We Came to Welcome You

by Vincent Tirado

Genres: Hispanic & Latino; LGBT Lesbian; LGBT Transgender; Horror; Domestic Thrillers

Synopsis

The Other Black Girl meets Midsommar in this spine-chilling, propulsive psychological adult debut from highly acclaimed author Vincent Tirado, in which a married couple moves into a gated “community” that slowly creeps into a pervasive dread akin to the social horror of Jordan Peele and Lovecraft County—We Came to Welcome You cleverly uses the uncanny to illuminate the cultish, shocking nature of systemic racism.

Where beauty lies, secrets are held…ugly ones.

Sol Reyes has had a rough year. After a series of workplace incidents at her university lab culminates in a plagiarism accusation, Sol is put on probation. Dutiful visits to her homophobic father aren’t helping her mental health, and she finds her nightly glass of wine becoming more of an all-day—and all-bottle—event. Her wife, Alice Song, is far more optimistic. After all, the two finally managed to buy a house in the beautiful, gated community of Maneless Grove.

However, the neighbors are a little too friendly in Sol’s opinion. She has no interest in the pushy Homeowners Association, their bizarrely detailed contract, or their never-ending microaggressions. But Alice simply attributes their pursuit to the community motto: “Invest in a neighborly spirit”…which only serves to irritate Sol more.  

Suddenly, a number of strange occurrences—doors and stairs disappearing, roots growing inside the house—cause Sol to wonder if her social paranoia isn’t built on something more sinister. Yet Sol’s fears are dismissed as Alice embraces their new home and becomes increasingly worried instead about Sol’s drinking and manic behavior. When Sol finds a journal in the property from a resident that went missing a few years ago, she realizes why they were able to buy the house so easily…

Through Sol’s razor-sharp tongue and macabre sense of humor, Tirado explores the very real pressures to assimilate with one’s surroundings to “survive,” while also asking the question: Is it survival when you’re no longer your true self? Because in Maneless Grove, either you become a good neighbor—or you die.

 

Release date: September 3, 2024

Publisher: HarperCollins

Print pages: 384

Sample

The Moving

When the gates parted and the truck drove into the quiet community, Sol only had one thought: Maneless Grove was exactly like the brochure.

The houses were painted the kind of pastel yellow that didn’t attempt to assault the eyes, but also wasn’t dim enough to recall the image of an infant’s spittle. It was pleasant—a word Sol hated. Carefully manicured lawns, which barely stood taller than an inch, welcomed Sol and her wife into their new home—no, their new life.

Even the clouds parted to let down a heavenly ray of sunshine.

It was the kind of place that put the brochure to shame, actually. And that was rare. Sol’s eyes jumped from tree to passing tree. Every few feet was another one planted into the sidewalk, medium-size in thickness but nearly as tall as the homes behind it. The white bark caught her attention—she’d never seen trees like this before.

Alice reached out to grip Sol’s arm and a surge of energy jolted her.

“I can’t believe it,” Alice whispered. “We’re here.”

As Sol followed the moving truck in her own car through the community, she caught brief glimpses of the people who lived in such an impossibly perfect place. A group of middle-aged white women descended upon the sidewalk in a brisk formation, garbed in different styles of athleisure suits from the same name brand. A balding man was checking his mailbox with all the gusto of a divorcé. The truck in front of them stopped short as a self-absorbed teenager crossed the street. While the professional movers yelled from their cab, the pale teen barely noticed, too engrossed in whatever music his headphones were blaring or what was on the screen of his phone.

They moved on, and Sol held back a smug grin. As perfect as Maneless Grove looked, there was no such thing as perfect people. At least she had that to look forward to.

Alice hummed. “So . . . what do you think?”

“It’s . . . nice.” Before the distracted teen, she was actually thinking it was too nice. Like it was all a setup and any moment now, they were going to roll up to one of those prank camera crews that was going to livestream their reaction to the distressing news they didn’t actually buy a house but rather a landfill or an abandoned penitentiary.

Okay, that’s never happened in the history of the world. But Sol’s imagination ran on the premise that if anything bad could happen, it would happen to her. Good things weren’t just good things—they were an omen, a warning that the other shoe would drop soon.

From the corner of her eye, Sol watched Alice give a curt nod. The gesture annoyed her, but she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from

snapping.

