“Man Next Door” by Jennifer Savran Kelly

"Maddy thought she should ignore it, allow him to maintain his self-respect as she’d been taught... New Maddy knew that self-respect was merely a euphemism for masculinity."

SO excited to get to share this one!

Not to get ahead of myself, but Jennifer and I are in the middle of our accompanying interview about this story right now (which will drop next Tuesday!), but in her very first answer, about the origin of the story, she mentions joy and having fun writing this one, and I think that really came through in my reading of the story and was part of what I fell in love with, on very first read. I don’t think I would have used that word, or maybe even identified that idea, but more and more, my favorite stories often give me the sense that the author was having fun working on it.

The story opens with this odd conceit — an almost life-size inflatable dad (“a long egg-like shape with a full-body photograph of a man printed on it”) found in a dumpster — and from there gets weirder, while also staying incredibly grounded; it gets dark, and complicated, but again with that underlying joy; it wraps me up and pulls me into its world on every reread in all the ways a great short story can.

Also really excited to get to pair it with perfect accompanying art from

Aubrey Hirsch

. I always love getting to feature Aubrey’s art, and this story felt, to me, a little in conversation with Lindsay Hunter’s “Female Anatomy,” which Aubrey also did art for, and so it felt fun to push on that shared conversation a bit with the art, too.

—Aaron Burch

---

art by Aubrey Hirsch

“Man Next Door”

As Maddy tied up the first load of trash from her new apartment, she was disappointed all over again that she’d made it to forty-six without ever having a place of her own. No matter. Here she was now, surveying all that was hers, at least in rental terms. Should she move the coffee table a few more inches from the couch? Center the rug on the floor instead of under the table? Now that the divorce was final and she was finally out of her parents’ house, the important thing was that it was her choice to make—and make again whenever she wished. It was her Grease 2 DVD in the player to watch however many times she pleased. It was her rock-salt lamp that, yes, actually does purify the air and, no, wouldn’t matter if it melted all over the dresser, because it was her lamp and her dresser. And if she wanted to leave little pieces of clipped callous on the dresser too, whose business was it now?

Maddy was a New Woman, making her own decisions based on her own—not her ex’s, not her father’s—opinions, tying up her very own trash and heading to the dumpster to relieve herself (finally!) of the burden, of everything that had been holding Old Maddy back.

*

At the dumpster, she met her neighbor. Her handsome neighbor, as it turned out. Paul. She’d met him once before, while the movers were carrying her things inside. He’d introduced himself as “Paul with a P.”

Holding her trash, plastic straining against her palms, Maddy watched Paul with one foot propped, leaning into the dumpster, digging for something, his jeans falling down in the back revealing plaid underwear. Boxers. Check. She cleared her throat.

Paul pulled himself up. “Oh, hey, Maddy. With an M, right?” Big smile. “Am I in your way here? Sorry.” He jumped down, rubbed his hands together. “Let me help you.” He reached for Maddy’s bags.

She stepped back. “That’s kind of you, but first trash of the new place and all. I’d like to do the honors.”

“Of course.” He stepped out of her way. Out of New Maddy’s way. A gentleman.

Paul with a P looked ridiculously attractive even with his shirt rumpled. “What were you doing?” she said.

“Oh, it’s silly.” Paul looked away. He laughed. “Just seeing if I could reach something. It’s . . . you know what? You just have to see it.”

Maddy approached the dumpster with her bags, which were getting too sweaty to hold. But before she lifted them over the edge, she caught sight of what Paul had been fishing for. Lying on its side was an oblong white inflated . . . something. Not a raft or a punching bag, but a long egg-like shape with a full-body photograph of a man printed on it. An ordinary man about her dad’s age, wearing ordinary dad clothes: polo shirt, braided leather belt, khakis. He was smiling. Just a happy, kind-looking inflatable dad that some real dad had probably received as a gag gift, and eventually it had made its way out of the house, the joke having played itself out.

Maddy tried to figure out if it was funny or just strange as she heaved her garbage into the dumpster. “Who is that?” she said, wiping her hands on her pants. “Your dad?”

Paul’s face flushed. “Haha, no. No relation. In fact, he couldn’t look further from my dad. Weirdest thing, right?”

“Wow.” Maddy’s pants were sagging too, but in her case it was revealing the extra bulk she’d been carrying around her middle. She hiked them up. Should have kept the Pilates DVD.

