Some people learn by listening. Others only learn when consequences hit them directly. My neighbor Owen was definitely the latter—so I made sure he got the lesson he deserved.
Every morning, my routine is the same: first, I brew a pot of coffee. Second, I look out the kitchen window to check if that silver hatchback is blocking my garage again.
And lately, it almost always is.
For the last six months—ever since my neighbor’s son moved back home—my mornings have started with a frustrated sigh, a muttered “you’ve got to be kidding me,” and a walk next door to knock on his door. Six months of him shuffling out in pajama pants, fumbling with his keys. Six months of mumbled apologies. Six months of me being late to work.
It all began the week Owen Saunders returned to his parents’ house.
I’m thirty-two, and I’ve had more than enough bad luck in love. Three serious boyfriends, three failed relationships—each one ending with me changing my Netflix password, buying new sheets, and wondering how I missed the red flags. The last one, Eric, dumped me because he “needed space.” Turns out that “space” was conveniently located in my best friend’s apartment.
After that, I swore off relationship drama. I focused on my career, invested in my home, and learned to enjoy being on my own. I work as a graphic designer for a marketing agency in the city—enough to afford my small but perfect house, decorated exactly the way I want. Teal accent wall? Done. Vintage movie posters? Framed. Ice cream for dinner? Absolutely.
My plan was simple: work hard, save money, and take myself on a solo trip to New Zealand next year. Everything was on track—until Owen’s car became a daily obstacle.
On the morning in question, I peeked through the blinds and, of course, his silver hatchback was blocking my garage again. I set down my coffee, shoved my feet into sneakers, and headed next door.
Three knocks. Footsteps. A bleary-eyed Owen opened the door.
“Oh, hey, Marissa,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Am I blocking you again?”
“As I was yesterday,” I said flatly, “and the day before that. Pretty much every day since you moved back.”
He winced. “Sorry. I’ll move it right now.”
At twenty-eight, Owen should have been starting the best years of his life. Instead, he was standing there in plaid pajama bottoms and a faded band t-shirt. Word around the neighborhood—thanks to Mrs. Daley, our resident gossip queen—was that Owen had lost his job at a tech startup and moved home to “regroup.” Supposedly, he was “helping his parents” and “figuring things out.”
If he hadn’t been sabotaging my commute every day, I might have felt sorry for him.
When he finally moved his car, I gave a tight smile. “You know, this wouldn’t keep happening if you just parked somewhere else.”
He sighed. “Where, Marissa? My dad’s car is in the garage, the street fills up by the time I get home, and—”
“That’s not my problem,” I cut him off. “Figure it out.”
But the very next morning, there it was again.
That evening, I spotted him washing his father’s car and decided enough was enough.
“Owen, we need to talk about the parking situation.”
He turned off the hose. “I know, I know. I’m sorry about this morning.”
“And yesterday morning. And the morning before that.”
“I don’t have many options,” he said, shrugging. “If I park down the block, I have to walk back through the woods after my night shift. That’s where the raccoons hang out.”
I blinked. “You work nights?”
“Security guard at the mill. Graveyard shift. It’s not glamorous, but it pays.”
“Still doesn’t give you the right to block my garage,” I said. “One more time, Owen, and there will be consequences.”
He smirked. “Consequences? What—are you going to call a tow truck?”
“Worse,” I said.
He chuckled. “You’re kind of intense, you know that?”
By the time I went back inside, I was already planning exactly what “worse” would look like.
That night, I did a little research. Turns out, the wooded preserve behind our neighborhood is full of raccoons, possums, and deer. Normally, they keep to themselves—unless tempted.
The next day, I stopped by a pet store and bought a big bag of birdseed and a bottle of “Critter Potty Training Attractant.” The cashier gave me a funny look.
“Got a new pet?” she asked.
“Something like that,” I said.
That night, when the street was quiet, I crept outside in dark clothes. Owen’s hatchback gleamed under the streetlight. I sprinkled birdseed across the hood, roof, and trunk, then dabbed the attractant on the door handles, mirrors, and around the wheels. The stench made my stomach turn.
Satisfied, I went back inside, set my alarm for 6 a.m., and went to bed.
I didn’t need the alarm.
At dawn, shouting woke me up. Peeking out, I saw Owen standing in the driveway, horrified. His car looked like it had been through a wildlife convention. Bird droppings streaked the windshield. The paint was scratched. And a plump raccoon sat proudly on the roof, munching seeds.
“Shoo! Get off!” Owen yelled. The raccoon didn’t budge.
I laughed out loud, stepped onto my porch, and called sweetly, “Car trouble?”
He turned, glaring. “Did you—? Was this—?”
“Wow,” I said innocently. “Looks like the wildlife really loves your car.”
“Marissa, I know this was you.”
“Prove it,” I said. “Maybe it’s just karma.”
He groaned. “Do you have any idea how much this will cost to fix?”
“Probably about as much as I’ve lost being late to work every morning,” I shot back.
He stared at me for a long moment. Then, to my surprise, he broke into a small smile. “You know what? I probably deserved this.”
That was not the reaction I expected. Instead of yelling or threatening me, he chuckled. “Honestly? It’s kind of genius. Message received.”
Minutes later, he came back with buckets of soapy water, a sponge, and gloves. He handed me a pair. “Help me?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Why would I help you clean up a mess you brought on yourself?”
“Because,” he said nervously, “I owe you an explanation. And… an apology.”
I crossed my arms. “Go on.”
“I didn’t just park there because of my dad’s car or the lack of spots. I… wanted an excuse to talk to you.”
I blinked. “You blocked my garage for six months—because you wanted to flirt?”
“I know it’s stupid,” he said quickly. “But when I moved back, I noticed you. The flowers on your porch, how you sing while gardening, how you helped Mrs. Daley with her groceries. I wanted to talk, but I kept chickening out. So instead, I just… apologized for the car.”
I stared. “That’s the worst flirting strategy I’ve ever heard.”
“Trust me, I know,” he said, embarrassed. “I haven’t dated since college. I figured you’d never go for a guy living with his parents.”
“You could have just brought cookies,” I muttered.
“I can’t bake,” he said. “But I make great coffee. And I promise—no more blocking your garage.”
I looked at him for a moment. He really did look sincere. And he wasn’t calling the cops about the raccoon stunt.
“Fine,” I said, taking the gloves. “I’ll help you clean. But afterward, you’re buying me coffee.”
His grin spread instantly. “Deal.”
Two hours later, after scrubbing and vacuuming birdseed out of impossible crevices, his car was mostly clean, though it still smelled faintly of raccoon.
“Coffee now?” he asked.
“Not when your car smells like that. But there’s a wing place a few blocks away. We can walk.”
He smiled. “I’d like that.”
Funny thing is, from that day on, Owen never parked in front of my garage again. These days, he usually parks in my driveway instead.