more like a test, and relaxed upon seeing Caitlyn nod. “Well… I’m glad to hear that.”
“Me too,” Caitlyn agreed, now seeing an opportunity to sneak in the real reason she started up a conversation in the first place. Besides curiosity, that is. “And while I have you here, I was wondering if it wouldn’t be too much trouble to ask for some tips in the kitchen?”
Interested, Violet queried her brow before wiping the sweat from it with the back of her hand. Her expression was blank for a moment, like she was assessing something, but then came to a conclusion.
“What kind of tips?”
“Anything really… Perhaps you could spare a recipe for a dish, help teach me how to make it without burning the house down.”
Further interested, Violet looked Caitlyn up and down. It was so subtle you’d almost miss it, but Caitlyn, who had been glued to those shining greys the moment she saw them, clocked it with ease. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but she tried her best to not let her lack of confidence on this matter show.
“I’d be happy to help,” Violet smiled. “I have a few easy recipes we could try out. You can pick out which one you want.”
“Oh, how gracious of you,” Caitlyn sighed in response, quite literally deflating with relief that Violet even considered her request. “Some time this week then?”
“While the men are away,” she chuckled to herself, tugging her gardening gloves back on. “I’ll come knocking.”
“I look forward to it.”
George had asked why Caitlyn was smiling so much after he got home from work that evening.
She lied.