Paul studied her. She’d forgotten how to do this, small talk. Then before she knew it, he was hanging halfway into the dumpster, fishing out the inflatable dad.

She laughed, a little too loud. “What do you intend to do with it?”

It was smaller than it had looked among all the trash, only about three quarters of Paul’s height. Paul stood before her with his arm around it and assumed a pose like he’d just found his new best pal. “I’m not sure yet,” he said, patting it on the head. “Our adventure has just begun.”

Maddy was unpacking one of her miscellaneous boxes, second-guessing whether she should have kept her trophy from the fourth-grade spelling bee, when she heard a knock on her door. She tiptoed over and looked stealthily through the peephole. On the other side was the inflatable dad—with a sticky note affixed to his chest. She had to open the door to read it. An invitation. To dinner with Paul. Tomorrow evening. “And don’t worry,” said the note. “It’ll be chaperoned.” Smiley face.

Maddy laughed, then blushed remembering what she looked like—hair out of control, no bra. After the separation, after Maddy had left because she’d found her ex in bed with his current, her father had asked her if she’d been keeping up her appearance. “Don’t forget,” he’d teased. “I’ve seen what you look like when you wake up in the morning.” She pulled the dad inside and spent a few minutes agonizing over whether to say yes to her charming new neighbor. It had been over a year since the separation and she’d promised herself she would start dating again.

Her spelling trophy still lay face up in the box, as if the little bee with its flaking gold paint was watching her, waiting to see what she would do. Her husband had always said she was too attached to mementos like this. In fact, every word he’d used to describe Maddy had the word “too” in front of it. Too attached, too emotional, too needy, too cautious, just plain too much.

Drawing a deep breath, she lifted the trophy, wiped it down with a rag, and placed it on the nearest bookshelf. “You’re staying,” she said, and then triumphant, turned back to the doll.

She exchanged Paul’s sticky note for one of her own: “Yes, see you then. Looking forward to it!” And just in case she might run into him, she brushed her hair and clipped it back from her face, threw on a bra and some lipstick, and carried the doll downstairs to his apartment, where she knocked and left Dad to do the rest.

art by Aubrey Hirsch

The following evening was date night, and Paul with a P wanted to cook for her. “Is that okay?” had said sticky-note-number-two on Dad.

Maddy changed out of her work clothes and checked her hair again.

Paul’s door was cracked open, but she was a knocker. Would Paul find that weird? Then again, New Maddy didn’t worry about what a man thought of her choices. She knocked. He came to the door, looking surprised. “Oh, I thought you were someone else.”

Maddy’s face imploded.

Paul’s next. “No, I mean, I was expecting you, but I thought you’d just come in—door open, date, and all. So when I heard a knock—”

Heart pounding. Hands searching for something to do. Maddy smiled. Smiled hard. And there, at the table, presumably the dinner table, sat the inflatable dad.

Saved. Maddy pointed and laughed. “Is he joining us for dinner?”

Paul smiled. “I told you we’d have a chaperone. First date, so.” Paul led Maddy inside to the table, where he pulled out a chair and winked conspiratorially at the dad. “Why don’t you two get to know each other while I finish up in the kitchen?”

“Of course, my pleasure,” said Maddy.

Once they were alone, however, the doll-dad’s eyes smiling, about to break into a laugh over something someone—someone else, not her, not Maddy but a stranger—had said, amusement gave way to awkwardness. This was someone’s family member.

Still, she was interested in what she could learn about Paul, so she stood, leaving the dad-doll at the table, and scanned the room. Bookshelves, two, small. Holiday cards scattered around, in March. Sparse walls, no personal photos. Large television.

“How rude of me,” declared Paul, returning with two wine bottles. “I forgot to fill your glasses. Red or white?” He recited the names and vintages, which meant little to Maddy who preferred beer, but it impressed her anyway.

About to say, “You choose,” she stopped herself. Quick-decision time, she could do this. “White,” she said, victorious.

Paul looked to the inflatable dad as if for approval, then filled her glass and followed with the dad’s.

“Ha, he even gets his own drink.”

Was that offense on Paul’s face? So quick, here, and gone, Maddy couldn’t be sure she’d seen anything. “Just being a hospitable host,” he said. Charming once again.

Maddy bowed her head. When she allowed herself to give in, to not be too uptight, it was fun to play along with Paul, this intimate game, their own private joke that had established their connection.

