Julia didn’t want to go to the neighborhood gathering, but she didn’t want to be the one who skipped it either. It wasn’t mandatory, just something the early residents organized every month—an informal chance for people to meet, talk about school districts, compare mortgage rates, and complain about construction noise. Normally, she avoided these kinds of things, but Aaron had said it might help them “feel connected” to the community they were about to join.

She didn’t want to tell him she didn’t feel connected to anything lately—not the house, not the neighborhood, not even her own routine. Everything felt slightly out of place, like she had stepped sideways out of her life and couldn’t find the original track again. But Aaron had asked gently, and she couldn’t bring herself to say no.

They arrived just as the sun dipped below the rooftops. The gathering took place in a small park near the entrance of Brookhaven Ridge, where a few picnic tables were arranged under industrial string lights. About twenty people were already there, chatting in clusters, kids running between the benches with half-finished juice boxes.

Aaron parked the car and glanced at her. “We can stay for just a little while,” he said.

Julia forced a smile. “I’ll be fine.”

He reached for her hand, hesitated, then placed his palm against hers. His touch was warm, but her fingers didn’t quite tighten around his. It wasn’t intentional; she just couldn’t find the energy.

When they walked up to the tables, a tall woman in a denim jacket waved at them. Julia recognized her vaguely as one of the early buyers—she had seen her at the sales office once or twice.

“You must be the Blakes!” the woman said brightly. “I’m Brittany. Lot 32.”

“Nice to meet you,” Aaron said.

“Welcome, welcome,” Brittany said. “We figured it was time to start building some community, you know? Before everything gets finished.”

Julia nodded politely. “How long have you lived here?”

“Three weeks,” Brittany said. “Still feels like camping.” She laughed, but it had an edge. “We had to call the developer every single day to get them to fix the garage wiring. And they keep rescheduling our landscaping.”

“Sounds familiar,” Aaron said.

“Trust me,” Brittany said, lowering her voice, “you’re not missing much by not moving in yet. Half the stuff in our kitchen isn’t level.”

Julia forced a laugh, though Brittany’s comment made a knot tighten in her stomach. If the houses that *were* finished still had problems, what did that mean for theirs?

More people came over—names she immediately forgot, lot numbers that sounded like code. One couple had a toddler who kept trying to climb onto the picnic table. Another introduced themselves as the Ruizes—Marco and Tiffany—a young pair who complained loudly about noise from early morning construction.

“Last Sunday,” Tiffany said dramatically, “they started drilling at 7 a.m. Seven! I thought my brain was going to rattle out of my head.”

“You get used to it,” Marco added. “Eventually.”

Julia smiled, but her thoughts drifted. She felt strangely out of sync with everyone around her. They were talking about inconvenience, annoyance, minor frustrations. But all she could think about was the way David had said *brace yourselves*. She didn’t know how to share that with people she had just met, and she didn’t want to be the one who brought the mood down.

Aaron was doing better than she was. He chatted easily, laughing when someone joked about the endless emails from the homeowners association. He asked questions, listened attentively, made small talk without seeming forced.

Julia envied that.

At one point, Brittany leaned closer to her. “So, how’s your house coming along?”

Julia hesitated, the question landing like a weight.

“Delayed,” she said finally. “Six to eight weeks.”

Brittany made a sympathetic sound. “Ugh. Same story everywhere. We were delayed, the Petersons were delayed, the Rodríguezes are still delayed. You’re not alone.”

Julia nodded, but the words didn’t comfort her.

Another homeowner—a sharp-eyed man with a shaved head—chimed in from across the table. “You should see the site behind ours. Total mess. The drainage is wrong, so they had to redo half the grading.”

Julia’s stomach tightened. “They had to redo it?”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “Water pooled the first time it rained. The city flagged it.”

Aaron shot Julia a quick look, but she didn’t return it. Instead, she stared at the paper plate in her hands, fingers pressing lightly at the edges.

Brittany clapped her hands. “Okay, enough complaints! Who wants cookies?”

People laughed, but the man with the shaved head kept talking quietly to someone else about electrical issues, about a subcontractor who’d been fired, about inspectors backed up for two months.

Julia drifted away from the main group, stepping toward the edge of the park to breathe. She watched kids run across the grass, watched porch lights flicker on one by one, watched the silhouettes of half-built houses in the distance.

The string lights above her buzzed faintly.

Aaron found her a moment later. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said automatically.

“You sure?”

She swallowed. “I just… needed a minute.”

He nodded and stood beside her, not touching her, but close enough that she felt the warmth of him. For a moment, it helped.

Then Brittany called out, “Group photo!”

People groaned and gathered near the picnic table. Aaron smiled apologetically. “We should join them.”

Julia didn’t want to. But she followed.

They squeezed into the group, the string lights casting a warm glow. People joked about who should stand where, someone lifted the toddler onto their hip, and the camera flashed. Everyone smiled.

Julia did too, but she didn’t feel it.

After the picture, people began to leave. Goodbyes were loud, friendly, full of promises to meet again soon. Aaron and Julia walked back toward the car in silence.

Once inside, Aaron started the engine, letting the heater run. “You didn’t seem like yourself tonight.”

Julia stared out the window. The houses blurred slightly as the glass fogged. “I didn’t feel like myself.”

“Want to talk about it?”

A long pause.

“Not right now,” she said softly.

“Okay.”

They drove home in a quiet that felt different from previous silences—not tense, not angry. Just… exhausted. Worn thin.

When they got home, Julia went straight to the bedroom, set down her purse, and sat on the edge of the bed. Aaron hovered in the doorway.

“You did good tonight,” he said gently. “You showed up. That counts for something.”

Julia exhaled, her shoulders dropping slightly. “Thanks.”

He didn’t move closer. She didn’t ask him to.

They stayed like that for a moment—two people trying, two people tired, two people hoping the other understood more than what was being said.

Eventually, Aaron said goodnight and left the room to shower. Julia lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

The gathering had been meant to build community, to make her feel less alone.

But all she felt was that something beneath the surface—of the neighborhood, of the construction, of her own life—was shifting in a way she couldn’t quite name yet.

Something off.  

Something waiting.  

Something she could no longer ignore.