Remember your therapy, she told herself. She imagined sitting across from Dr. Evans again, a man who always wore a tweed three-piece suit like he was trying to conjure up the image of a serious therapist. It was a pity that he could no longer treat her—just one month before Sol’s big move, he announced he was going to be working at another private practice in New Jersey and would not be able to telecommute for her sessions. Sol had been with him for such a long time that she was upset at this news—but only because she didn’t relish the idea of finding a new therapist, let alone getting to know one.

She could imagine Dr. Evans now. He’d click his pen while giving Sol a polite stare and a polite smile—two things that Sol found patronizing.

He’d start with a question. You don’t like it when Alice nods like that because . . . ?

Because it was never a simple nod. She was being passive aggressive.

And why do you think she’s being passive aggressive?

Because Alice wanted Sol to gush over the neighborhood, to fall so completely in love with it that Sol would never feel anxious or binge drink again, would promise to be nothing but light and love and joy and . . .

You’re assuming things about your wife. What did we say about that?

It only created disappointment at best and resentment at worst.

So then why don’t you just ask her?

Sol sighed. Catching her wife’s gaze, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

The words came out like she was chewing gravel. Alice sat silently for so long that Sol hoped she hadn’t heard her at all.

Finally, Alice replied, “You don’t seem . . . happy.”

“It’s just a lot for me, okay?” Sol’s eyes could’ve burned through the back of the truck the way she was staring, willing for it to stop sooner rather than later. “Moving is a lot of work. It’s stressful. And I’m not good with new places, you know that. I just don’t want to jinx things.”

Her wife snorted.

“What?”

“For a scientist, you’re so weirdly superstitious.” Alice patted Sol’s leg. Sol froze and Alice clearly immediately realized that was the wrong thing to say. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. I promise. You’ll be back at work soon, I’m sure of it.”

And what if I’m not?

The truck slowed to a stop. They were finally here.

“I’m going to let the movers in,” Sol announced. All too eager to get away from the tense situation, she jogged away from the car and up to the front door.

Right off, Sol noticed a difference between this house and all of the others. The paint wasn’t just dull, there were light streaks running through it as if it had recently been hit with acid rain. The grass was much taller too, spilling over to the concrete path leading up to the house. Every single home on the block had one of those white-bark trees stationed out front, right at the corner where the lawn and fence met the sidewalk. But theirs had no such tree. Just an overgrown lawn.

Still, it was stunning. Larger than their old apartment and even more importantly, it was owned by them. The details didn’t matter. A home is home is a home.

Can’t believe we could actually afford this. Though it didn’t show on her face, the excitement made Sol’s stomach flip. I’m a homeowner

 now.

Sol unlocked the door. “Just . . . put everything in the living room unless we need you to bring it upstairs,” she instructed the movers, who were right behind her.

“Will do,” replied one of the bulkier men. His name tag said randal, and Sol watched as he started with the wooden chairs while his partner brought in boxes.

Sol made her way to the back of the truck to see what she could help bring in. That’s when she felt it—eyes, burrowing into her. She turned around quickly.

Movement at a window from across the street confirmed her suspicions.

Someone was watching her.

Don’t be so paranoid.

Sol rubbed the back of her neck and took in deep breaths. While caution is good, not everyone is out to get you, Dr. Evans would’ve said. Instead of expecting every flag to be red, look for flags that are your favorite color.

What he meant was she should try to look for more positive experiences rather than always expecting negative ones. It was an exercise that still felt odd to her but, again, if she was paying for therapy, she should at least try it.

The street stretched on in such a straight line it eventually met with the sky on the horizon. Aside from the shining sun, there were more of the small trees she’d seen when driving in placed equally distant from each other, going all the way down the end of the street. They were lush—a dark green with hints of a crisp orange trying to push itself through. Nearing fall had that effect, but Sol was surprised to see not a single leaf on the ground anywhere. In fact, she couldn’t remember any littering the streets while she drove in.

She sighed. “It’s too perfect.” Then she laughed at the absurdity of such a statement.

Back at the truck, Sol carefully chose a nightstand to lift over her shoulder and bring into the house. Yes, they’d paid for the movers, but she had to do something. Especially if it meant not having to talk with Alice at the moment. She loved her wife, but was there anything more aggravating than having someone dismiss your concerns?

I’m not being superstitious, she thought, walking up to the door. I’m just . . . cautious. There’s nothing wrong with that. She entered her new home.

