Sometimes, late at night, he would turn off all the lights and sit at the dining room table. The curtains were perpetually open, giving him a wonderful view of the neighbors' house. He'd watch them walk around, picking up their newborn son and feeding him, and he'd sit still with his cold hands laid flat on the table and wonder what happened to his own happy ending. What happened to the life he was supposed to have? Why did they get what he didn't?
He watched them, through all their debates and struggles. He watched them look for a spot to put their new lamp, he watched them try to patch things up with their daughter, he watched them make breakfast. He sat there, a lot. Looking through the window and watching. At first it made him feel uneasy, spying on his neighbors like this. But now it was more routine. A need.
He now knew so much more about his neighbors. Knew things that they barely knew themselves.
He saw her making pudding. She was pregnant again.
He saw him leaving the house in the middle of the night. He was keeping secrets from his wife.
He saw the neighborhood vandal spray-paint their gate. Good.
It wasn't that he hated his neighbors or anything. He just was. Jealous. Or something. He'd like them a whole lot better if he could just scrape his own life together. Maybe they could be friends. Real friends, anyway. They already thought he was their friend. He drove their kids to school, and helped them host backyard barbecues. That was what real friends did, right? Sure. All in the name of fitting in.
Because he really was different from them, he felt it deep in his bones. Him, the divorced husband who sees his kids every other weekend. And then Them, the newlyweds, who have three kids and another one secretly on the way. He was a bit older than them, and he could still remember being their age and living their life. Maybe in a couple years they'd be just like him. Divorced. Separated from their kids. Watching their neighbors through the window.
He watched more and more and more.
He saw them building a shed. Their lives were evolving.
He saw him shove a rake through his security lights. That just pissed him off.
He saw the old man break into their house. Not his problem.
It wasn't that he was a bad neighbor or anything. He just was. Jealous. Or something. And it wasn't like they were home. He had watched the kids leave for Disney, had watched their promise be made to meet up in the Keys and have their late honeymoon. A break-in while they weren't home wouldn't do any damage. It'd just give them a little scare. Enough to wake them up and remind them that they aren't living in a dream world, this is real life. Bad things happen in real life. Not everyone gets their happy ending in real life.
But then there was her car pulling into the driveway. He wasn't a bad neighbor, he was just jealous. He stood up and ran to the window. Front row seating. He didn't know what would happen if the two found each other in there, but he knew enough about real life. He wasn't surprised at all when he heard her screaming, heard the chaos from the other house, heard the fight going on between them. He watched them disappear into the bathroom, and then just the old man reappear.
And then he smiled, for the first time in ages. A real smile, this time, not one of his cold fake ones, like his neighbor usually had. He smiled, because this time, it wasn't just him without the happy ending. This was his neighbors, his silly, carefree neighbors, who didn't know the difference between fairy-tale and nightmare, who kissed him and then punched him out, who wrecked his security lights and then pretended it was okay.
He exited his house and sat down on the front step.
He watched his neighbor come home. Raised his beer bottle towards him.
Finally.