Catching the public bus, Dick slumped into the last available seat near the back. The stench of cheap cologne and fast food clung to the air, but it didn't bother him. He tapped his foot, restless. Jen. That smug prick on the bike. His hands clenched the railing as he recalled the condescending smirk on the guy's face. Another one to add to the list. Perhaps he should make Jen his too.
As the bus pulled into his stop, Dick stood, adjusting his hoodie as he stepped off. The streets near his home were quiet as he made his way through the neighborhood.
Just as he was passing in front of the neighbor's house, a voice called out, stopping him in his tracks.
"Dick! Is that you?"
He froze, recognizing the voice immediately. It was Mrs. Avery—next door neighnbor and his mother's old best friend. She was standing on the front porch, a vision of soft beauty in the fading daylight. Even now, after all these years, she looked radiant. Her body was curvaceous, the kind that made men stop and stare, with wide hips that were perfectly framed by the fitted summer dress she wore. Her blonde hair, streaked with hints of silver, was pulled back into a loose ponytail that gave her a casual, motherly charm, but there was a sadness in her green eyes that hadn't been there before. Maybe it was the subtle lines on her face that hinted at stress and exhaustion, or the way she kept one arm loosely wrapped around herself, as if for protection.
"Mrs. Avery," Dick said, his voice catching as he took a step forward. He hadn't spoken to her in years—not since his mother had left. Seeing her now, he was struck by how much time had passed. Back then, she was always kind, offering him cookies and lemonade whenever he visited with his mother. She'd smile warmly, treating him like one of her own, even when the rest of the world ignored him.
But after his mom was gone, he stopped visiting. His life had spiraled, and there was no way he was going to drag anyone into that mess.
"I can't believe it's you!" Mrs. Avery's eyes widened as she took in the changes in him. She had seen him over the years, although rarely and from afar. The weight loss, the posture, the confidence—everything was different. She stepped closer, her smile growing as she wiped her hands on a towel, like she'd been doing some cleaning before she saw him. "You've grown up so much. I hardly recognized you."
"Yeah, it's been a while," Dick said, shifting awkwardly. His hands slid into his pockets as he tried to find the right words. What the hell was he supposed to say to her now?
She tilted her head, her gaze softening with a hint of concern. "You've changed. In a good way, I think. Why don't you come in for a bit? It's been too long, and I was just about to make some lemonade."
Dick hesitated. The mansion behind her looked the same as it always had—grand, sprawling, with perfectly manicured lawns and the scent of fresh flowers wafting through the air. It was a far cry from the wreck his own home had become. But Mrs. Avery... there was something different about her now. She wasn't the radiant, bubbly woman he remembered. Something felt... off.
Still, the idea of stepping back into some semblance of normalcy, even for a few minutes, tugged at him. He nodded slowly. "Yeah, I could use a drink."
"Great! Come on in," she said, motioning for him to follow. He could see her excitement, but there was something else there too—something more tired, restrained.
As they stepped inside, the familiar scent of lemon cleaner hit his nose. The house was just as he remembered—spotless, perfectly decorated with tasteful paintings and expensive furniture. Yet, there was a sense of emptiness now, a stillness that didn't belong. Mrs. Avery led him to the kitchen, where the smell of freshly baked cookies wafted through the air.
"Have a seat, Dick. I'll pour us some lemonade," she said, bustling over to the counter. He watched her as she worked, noticing the slight tension in her shoulders.
"How's your dad?" she asked as she pulled a pitcher from the fridge.
Dick shrugged. "Same as always. Busy with work."
Mrs. Avery gave a tight-lipped smile, pouring the lemonade into tall, frosted glasses. "I'm sure he is. That man's always been married to his job."
There it was—just a hint of bitterness in her voice, barely noticeable but definitely there. He remembered overhearing his mother talking about it once, how Mrs. Avery's husband was always away on business trips, leaving her alone to take care of the house and their daughters. The cracks in their marriage had been there for years, but now, standing here, Dick could see them more clearly than ever.
She handed him a glass, her fingers brushing against his for a brief moment. "Here you go, freshly squeezed."
"Thanks," he muttered, taking a sip. The lemonade was tart, just how he liked it, but even that couldn't mask the awkwardness lingering between them.
Mrs. Avery leaned against the counter, watching him with those same warm, motherly eyes he remembered. "So, how have you been, Dick? I haven't seen you around much since... well, since your mom left."
He swallowed, the words sticking in his throat. "Yeah, I've been... busy. A lot of stuff going on."
She nodded, her expression understanding. "I can imagine. It must've been hard, everything that happened. You've been through a lot."
He didn't want to talk about it, not with her. But there was something in the way she looked at him—genuine concern, something he hadn't felt from anyone in a long time. For a moment, he almost let his guard down.
"I'm doing okay now," he said instead, keeping it vague.
Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm glad to hear that. Really, I am."
A brief silence fell between them, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the wall. Dick glanced around the kitchen, noticing the small details he'd missed before—the half-empty wine glass sitting on the counter, the pile of stupid self-motivation books tucked away under a stack of magazines. Mrs. Avery had always been the picture of perfection, but now... now it was clear that something was wrong. The cracks weren't just in her marriage—they were everywhere.
"Are the girls around?" he asked, changing the subject.
"Oh, no," she said quickly, waving her hand dismissively. "Samantha's out with friends, and Taylor's... well, she's doing her thing. You know how it is at that age."
Dick nodded, even though he didn't. The truth was, he had no idea what it was like to have that kind of normal, teenage life. But he wasn't about to dwell on that.
"How about you, Mrs. Avery?" he asked, his voice softer. "You doing okay?"
She blinked, clearly not expecting the question. For a moment, her mask slipped, and he saw the weariness in her eyes—the same kind of exhaustion he felt every day. "I'm managing," she said with a tight smile. "It's been... a little lonely lately, with everyone so busy. But I'm used to it."
Dick watched her, feeling a strange pang of empathy he hadn't expected. She wasn't that perfect, untouchable figure he'd remembered from his childhood. She was just... human. Struggling. Just like him.
"I'm glad you stopped by," she added after a moment, her tone lighter. "It's nice to see a familiar face around here."
He smiled, but it felt forced. The truth was, this whole encounter felt strange, like they were both playing parts in a scene they hadn't rehearsed for. Mrs. Avery placed her glass on the counter and walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You're always welcome here, Dick."
It wasn't just politeness. He could see she really meant it. The way her fingers lingered on his shoulder, the softness in her eyes—she wasn't just saying it out of obligation. Mrs. Avery was lonely. His mother had probably been her last real friend, and when she left, she didn't just abandon Dick. She'd left Mrs. Avery behind too.
The thought twisted inside him. Dick wasn't sure if it was pity or something else, but he felt it all the same. Maybe I can spend some time here, he thought, the idea taking root.
"I appreciate it," Dick said, his voice quieter now, more genuine. "It's been a while since I've had... a normal conversation."
Mrs. Avery's smile faltered, but she didn't look away. If anything, she seemed to be studying him, seeing the changes in him more clearly now. "You're always welcome," she repeated, her tone softer this time. There was an awkward pause, but she didn't pull her hand away immediately. Instead, she gave his shoulder a light squeeze before finally stepping back toward the counter.
"Why don't you stay for dinner?" she asked, her voice almost too casual, like she didn't want to admit how much she needed the company. "I made enough for three, but... well, it looks like it's just me tonight."
"Yeah," Dick nodded. "I can stay."
Her eyes lit up for a moment, like she wasn't expecting him to agree. "Great! I'll get everything ready." She moved quickly, setting the table and pulling food from the oven. The smell of roasted chicken filled the kitchen, rich and inviting.
Dick sat down at the table, watching her work. She was efficient, graceful even. She placed the chicken on the table, along with a bowl of mashed potatoes and roasted vegetables. "It's not much, but I hope it's enough," she said, wiping her hands on a towel again, that same nervous smile flickering across her face.
Dick gave a small nod, reaching for the food. "It looks great."
After he took the first bite, Dick felt wetness on his face, something he hadn't expected. His fork hovered in midair as he blinked, trying to push down the emotion welling up inside him. He quickly wiped at his eyes, hoping Mrs. Avery wouldn't notice, but it was too late.
"Dick?" Her voice was soft, laced with concern. "What's wrong? Is it too hot?"
He shook his head, swallowing hard as he set the fork down. "No, it's not that," he muttered, forcing a half-smile. "It's just... this is the first home-cooked meal I've had since... since my mom left."
Mrs. Avery's expression softened, her hand hesitating as if she wanted to reach out but thought better of it. "Oh, Dick, I had no idea..."
"It's fine," he said quickly, cutting her off. He didn't want her pity, didn't want to turn this moment into some sob story. But the truth was, it wasn't fine. He couldn't even remember the last time someone had cooked for him, cared enough to make him feel like a human being. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the anger he usually buried deep inside flared up.
Why the hell did it take this long for him to sit at a table like this? Why did everyone else get to have these simple, human moments while he was stuck in a house full of people who despised him?
Mrs. Avery's eyes were on him, and it made him uncomfortable. Not because of judgment—she wasn't looking at him like the others did. No, this was different. Her gaze was soft, motherly.
"I'm glad you came by, Dick," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper as she sat down across from him. She picked at her own plate, not eating much, just watching him. "You know... your mom used to talk about you all the time. She was so proud of you."
Dick stiffened at the mention of his mother. "She left," he muttered bitterly, cutting into the chicken harder than necessary. The knife scraped loudly against the plate. "Doesn't seem like she was all that proud."