The difference between the inside and outside was staggering.

An unbearable heat immediately descended upon her once she stepped over the threshold into darkness. Stifling. The darkness itself was oppressive—as if the sun couldn’t bear to let any of its precious light pierce too far into the home. Sol reached for the nearest light switch but flicking it did nothing.

“Ah, shit,” she muttered.

Alice suddenly appeared behind Sol. “What’s wrong?”

“Jesus!” Sol breathed, clutching her chest. “You scared me!”

She felt Alice move beside her and flick the same switch. Again, it did nothing.

“Might just be the lightbulb,” Alice noted. “Or maybe the fuse is out?”

Sol put down the nightstand. She squinted into the darkness and only saw the vague outlines of furniture the movers had dumped in the living room. “I’ll check the fuse first. Do you know where it might be?”

“Kitchen maybe?” Her wife shrugged, then laughed. “Or really anywhere.”

“Didn’t you come here for a house tour a few months ago?”

“You mean the house tour that you were supposed to join me on?” Alice’s voice traveled from somewhere Sol couldn’t see—and then there was light. Alice stood at the living room windows farther into the house. She pulled the curtains farther apart, letting in sun, and wiped her hands on her jeans.

Between all the moments when they bickered, when Sol was so tightly wound she could pop, and Alice was not feeling at all patient—there were moments like this, when Sol watched sunlight drape around her wife and became just a little softer for it. Alice was not much shorter than Sol, with a long torso and hair that was always cut right around her shoulders, just to be pulled back into a rubber band. Despite how Alice complained about her own perceived flaws, her wife was much more careful about her appearance than Sol ever could be. Alice attributed it to her being Korean, needing to keep a stylish wardrobe and being particular about her skincare routine. Either way, there was no doubt she was stunning.

Whereas Sol was the opposite. She wore the same oversize button-down shirts, faded from constant use, and only ever washed her face with soap and water. She liked to think she made up for her deficiencies in other ways, like showing up to a house tour when she said she would. (She didn’t.)

Not that she was without cause. The last few months flashed through Sol’s mind. A constant circle of anxiety bad enough to ruin her appetite, lack of sleep, and yet another depression that kept her rooted to the bed. During that time, Alice couldn’t force Sol to take a sip of water if she tried, let alone go on a house tour.

Dust particles floated in the sunbeams between them. Her wife practically glowed.

“You look beautiful,” Sol said. “This place suits you.”

Alice looked over to her and smiled. “It suits you, too, jagi.”

Her expression softened as she used the Korean pet name. A good sign. She took Sol’s hand, squeezing it gently. While Alice wasn’t pale by a long shot, her soft bronze skin seemed far lighter contrasted with Sol’s deep brown complexion.

“Things might not be perfect, but it will get better,” said her wife. “We look out for each other—we always have. And now we have this beautiful house. The least we can do is try and make it work.”

What Alice called “better” was really just a distraction. A yearlong string of tense work incidents were buried in the back of Sol’s mind and she couldn’t help remembering there was currently a loaded gun pointed at her entire career. The house was a distraction, something to make her say, Well, at least I’m a homeowner now. Everything is hunky-dory.

The problem was that Sol just didn’t do silver linings. She was still every bit the twitchy, paranoid person who couldn’t sleep without downing a bottle and a half of wine or staying up until four a.m. before passing out on the couch. She wasn’t as positive that a change of location would change all that.

Looking at her hopeful wife, she breathed deeply. “I’ll try.”

“Good.” Alice smiled. Then she pulled Sol toward the staircase on the other side of the living room. “Now, come on. I know I showed you pictures of this place, but they really didn’t do it justice.”

“Shouldn’t we help bring all of our things in first? I think those guys start to charge by the hour after the first two.”

“Sol. We can afford it, so don’t worry.”

It was hard not to—money was always going to be a thing for her. Even holding a PhD and working in molecular research was hardly enough to bring in any significant salary. Her wife, on the other hand, worked a six-figure job in marketing at a fancy tech company—something that went over Sol’s head completely. The difference between their paychecks did not make life easier. Sol hated feeling like a mooch.