“Only a few minutes now, so don’t be shy, you two,” he said, straightening the doll-dad. On his way back to the kitchen, he put one hand on its back in a gesture of emotional support.

Maddy began to feel a mild pressure in her chest. That meeting/pleasing-the-parents feeling here on their first date. She approached the inflatable dad a bit gingerly—he looked so happy to be here with them—and plucked him from his seat to lean him against one of the bookcases across the room. That was fine, he still looked happy. Maddy placed his wine glass on the shelf just below his head. Good, she thought. He’s funny again when he’s lurking in the background. She sipped her wine and felt her hair for fly-aways. I’ve seen what you look like when you wake up in the morning.

Paul returned with two steaming dishes of wild mushroom risotto, eyes on his balancing act, heading for Maddy’s seat and then noticing that Dad had been ejected from the table. “Hey, ah, you two fighting already?” A little laugh to convey joking but his face had fallen. Maddy definitely saw it this time.

Was he empathizing with this inflatable doll, or maybe just hurt that she was no longer playing along? “He told me he wanted to stretch his legs,” Maddy said.

Happiness returned to Paul’s face. “How considerate.” He disappeared and returned within seconds with his own appetizer. “After you.”

Maddy sat, leaving Dad at the bookcase.

Paul apologized, but not to her, to the doll. Then quickly turned his gaze back to her. “I mean, I’m sorry I didn’t pull your seat out for you.”

No one had ever pulled a seat out for Maddy until moments ago, when she’d arrived. Not that she’d ever expected anyone to. Maybe Paul was feeling it too, this weird paternal effect the doll was having.

Jokingly, she put her hand to the side of her mouth and leaned toward Paul like she was about to share a secret. “You’ll have to excuse my friend,” she said, pointing to the dad. “He can be a bit overbearing sometimes.”

Paul laughed. “Well, that’s the thing about fathers, right?”

“Amen,” said Maddy, buoyed by Paul’s understanding and this moment of shared intimacy.

“I actually think that’s one of the things that makes him so funny,” Paul said. “It’s like he thinks he’s in charge but he’s too small.”

“He is small,” Maddy said. “But, like, just a little smaller than a regular person.”

“Which makes it even funnier!” said Paul.

“That’s true; it does!” said Maddy.

Together they looked at the doll, and then Paul seemed to see nothing but Maddy, and it warmed her from the inside. The delicious smell of his risotto made her soon forget all about the inflatable dad.

“Mm,” she said. “Smells wonderful.”

Paul’s eyes darted back and forth nervously from the dad to the table. Maddy pretended not to notice.

Paul said, “Please, dig in. Bon appetit.”

She took a bite. It was heavenly.

Paul kept glancing over at the uneaten risotto at the inflatable dad’s empty seat, steam rising from it every so often like a too-weak signal.

Maddy sighed, but only inwardly. “I’m sorry,” she said, trying to keep her face neutral, not overly apologetic. “If I ruined the joke by moving him away.”

Paul set his fork down. “No, no, you haven’t ruined anything. It’s just—was it too much? Did it go too far? Because if it did, I’m sorry.” He looked so eager to please her.

“No, it’s fun and all.” Yet Maddy had to admit she didn’t like how this doll, this inflatable father, was making her question herself again and seeming to make Paul so nervous to get everything right. “Maybe just a bit funnier when he’s not at the table with us.”

Paul let out breath. “You’re right. I mean, look at him over there, all propped up with the books and his wine.” He laughed again. “Still so small,” he said.

“Yes, so small!” Maddy laughed too. It was a ridiculous sight. And it felt good to laugh with Paul.

He scooted his seat back, his eyes mischievous, and reached for the abandoned dish of risotto. “I’m just gonna— I’ll be right back.” Quickly, as if on skates, he set the bowl next to Dad’s wine glass, looking back at Maddy for—was that approval?

Maddy nodded, lifted her glass. “Cheers!”

“Cheers!” said Paul.

The rest of their dinner was as delicious as the first course. They learned they shared an interest in old movies and kitschy antiques. After Paul emerged from the kitchen with dessert, he pulled out a few of his recent finds—a vase shaped like a piña colada, a pair of salt and pepper shakers that looked like a scarecrow and a crow, a seashell-shaped candy dish.

Maddy said, “No wonder you were so taken with that guy,” nodding toward the inflatable dad. Paul looked as if he just remembered it was there, and something in his face changed.