Mrs. Avery flinched, but she didn't back down. "She had her reasons," she said, her voice steady. "I don't know what happened between the two of you, but... she did love you. That much I know."
Dick wasn't sure how to respond to that. Part of him wanted to argue, to tell her she didn't know anything, but another part—the part that was still raw and broken—wanted to believe her. He shoved another bite of chicken into his mouth, chewing slowly as he stared at his plate. The food was good, better than anything he'd had in a long time, but it was the warmth of the moment that really hit him. It was like stepping into a memory he'd forgotten existed.
Silence fell between them for a few minutes, the only sound the quiet clink of utensils against plates. Mrs. Avery seemed content to let him eat in peace, but Dick could feel her eyes on him, studying him.
Finally, she spoke again, her voice soft but sure. "You've changed a lot, Dick."
He looked up, meeting her gaze. "Yeah," he said, shrugging as if it didn't matter. "Had to, I guess."
She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Why do you say that?"
"Because if I didn't, I'd still be that... that loser everyone trampled over," he said, a bit more sharply than he intended. He wasn't sure why he was being so honest with her. Maybe it was the food, the warmth, or just the fact that she was the first person in a long time who wasn't actively trying to tear him down.
Mrs. Avery set her fork down, folding her hands in front of her. "You were never a loser, Dick," she said quietly. "You just needed a chance to find yourself."
He snorted, shaking his head. "Yeah, well, that's easy for you to say. You weren't there when..."
He stopped himself, swallowing the rest of the sentence. He wasn't about to unload his entire life on her. It wasn't her problem, anyway.
But Mrs. Avery didn't push. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, her eyes never leaving his. "You're right. I wasn't there. But I'm here now. And if you ever need anything... even if it's just a place to talk, you know where to find me."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy and meaningful in a way Dick hadn't expected. He nodded, not trusting himself to say anything else.
They finished dinner in relative silence, the awkwardness from earlier slowly fading as they settled into a strange kind of comfort. It wasn't like the dinners he imagined other families had, filled with laughter and stories, but it was... peaceful.
Dick watched her move around the kitchen, her figure graceful even as she did something as mundane as washing dishes. She'd always been that way—effortlessly elegant, even in the smallest things. He wondered if she ever got tired of it, of keeping up appearances. It seemed like everyone around him was pretending to be something they weren't.
As she finished up, she turned to him, drying her hands on a towel. "So, what's next for you?" she asked, leaning against the counter. "You mentioned an entrance exam earlier. Are you thinking about going back to school?"
He nodded as she moved back toward the counter, preparing a quick dessert. "Yeah, I took the exam today," he said, glancing down at the table. "I'll probably pass."
Mrs. Avery paused for a second, her back to him. "That's wonderful, Dick," she said, her voice soft but warm. "It sounds like you're really turning things around."
He didn't reply right away, just watched her. Mrs. Avery meant it. She was genuinely happy for him, and it hit him harder than he expected. The warmth, the food, her presence—it was everything he'd been starved of, and the realization stung.
"You made all this yourself?" Dick asked, his voice quieter, glancing at the dessert she was pulling together. A small plate of cookies, still warm, placed in front of him.
She smiled as she turned to him, setting the plate down gently. "I like to keep busy," she said, shrugging. "With the girls gone so much, and... well, it's just me most days."
The subtle shift in her tone wasn't lost on him. The loneliness was there, even if she wasn't saying it outright. Mrs. Avery was putting on a front just like everyone else. But hers was different. She wasn't doing it out of arrogance or spite. She was just... surviving.
He picked up a cookie, his eyes meeting hers. "What about Mr. Avery? He's still...?" He trailed off, not sure how to phrase it without sounding nosy.
Her face tightened for a moment, and she busied herself with cleaning up the counter. "He's away a lot. Work trips, meetings... you know how it is." Her voice had that same tightness he heard earlier when she mentioned his father's job. A strained smile flickered across her lips as she leaned back against the counter. "It's been that way for years."
Dick watched her carefully, the pieces starting to fall into place. She was trapped, just like him. Maybe not in the same way, but still... stuck. Left behind while the world moved on without her. The more he thought about it, the clearer it became. Mrs. Avery didn't deserve to be alone. She deserved better.
"You ever think about... leaving?" Dick asked, his voice low, testing the waters.
She froze for a moment, her eyes widening slightly as she processed the question. Then, she let out a soft, bitter laugh, shaking her head. "It's not that easy, Dick. When you've built your whole life around someone... even if they're not around anymore... it's hard to just walk away."
He didn't reply right away, just chewed slowly on the cookie, the sweetness barely registering. He'd always seen cuckolding as a way to get revenge, to tear down the people who hurt him. But this was different. Mrs. Avery wasn't the enemy. She didn't deserve to be stuck in a loveless marriage while her husband ignored her. She needed... something. Someone.