She trudged after Alice, noticing the way the floor creaked at certain steps and how silent it was at others. Her imagination was running again. What if the house had termites and that’s what caused the uneven stability in the floorboards? What if some part of it were weakened enough that it snapped and they fell straight through? Alice assured her there were safety inspections done long before the house could be put on the market, but Sol still cursed her past self for not doing the initial house tour with Alice.

The second story had less actual floor space, in a way that also irritated Sol. The staircase that led up into it shared the same ceiling as the first floor. Had the builders segmented it, Sol and Alice would have had just as much of a spacious upper room that could have been used as an office space. Instead, the staircase connected to the center of a long hallway that functioned like a balcony. Both ends of the hallway led to windows, with a few doors adjacent to them.

Stop being negative, you’re a homeowner now, she tried telling herself. Be happy, be excited. Alice can tell when you’re anxious. Don’t let her know you’re anxious.

“This is going to be our bedroom!” Alice announced.

Triumphantly, she threw open the last door on the right. But Sol didn’t feel any sense of wonder. Rather, the room was once again dark and stuffy, something that made Sol feel claustrophobic. 

“I’m going to go find the fuse box,” said Sol with an awkward smile. “Maybe this place will look less gloomy if we can actually see.”

“It’s not that bad!” Alice laughed. The sound lifted the ever-present weight from Sol’s shoulders. It wasn’t that she just loved and trusted her wife, but that part of the reason she did love her wife was because her optimism wasn’t unrestrained. If Alice thought something could be done, then that usually meant it could. She was the opposite of Sol in this way. Where Sol saw problems and impossibility, Alice found ways to introduce joy.

Sol paused at the bottom step in the living room, finding a new problem. The living room was becoming cluttered faster than she anticipated. It was probably a bad idea to tell the movers to just throw everything in the living room, but she wanted to be done with the whole business of “moving” as soon as possible. Sol always hated moving. She had done it so many times as a kid—nine times before her eighteenth birthday—that it stopped feeling exciting. In fact, it felt more like a chore.

And the memories it brought up—God. Each time Sol and her family moved to a new apartment, a crowd of church ladies would accompany them with rosaries in their hands and a violent prayer on their tongues.

They would move throughout the home slowly, cursing all evil things and demanding they leave before the new family could settle down. It was to keep the family safe, they told her, and very important to do before moving into a new home. But all it did was serve Sol a new flavor of anxiety—the fear that anything could be hiding in the corners of each wall.

Sol took in a deep breath.

This is the last time, she reminded herself as she grabbed a box of old research journals destined for the basement. It would be the last official “move” for . . . well, hopefully, a very long time. Sol knew of those people who always spoke of their “starter homes” or made “flipping houses” their entire career—she didn’t know how they could stomach it. What was so good about uprooting yourself every few years?

Sol carefully nudged the growing collection of boxes and furniture apart to make an easier path to the basement. The door needed a few good pushes before it would open.

Sol stood at the top of the stairs and chewed on her bottom lip.

There was darkness that was bearable and then there was this. A hollow abyss where light got lost. It might as well have been a black hole.

Or another omen.

No, it’s not. She sniffed, feeling her shoulders tensing already. There was no need to panic. It was just a basement.

Juggling the box on her hip, Sol reached into her pocket for her phone and aimed its flashlight at the floor. As long as she took it one step

 at a time, she would be at the bottom soon enough. The last thing she needed to worry about was tripping over her feet in the dark.

Knowing me, I’d trip and break my neck. Imagination sprinting, she could already see her funeral. A wailing Alice. A sparse audience watching as her coffin was lowered into the ground. Maybe one or two colleagues would make the time to show up—but she doubted it. Not after how her last few months had been.

Don’t think about it, she thought. But it was too late. Her vision became like a fishbowl, and Sol had to stop and breathe for a few seconds before it went back to normal.

You didn’t do anything wrong, Sol reminded herself. You didn’t do anything wrong.

She knelt down on the steps, squeezing her phone in her hand. Sol prayed that Alice wouldn’t find her in the dark, unable to breathe and panicking about nothing in particular. At best, Alice would call an ambulance. At worst, Alice would blame herself for pushing Sol to do something new and outside of her comfort zone.

And as much as it brought up unpleasant memories and emotions, this was going to be good for her. Owning a home was something she and Alice had always wanted, and now they did! Why couldn’t she just be happy about it? What was so wrong with her that she was always looking for an excuse to be miserable? Maybe it was because it was what she was used to. A bad habit, you could say.