Maddy thought she should ignore it, allow him to maintain his self-respect as she’d been taught all too well to do, but New Maddy was more direct. New Maddy knew that self-respect was merely a euphemism for masculinity. And she also deserved respect. She drew breath and said, “Is everything okay? You look—” (what did he look?) “concerned.”

The question took him off guard.

“Yeah . . . I’m okay.” He looked at the dad again and sighed. “No,” he said—to the doll, “I am not pandering,” and then he took their dessert away and returned to the kitchen. When he came back, his hands were in his hair.

Maddy stood. No longer comfortable with the joke. In fact, there was no longer anything funny about it. “Paul,” she said with a careful laugh. “You do know he’s a doll, right?”

He paced in front of the table and stopped next to Maddy. “Oh, yeah, for sure. But out of nowhere I’m not feeling so great. Maybe too much wine, I don’t know . . . I think it would be best to cut this short.”

Maddy stared, surprised. He did look like he was in pain. “I’m so sorry,” she said, pushing her seat back. “Of course, you should rest.” But under the doll’s gaze, the doll she’d just declared was only that, the real of course was that she was now second-guessing everything she believed had been going well. Of course Paul had not been having fun after all. Of course Paul was discovering that Maddy was too assertive, too opinionated, too serious.

His eyes darted back to the doll. Dad was still smiling against the books, next to his wine that had probably gone warm and his appetizer that had probably gone cold. Paul couldn’t seem to take his eyes off it. He had a dejected, almost desperate look about him as he waited for Maddy to collect her things.

“I’m sorry,” he said as they stood in the doorway. “I had a really nice time, and I’d like to see you again. It’s just—”

“It’s no problem,” she said. Or was that Old Maddy? “I was getting tired anyway.”

“So, I’ll see you again?” Hope crept back into his eyes.

Maddy wanted to say yes, but she needed to get clear about what was best for her. What was safe. She said, “We do live in the same building.”

“You got me there.” Paul shrugged. “Here’s hoping.”

“Yes. Feel better,” said Maddy. “Good night.”

When he closed the door, Maddy should have walked away. But something didn’t feel right. Paul’s sudden change in behavior. The way he kept looking at that dad-doll. And what did he mean by pandering?

His voice came through the door. “No, you were making her uncomfortable.” A pause. “By getting too close, by saying ridiculous things like ‘men are the head and women are the tail.’” Longer pause. “Of course not. I don’t do that on first dates.” Pause. “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?”

When Maddy heard footsteps, she jolted into action, run-walking to the elevator, trying not to make any sound.

*

A few days passed. Maddy had been trying to put her date with Paul out of her mind, but things continued to be awkward with him, to say the least. Yesterday, she passed him coming into the building and said hello, and he practically shielded his face. This morning, there had been a knock on her door, and she peeped through the hole to find Paul whisking the inflatable dad away like a father removing his toddler from a store where he’d been misbehaving. At first she feared for her safety and considered notifying someone. But he seemed so hell bent on ignoring her that even if she did call for help, what would she say? Arrest this man for staying away from me?

To distract herself, she unpacked boxes. To distract herself more, she checked social media and Bumble. When she found that a woman had responded to a months-old old posting—attractive and cultured, a fundraiser for the MoMA—a thrilling heat ran through her belly. She hadn’t dated a woman since Audrey in college, and the first exciting thought that had come to her after the separation was that she’d been given another opportunity. The Bumble woman’s name was Eleanor. Maddy clicked.

art by Aubrey Hirsch

Their first date—Maddy hoped it was the first—was Saturday. They had so much fun that Maddy invited Eleanor back to her apartment. They emerged from the elevator red faced and holding hands, which felt too fast but also warm and gentle and perfect, and Maddy hoped they wouldn’t run into Paul, even though she had no reason to think they would, not on her floor.

Still, she exhaled as they entered Maddy’s apartment without incident.

“I love the open floor plan,” Eleanor said.

“Thanks, me too,” she said a little too enthusiastically. It was the exact thing that had drawn Maddy in. “Want the full tour?”

“Please.” Eleanor removed her gloves and coat.

Maddy hung them in the closet next to her own and, even though they’d just met, it felt good to see them together. Slow down, Maddy. Take it easy. She closed the closet door. “How about a drink before the tour? I hear it begins in five minutes.”

