They Share a Wall and Hatred for Each Other, Until the Snowstorm Traps Them and the CEO Reveals All
A Conflict of Walls and Wills
The crash from next door at 2:00 in the morning made Mara Garrison sit straight up in bed. Her heart pounded as the sound of breaking glass echoed through the paper-thin wall. She grabbed her phone and sent a furious text to the building manager for the third time that week. She knew it would go unanswered like all the others.
The man living in apartment 4B had been the bane of her existence for six months. Ever since he moved into the historic building in downtown Portland, he apparently decided that normal human hours were optional. Mara pressed her pillow against her face and screamed into it.
She had an important presentation tomorrow at the architectural firm where she worked, and she needed sleep. She needed real, actual sleep, not the fractured, anxiety-ridden half-consciousness she had been surviving on since her neighbor arrived.
She knew exactly who was responsible for the noise: James Quinn, CEO of some boutique hotel chain that was expanding throughout the Pacific Northwest. She had looked him up after their first confrontation in the hallway when he had barely glanced at her.
His assistant had apologized for the noise from the movers. Then, the drilling started at 6:00 in the morning right as Mara’s alarm went off. She lay there staring at the ceiling, listening to the relentless mechanical whine that seemed to bore directly into her skull.
That was it. She was done being polite, done sending messages through intermediaries, and done pretending that being civil would somehow make him care about anyone but himself. She threw on jeans and a sweater, not bothering with a bra or shoes, and stormed into the hallway.
Her knock on his door was aggressive enough that her knuckles hurt. The drilling stopped and footsteps approached. The door swung open. James Quinn stood there in athletic pants and nothing else, his dark hair disheveled and a power drill in one hand.
He was tall, probably 6’2″, with broad shoulders and the kind of build that suggested he actually used an expensive gym membership. His jaw was sharp and dusted with stubble. His eyes were an unsettling shade of gray that seemed to look right through her.
“What?” he said, his voice rough with irritation.
“What?”
“Are you seriously asking me what?”
Mara felt her face flush with anger.
“It’s 6:00 in the morning on a Tuesday and you’re drilling into the wall!”
“I’m hanging shelves. It’s after 6:00, which means it’s within the building’s acceptable noise hours.”
He said it like he was reading from a manual, completely unbothered by her fury.
“Acceptable noise hours don’t mean you should immediately start construction the second the clock strikes 6:00. Normal people ease into their mornings. Normal people have consideration for their neighbors.”
“Normal people don’t sleep past 6:00 on a weekday.”
He shifted the drill to his other hand, and she could see the muscles in his forearm flex.
“If you have a problem with the building policies, take it up with management.”
“I’ve taken it up with management multiple times about the music at midnight, the visitors who slam doors at 3:00 a.m., and the furniture moving at all hours. You’re like a one-man wrecking crew over here!”
Something flickered across his face, too quick to read.
“I have insomnia. I do things when I can’t sleep. I stay within the noise ordinance rules. If you’re such a light sleeper, maybe you should invest in earplugs.”
“If you have insomnia, maybe you should invest in therapy instead of making everyone around you miserable.”
The words came out harsher than she intended, but she was too tired and too angry to care. His jaw tightened.
“Thanks for the advice. Was there anything else? Or can I get back to my morning?”
“Just try for once to remember that other people exist in the world.”
She turned on her heel and walked back to her apartment. She slammed her door hard enough that she hoped it rattled something on his side of the wall. The presentation went poorly. Mara kept losing her train of thought.
Her boss, a kind woman named Patricia, pulled her aside afterward with concern in her eyes.
“Is everything okay at home? You seem exhausted.”
“Neighbor problems,” Mara said, trying to smile. “Nothing I cannot handle.”
But it did not get better. Over the next two weeks, the noise continued. Sometimes it was legitimately during acceptable hours, and Mara had to admit he was technically within his rights. Other times it crossed the line into inconsiderate territory.
She left notes, sent emails, and even tried knocking on his door during the day once, but he was never home or never answered. Their paths crossed again in the mail room on a Friday evening in early December.
Mara was collecting a package when James walked in, dressed in a sharp charcoal suit. He moved to his mailbox without acknowledging her presence.
“You know,” Mara said, unable to help herself, “you could at least say hello when we’re in the same room. Basic human decency and all that.”
He turned to look at her, his expression unreadable.
“Hello, Mara.”
The fact that he knew her name startled her.
“How do you know my name?”
“It’s on your mailbox, same as mine is on mine.”
He pulled out a stack of envelopes and began sorting through them.
“Right. Well, since we’re talking, maybe we could discuss your schedule. Figure out times when you could try to keep things quieter.”
“I’m not home on a schedule. I work irregular hours.”
He said it without looking at her, his attention on a thick envelope that looked important.
“What kind of CEO works irregular hours? Don’t you have people to do things for you?”
Now he did look at her, and there was something cold in his gaze.
“I don’t expect you to understand my work, just like I don’t ask you about yours.”
“I’m an architect,” she said defensively. “I design buildings. I work regular hours because that is what professionals do.”
“Good for you.”
He tucked his mail under his arm and walked toward the door.
“You are unbelievable!” Mara called after him. “Absolutely unbelievable!”
He paused at the door with his back to her. For a moment, she thought he might turn around and say something, maybe even apologize. Instead, he just pushed through the door and disappeared into the stairwell.
That weekend, Mara complained to her best friend, Sophie, over coffee. Sophie listened patiently while Mara recounted every grievance, every sleepless night, and every rude encounter.
“Have you considered that maybe he is dealing with something?” Sophie asked gently. “You said he mentioned insomnia. That can be really serious.”
“Then he should see a doctor, not torture his neighbors.”
“Maybe you should try being nicer to him. Kill him with kindness and all that.”
Mara stirred her latte aggressively.
“He doesn’t deserve kindness. He deserves to be launched into the sun.”
Sophie laughed.
“You’re so dramatic when you’re sleep-deprived. Look, maybe try one more time to have a real conversation with him. Not an argument—an actual conversation.”
“I tried that. He walked away.”
“Try harder. Bring cookies or something. My mom always says you can’t hate someone when they’re offering you homemade cookies.”
Mara did not bring cookies, but she did make an effort the next time she saw James. It was Monday evening, and she was coming home from work exhausted, carrying takeout Thai food. He was unlocking his door as she reached the landing.
She took a breath before speaking.
“Hey,” she said, trying to sound friendly. “Can we maybe start over? I think we got off on the wrong foot.”
He looked at her for a long moment.
“What do you want?”
“I just thought maybe we could be civil. We’re neighbors. We don’t have to be enemies. I’m not trying to be your enemy; I’m just trying to live my life.”
“At the expense of everyone else living theirs.”
He paused, his hand on the door frame.
“You know what? You’ve made your feelings about me very clear. You think I’m selfish and inconsiderate. Fine.”
“You’re entitled to your opinion, but I’m not going to apologize for existing in my own home.”
“I’m not asking you to apologize for existing. I’m asking you to be aware that other people exist too.”
“I am aware. I’m just not changing my entire life to accommodate someone who has decided to hate me regardless of what I do.”
He stepped inside and closed the door. Not quite a slam, but definite enough to make his point. Mara stood in the hallway, her Thai food getting cold, and felt tears of frustration prick her eyes.
She hated that he could affect her like this. She hated that she let him get under her skin. She went into her apartment and ate her dinner alone, listening to the sound of his footsteps through the wall.