After their second anniversary of dating, when they had just graduated from school, Alice revealed how cool Sol always seemed to her—so put together, responsible, down-to-earth, and on top of it all, dedicated to her field. To Alice, Sol was always calm and collected. But even then, on the inside, she was fraying at the ends, juggling familial duties and her own personal secrets.

And Sol wanted to be that cool and down-to-earth version of herself that Alice thought she was. Alice deserved a wife like that. Not . . . not whatever she was right now.

Sol waited until the tension in her stomach lessened and the anxiety attack had passed before continuing down the steps. She carefully put down the box of old journals against the wall and froze for a moment. In the dark, she was certain she heard something rustling, low and indiscernible. Like a fly that was buzzing just within earshot. Or was it white noise? A static-like vibration that was impossible to make out?

For a moment, the noise became clearer—and it sounded like whispering. Was there a radio left behind by the previous owners? Strangely, the farther down the basement stairs she went, the duller the noise became. Until it was nearly gone.

Well, even if it is a bad habit, at least I’m trying to be better for Alice. Sol sniffled again, resolving to put it out of her mind.

Then she went on the hunt for the fuse box.

Company

If the most stressful part about moving was packing, the second most stressful part would be the unpacking. Sol wouldn’t get that far though, not now. Not when she had to designate boxes filled with clothes to go to the bedroom and push the couch to the far corner of the living room. The coffee table was the easiest part, of course, and just as useful because Sol could stack other boxes on top of it to clear up space.

Things like toiletries obviously went to the bathroom, containers of books lined the wall where their bookshelf would be, and the box wrapped tight with duct tape—not because it was fragile, but because it contained a few of their sex toys they didn’t want to spill out if the movers dropped the box—needed to be quickly shoved in a closet until they were ready to place them someplace more appropriate. Or until they got in the mood—whichever came first.

Sol was so fixated on the task of clearing the living room by any means necessary that she almost didn’t notice how drenched with sweat she was. The house did its best to keep in the heat, it seemed. She stopped in the kitchen after placing a box of plates down on the island and flapped her shirt a few times to cool herself down. It barely made a difference.

“Thank you again!” Though Alice’s voice was muffled by the kitchen wall, Sol could still make out the words.

Through the kitchen window, Sol watched her wife wave off the movers as they drove away. Her hair billowed in the wind, and the grass was pressed flat against the ground as though a force lay on it. And yet behind the open window, Sol felt nothing.

No stir of wind, not even a breeze. Beads of sweat rolled down her neck, and without a second thought, she went to the fridge and stuck her head inside the freezer. It was only beginning to cool since she flipped the fuse switch, but it was much better than the rest of the house.

All this damn hair . . . Sol gathered her curls in a tight fist and pulled them up from her shoulders. Her hair was so thick, heat trapped itself within each coil. Maybe it was time for a trim—or a big cut. Sol always wondered how she’d look with an undercut.

“Sol, where are you?” Alice yelled. Soft footsteps came into the kitchen and stopped immediately, before a bout of laughter came.

“What on earth are you doing?”

Sol glanced at her wife over her shoulder. “Just chilling.”

Alice laughed again, then wrapped her arms around Sol’s torso and gently pulled her out of the empty fridge.

“It’s ridiculously humid,” Sol complained, letting her hair fall back down. She twisted herself around to face Alice. “Can’t you feel it?”

Alice raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you from the Dominican Republic?”

“First, my parents are from D.R. I was born here. Second, do I look like I’m dressed for the Dominican Republic? No, I’m dressed for Connecticut.”

The flickering smile on Alice’s face made Sol feel lighter. They still could poke fun at each other, tease each other like they did when they were still dating.

The first time Sol and Alice had met was in undergrad at Yale. They were roommates, in fact. Sol was incredibly introverted, and Alice

was a social butterfly, but they were very respectful of each other, never clashing over a dirty room or unwelcome guests. One time, Sol accidentally walked in on Alice changing and though she turned away, face heating up quickly, it was the first time Sol wondered why Alice never did bring a guy over, because the girl was seriously beautiful.

Maybe it was out of respect for her, Sol thought, but it was something she thought time and time again, when Alice would come home after a long night of drinking with friends. The way Alice would fall on her bed, with her miniskirt riding up, made Sol want to dunk her head in cold water. Instead, she pulled her blanket over her, left water and painkillers on the nightstand, and turned out the light.