Eleanor laughed and sweat bloomed under Maddy’s arms. She smoothed her hair and poured two glasses of wine. Eleanor drank.

“Ready?” said Maddy, offering her arm, like a gentleman. A gentle man.

They walked through every room arm-in-arm, Eleanor stopping to admire the choices Maddy had made in each: the arrangement of the furniture, the art on the walls. She wanted to know the stories behind the knickknacks and Maddy’s reaction to certain books on the shelves. As if Maddy were the most interesting person in the world. She’d never been this interesting to anyone. And she was just as curious about Eleanor. What were her favorite foods, movies, songs? How did she get into playing the violin? What was it like raising money for a big art museum?

They talked past midnight, and even though Maddy was rapt, she hadn’t stayed up this late in years and couldn’t stifle a yawn.

Eleanor’s face reddened. She set down her wine glass. “Look at me going on, my god, it’s almost one o’clock. I should go.”

“No,” Maddy said before she could censor herself. “I mean, I’m awake. I’m having a nice time.”

Eleanor examined Maddy. “If you really don’t want me to go, that makes me very happy. But it’s probably time. And it means we’ll just need to see each other again.” She stood.

Maddy stood too. Face to face with Eleanor.

“Just one thing before I go,” said Eleanor. “I’ve been wanting to ask all night, but I’ve been too chicken.”

Maddy giggled, tipsy from the wine. “Anything.”

Eleanor leaned her mouth to Maddy’s ear and whispered, “May I kiss you?”

Maddy tingled from head to toe as she brought her mouth to Eleanor’s, and then she was in her arms, exploring her face and her lips.

When Eleanor jerked away with a loud gasp, Maddy panicked. She’d held on too long, kissed too hard. But before she could figure out which thing to apologize for, she saw Eleanor pointing across the room.

“Oh my god,” Eleanor said. “What is that?”

Confused, Maddy followed Eleanor’s pointing finger and horrified gaze, and when Maddy’s mind caught up with Eleanor’s, she jumped. Outside, pressed against the window, looking in, was the inflatable dad, same old chinos, same old smile. But now, as he watched Maddy and Eleanor, the smile looked sinister.

A shiver ran through Maddy. What on earth was he doing there?

“What is that?” Eleanor repeated, walking to the window.

Maddy wanted to stop her, but she watched, helpless, while Eleanor and the inflatable dad gawked at each other through the glass.

“I . . . I’m not sure,” said Maddy. Her heart was beating a mile a minute. “It’s my downstairs neighbor’s.”

Eleanor turned around, concern tightening her face. “What’s it doing here?”

“I don’t know; it just appeared there.” Maddy was losing control of her own thoughts. “When I moved in last week, I ran into my neighbor at the dumpster and he was fishing it out of the trash.” At the time it had seemed like a funny thing to do, but hearing herself say it out loud, Maddy no longer thought so. She walked to the window and looked for Paul. When it seemed the coast was clear, she pulled the doll inside.

Eleanor moved backward, away from them. “Is this some kind of game?”

“I hope not.”

“Well, it’s scaring me.”

Maddy examined the inflatable dad. Even though he was only three quarters her size and Paul had kept harping on the fact that he was small, he looked much bigger when he’d intruded on their dinner date and then again, just now, in her window. Yes, intruded, that was what he’d done. That was a good word for him. Intrusive.

Eleanor was watching her, waiting to see how she was going to handle this bizarre situation.

What needed to be done? Maddy reminded herself she was strong, she was in control.

“I think you should call the police,” Eleanor said.

Maddy shook her head. “It’s crossed my mind every time, but I don’t know what they can do. Unless it’s a crime to put a doll in someone’s window.”

Eleanor narrowed her dark eyes. “Every time? He’s done this before?”

“Not this, no. He’s just been acting funny around me. Avoiding me, mostly, because we had a date—one date—and it didn’t go very well.”

Eleanor shook her head. “That’s an important detail, Maddy.”

“Normally I’d agree, but I don’t think he’s dangerous. If you met him, you’d understand. He’s too . . . gentle.”

“That’s how men like this operate.”

“I know how it sounds, but trust me, I don’t think it’s him.” Maddy looked at the dad—too happy, too familial, too intrusive—and she could almost hear her own father’s voice coming from his mouth, saying that the real reason to be afraid, the real reason why society had become so dangerous, is because there are no more real men, because they’ve given all their power to promiscuous women. And by promiscuous, he meant women like her—women who demand so much that they drive their husbands into the arms of other women, women who go to strange men’s apartments for dinner and kiss on first dates.

“No,” she said out loud. Then shook her head like she was trying to clear water from her ears. What kind of nonsense was this doll trying to fill her mind with?

Suddenly things began to take shape. Paul’s strange behavior, his fear. “I think it’s the doll,” she said. “There’s something about this thing.”

“You’re kidding, right? A doll could not have put itself in your window.” Eleanor walked toward the coat closet.

Maddy didn’t want her to go. Not only because she liked her but also because she wanted to prove she wasn’t crazy. There had to be something she could do, and quickly. She held the dad out in front of her, searching his happy, wrinkled eyes for an answer, and it came to her. “Look!” she said as Eleanor opened the door to the coat closet. “I have an idea.” Eleanor turned around as Maddy searched with her hands for the little tube that’s used to inflate the dad. When her fingers found it on the bottom, she released the tiny stopper and watched him shrink, slowly, helping him along by squeezing, until he was nothing more than a deflated raft. Eleanor watched, mesmerized. Maddy folded him over her arm so that his face was no longer visible. She breathed a sigh of relief. New Maddy, strong once again, could handle this.

“Now I’m going to put him back where I found him. In the trash, where he belongs,” she said.

“What about your neighbor?” said Eleanor.

Maddy ran through her options, none of which seemed good. She was only sure about this—she had to get rid of the inflatable dad. “One thing at a time,” she said.

Eleanor nodded, though she looked far from convinced. Then she did something that surprised Maddy. She put her arm around Maddy’s shoulder and led her to the coat closet. She took out Maddy’s coat and helped her into it. Maddy wanted to melt into Eleanor’s arms. But she understood this was goodbye. See-ya-later, good-luck, and sure-I’ll-give-you-a-call. And who could blame her? Who would want to get involved with something like this? Certainly not kind, lovely Eleanor. Certainly not Maddy either, no way, but it had been brought on her.

On the first floor, when they should have split off in opposite directions—Maddy toward the back door to the dumpster and Eleanor toward the front door and her freedom—Maddy made a quick calculation. “Can I at least entice you come to the dumpster with me and then I’ll walk you out?” She held up the lifeless dad. Now that she’d deflated him, her confidence was returning.

Eleanor regarded her affectionately and nodded.

Maddy smiled. Hand-in-hand they walked to the dumpster. Maddy threw Dad back in with the trash, and he landed with a thwap that so exhilarated her, she reached for Eleanor and kissed her on the mouth. To Maddy’s great delight, Eleanor did not pull away, did not give off freaked-out vibes of any kind. No, she looked almost proud, impressed maybe. Or just happy for Maddy’s happiness, which increased Maddy’s happiness ten-fold.

Looking into Maddy’s eyes, Eleanor said, “And tomorrow you’ll deal with your neighbor?”

“What?” said a voice. “Is something going on with one of your neighbors?”

Maddy turned and found Paul in the doorway. She jumped. “Paul!”

“Yeah, sorry,” he said. “I was just—” He held up a bag of trash.

She laughed awkwardly. “Of course.” But what were the chances that this was an innocent coincidence? That he’d be there in the middle of the night at the very same time as her and Eleanor?

Eleanor whispered, “Is this him?”

Maddy nodded.

Eleanor placed her arm around Maddy’s shoulder and, slowly, backed them both away. “Excuse me. We’re on our way out.”

Paul looked at Maddy and Eleanor, entwined, and his eyes assumed the look of someone making a discovery. Maddy gripped tight to Eleanor.

“Yeah, it’s pretty late for a garbage run,” said Paul. “But then who am I to talk?” He smiled. Maddy tried to assess whether it was genuine or threatening.

She and Eleanor continued toward the door, but just when she thought they were free, Paul’s alarmed voice stopped them. “What is this?” he yelled. “What is he doing deflated in the trash? Maddy? Do you know how he got here?”

Footsteps.

“Let’s go,” said Eleanor.

Maddy would, but she was glued in place.

“You don’t understand,” continued Paul. “I’ve tried this already.”

As he got closer, Maddy blanched and Eleanor pulled. But he was right about one thing. She didn’t understand. What could he mean? That he’d thrown the doll away and it had—what?—come back? This was too much. Spinning toward Paul, she said, “Why are you doing this to me? What kind of person would send a doll to try to scare me?”