Sol never would have imagined in a million years how Alice could have felt toward her. She never would have thought she could be that lucky.

A loud knock at the door brought Sol back to the here and now.

“Did the movers forget something?” she muttered, moving to the kitchen window. “You tipped them, right?”

“Yes,” Alice said, moving away from Sol.

Instead of the two bulky men of few words, Sol saw three people at their front door milling about awkwardly. Great, that must have been the nosiest of their new neighbors.

Alice sped to the door, but Sol decided to stay put and watch from afar.

Of the three, a man stood far off, beyond the shade of the house, and at first glance seemed bored. The black suit with blue shirt and no tie combination made him look casually distinguished, as if he wanted others to know he was a businessman but that he didn’t take himself too seriously. His eyes were glued to the roof like he was watching for something that he was sure to catch.

The second member of the welcome brigade was an older woman, and she stood much closer to the house. She appeared short and plump with a head of hair that could only be described as “mushroomlike.” Her wrinkles were prominent, and there

was something about the way she looked over the length of the house that made Sol even more uncomfortable.

A third woman with sleek black hair stood right at the edge of the door. It was subtle, the way she shifted from foot to foot, dancing on her toes anxiously. It was odd the way the three were clearly together but didn’t act like it.

They only came alive when Sol heard Alice open the front door.

“Hello! I’m Teresa,” the sleek-haired woman said. She gave a genuine smile, and the others followed suit.

The thing about being Black and butch was that each of those traits already made certain people nervous as it was. And their nervousness rubbed off on Sol. It made her overly cautious of the way she stood (not relaxed enough), the way her smile shifted into a neutral line (too aggressive), and even the way she spoke (short, curt, deadpan). She was a deer in headlights in most social situations. So maybe it was better for her to hang back?

If no one ever sees you, they’ll assume you’re suspicious, her anxiety spoke. And a suspicious Black person is the worst kind of Black person to them.

Sol decided to join Alice at the door.

“You must be the new neighbors!” the woman chirped. Gesturing at the others, she added, “This is Hope, and that’s Eugene.” The pair hurried closer. “We’re on the board of the Homeowners Association and just wanted to welcome you to the community.”

Sol had been right. This welcome brigade was definitely the nosiest of their new neighbors.

Teresa extended a confident hand, and Alice did her one better—she shook hands with each of them. Even Eugene, who tried to stay away from the shadows, was forced to step in a few feet. Was it Sol’s imagination or was that a look of fear in his eyes? Sol glanced at Alice, wondering if she noticed.

“It’s so exciting to have a Yale researcher here with us!” Teresa said, still locking eyes with Alice.

Sol’s forced smile fell flat. Pushing aside the fact that they assumed it would be the Asian person with a higher education and not the Black person—how the hell did they know what Sol did for a living?

“Oh . . .” Alice’s smile wavered. “No, that would be my wife, Sol. I’m in marketing, actually.” She gestured to Sol.

Sol gave a wry smile. “Hi.” And fuck you.

Teresa was taken aback. “Sorry, we shouldn’t have assumed . . .”

“It’s okay.” It’s not. “Don’t worry about it.” Watch your fucking step.

“So, you’re Sol?” Hope, the mushroom-haired woman, tried to ease the tension. “It’s nice to meet you. Wow, Sol Song—what a fun name!”

“We actually didn’t change either of our names,” Alice jumped in, giving Sol a moment to recover.

“Really? Not even going to hyphenate?” Hope frowned, as if the thought had never occurred to her that some married couples actually preferred to keep their last names. For Alice, it was mainly a cultural thing—Korean women kept their maiden names unless they were trying to assimilate. For Sol, it was a matter of pride attached to having a PhD. To be called Dr. Song instead of Dr. Reyes made it feel like it was less hers.

“We just preferred not to,” Sol said.

“O-oh. Hm.” Hope’s brow furrowed. The awkward silence that followed had a layer of judgment over it. Maybe the older woman couldn’t fathom why the younger generation didn’t care for the tradition of changing their last names in marriage. Whatever—it wasn’t Sol’s job to make her understand.

Just pretend you’re not offended. Sol tried to maintain a neutral expression, only to further upset herself. Why did she have to be graceful when Hope’s low opinion showed itself on her face?

“Of course,” Teresa cut in. She seemed to have collected herself, already forgetting about her faux pas. “Sorry to bother you, we know

you probably have a ton to unpack and organize, we just wanted to formally welcome you to the neighborhood and give you a little gift.”

Teresa stepped aside so that Hope could hand over a small woven basket with two bottles of wine and a set of candles. Sol’s eyes widened at the sight of it. Maybe there was forgiveness in Hope’s future after all.

Sol glanced to the side, quickly reading Alice’s face. Alice maintained a blank expression, polite smile, but her eyes, Sol noticed, were doing a quick calculation, and Sol knew it was about the bottles.

Sol always liked drinking—she joked it was a Dominican trait, something most families did together while watching telenovelas or sports or while sitting in the park, watching clouds go by. And perhaps at one time, Alice would joke that Sol would fit right in with her family, as drinking with Koreans was something of an extreme sport. But what first was a way to calm her nerves became the only way Sol could keep from losing her head in the last few months.

Any time she wasn’t at work was spent with a bottle in hand. And Alice didn’t like it. Sol wanted to believe she was fine and made noises to her wife in that regard. The two compromised in that they both knew Sol would be fine as long as she had a better handle on her bad habit. But it wasn’t actually a solution to what Alice thought was a problem and Sol thought was just the natural order of things.

So while the wine bottles were a definite temptation . . . well, it was still a gift. And it would be rude not to accept the gift, right?

“Wow, this is amazing,” Alice said, probably thinking the same thing and taking the basket.

“I made the basket and candles,” Hope said, beaming. “And our community has a very good relationship with a winery so we often get much more exclusive drinks.” Sol felt her face heat up with embarrassment when Hope winked at her.

“Wow, that’s . . . nice.” She stiffened. How much did they know about her? They couldn’t know that, right?

“I’m sure you’ve already heard of our community’s motto!” Hope went on.

Ah, right. The motto. Invest in a neighborly spirit. Sol had heard it so many times throughout the application phase, she could swear it was tattooed on her psyche. The idea was to always cultivate good habits of checking in on your neighbors and making sure everyone was taken care of. It was, again . . . oddly very nice.

“Yeah, Nadine actually told me about the motto,” Alice said. “We couldn’t

agree more.”

Sol stopped herself from gagging. Nadine. One of Alice’s coworkers who’d been trying very hard to befriend Sol by inviting her and Alice out on a number of double dates. She was so over-the-top it actually worked against her favor, and Sol was wary of her as a result.

And yet, here they were, moving into the same neighborhood as Nadine. Last Sol heard, Nadine was on maternity leave. She hoped that motherhood would keep her too busy from gracing their home, but it looked like other people were happy to fill in for her.

Teresa practically beamed, like she had come up with the motto herself. “We’re glad to hear that. Not everyone is amenable to our way of living here, but Nadine assured us you would be ideal candidates.”

Sol’s eyebrow twitched. “Way of living” sounded like they were swingers or part of some extreme religious faction. Maybe even a pyramid scheme.

“Speaking of, inside that basket, you’ll find our HOA agreement. You can just sign it whenever you’re ready and hand it to any one of us within the next week.” Teresa chuckled.

And that was the sound of the other shoe dropping. Sol held back a snort. Asking to sign some legally binding agreement “whenever they’re ready” and have it back by the end of the week was nothing short of contradictory. Like they’d already been determined to join something as controlling as a homeowners association.

“Oh, we’re still not sure about joining . . .” Alice’s voice faltered. She glanced back at Sol, who froze for a split second. Her wife’s expression said, Feel free to jump in anytime!

Sol cleared her throat, putting all eyes on her. “We were under the impression that it’s not required. You know, to join the association,” she clarified, after a moment. The stunned look on everyone’s face made her feel like she was small again. Did she say something wrong?

“Well, no, it’s—it’s not a requirement,” Hope stammered. “But we would strongly suggest joining as there are a number of benefits to doing so.”

“Right, so many benefits,” Teresa continued, furrowing her brow as she thought up examples. “The fines are . . . much less, if you do join . . . and er—”

“We have special connections with an, um, exterminator who gives us pesticides at a discount!” Eugene jumped in. His cheeks were red with determination. “And if there’s ever a natural disaster event that damages the house, we’re more than happy to chip in to pay for repairs.”

Doesn’t homeowner’s insurance normally cover that? ...