Paul held the deflated dad in one hand and ran his other hand over his hair. “What are you talking about?” he said. “Scare you how?”

Again, Eleanor tried to pull Maddy away.

Paul yelled, “Maddy, what happened? Please tell me.” So much desperation in his voice, even Eleanor stopped.

“Is this guy for real?” she whispered.

“Please,” said Paul. “Please.”

Maddy stopped. Maybe if she bought some time, she could decipher his game. “He was outside my window,” she said. “Watching us.” She pulled Eleanor close.

Paul pressed his hands against the sides of his head. “No,” he said. “No, no, no, no, no.” Frantically he paced. “I told him not to do that.” He lifted the deflated dad and looked him in the face. “I told you not to do that, right? I told you it’s not okay, it would frighten her.”

Maddy and Eleanor stood frozen together like a double popsicle. Paul said with wide eyes, “You need to go. Let me get him upstairs to my apartment, and you stay far away from him, do you hear? Stay away.”

“I’ve had enough of this,” said Eleanor. “I’m calling the police.”

“No, please. Just let me get him away from here,” Paul begged.

Maddy’s head reeled. Did Paul actually believe he was protecting her from this thing? And then all her senses converged on one feeling: hatred. It was coming from the deflated dad, and it was all for her—for her newfound confidence, her desire to find herself after so many years of being lost. It was unmistakable. The doll blamed her, this New Maddy, for being too threatening to Paul’s masculinity, and he wanted to do her harm. “Why?” was all she could say. “Why me?”

Paul refused to answer, but Maddy had guesses. The doll couldn’t stand the fact that for the first time in her life, she refused to please someone besides herself, and that she didn’t need Paul. She looked at Eleanor, lovely Eleanor, and felt the deflated dad’s disgust at her choosing a woman over Paul. And then a great anger rose through her chest, filling her with a desire to rip the dad apart and send its remnants fleeing along Main Street. But the force of her anger felt like a warning, like the doll was confusing her thoughts. The same way it had been confusing Paul’s.

She looked at Eleanor, who was shaking her head in disbelief, and she longed to escape with her. To run away and never turn back.

But that seemed to be exactly what the doll wanted, for her to run, and New Maddy was still inside somewhere, fighting. She wouldn’t give in to him.

She imagined kissing Eleanor on the mouth, just like in the movies. Saying “Go! It’s not safe here! I’ll come for you soon,” then taking out the bad guy, jumping on her steed, and riding back to her woman a battle-scarred hero.

But what happened was Eleanor looked at her apologetically (or was it regretfully?) and walked off, leaving Maddy with the same hopeful eyes Paul had directed at her when he’d asked if they would see each other again. The difference was that Maddy thought she really might see Eleanor.

Once she was alone with Paul and the dad, she felt it stronger than ever. Even as Paul held him protectively against his chest, away from Maddy, she knew the doll wanted her to fear him, to fear Paul too. To fear the world that would always hate her now that she was refusing to bend to its will.

She turned her gaze to his shriveled face. Hatred leaking from his smile like a noxious gas, seeping right toward her. By all accounts, the intensity of it should have frightened her to her core. But New Maddy stood taller—as if she were drawing power from it like a rechargeable battery. No, she was not afraid. She knew exactly what she was capable of.

Drowning out Paul’s protests, she dug through the recycling until she found a wine bottle with a sharp, broken top, perfect for tearing through plastic. As Paul cried out in horror and tried to take it from her, New Maddy tightened her grip.

STORY:
Jennifer Savran Kelly (she/they) is a writer living in upstate New York. Her debut novel Endpapers (Algonquin, 2023) was a finalist for a 2024 Lambda Literary Award and a fall/winter 2023 Indies Introduce pick. Jen's short work has been published in Potomac Review, Black Warrior Review, Trampset, Green Mountains Review, and elsewhere. When she's not daydreaming or getting up to shenanigans with her family and two cats, she works as a production editor at Cornell University Press.

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ART:
Aubrey Hirsch is the author of Graphic Rage: Comics on Gender, Justice, and Life as a Woman in America. Her comics have appeared in Vox, TIME, The Washington Post and elsewhere. You can follow her on instagram as @aubreyhirsch.

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Next Tuesday, we’ll feature a bonus interview with Jennifer about this story.

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