I would like to sincerely thank The_Outlander for a very helpful critique of this story.
There's an old proverb that says 'don't shit where you eat'. Most people extend that to situations with neighbors that become somewhat more than friendly. Even when all the relevant parties are single, too many things can go wrong with no way for anyone to fully remove themselves from the situation. Then again, another proverb goes along the lines of 'when ya gotta go, ya gotta go', even if you're someplace you might eat....
---------
The one-year anniversary of Dexter's divorce from Ashley was barreling towards him. It had been a difficult year, with some healing, some lingering scars, but mostly just licking his wounds. He had kept the house and the dog, and so by most accountings, had come out pretty far ahead, except that Ashley had the other man. No kids, but nearly a decade gone. Dexter made the decision to move back into dating, and definitely sex, slowly and deliberately. Part of his healing had been to learn that he could live alone, a fact that he knew was difficult for men as they get older. He learned to cook, not just sloppy joe's ('
I fucking love sloppy joes
', he thought), but more experimentally. He had taken a class here and there, and the omnipresent cook's aide,
. He started adding beer to chili, and cream to pasta sauce -- small culinary victories, but they made him feel good in a way, more whole -- "
Eat well, be happy
" he kept telling himself.
He grew his landscaping business; something he had been unable (and uninterested) to do while married. It expanded from residential lawns to athletic fields, with 3 new hires, equipment, and a surprising amount of business. He worked out for the first time since his days as a small college hockey player. Never really soft, marriage had nonetheless started Dexter on the road to developing the 'Dad Bod', but without the benefit of the Dad part. Evening workouts on the heels of landscaping were re-shaping his body, and had become an important part of recovering the self-esteem and confidence he had lost after his divorce. He liked to tell himself that it was for his mental health, but he knew the end-result was aimed at an online dating profile picture that still seemed a long way off.
His house, formerly
their
house, was a small colonial on a corner lot. He hated that people called it 'cute', but it was his, full of painful memories, and some good ones that remained attached to the house like unevenly tempered ghosts. Then there was the dog. The goddamn dog. The dog he loved and the dog that nurtured him through the last year. The goddamn dog named
The Notorious D.O.G.
that never stopped shedding, especially on his bed. Dexter wasn't much for house work, but he kept his cute little house as dog hair-free as possible. It was never enough and the hair remained as constant as Pi. She was a big, smart mix, probably with some kind of shepherd, and laid back to the point that she would probably have held the door for a burglar. But as a loyal companion and compassionate confidant, she was unrivaled.
Next to Dexter lived vampires. Or at least until they moved out, the victims of foreclosure several months earlier. Dexter kept the lawn nice, not through any sense of civic duty, but simply because he didn't want long grass to attract snakes and mice. The previous owners had been nice enough if rather vampiric in their day-night schedules, so the neighborliness of the place didn't change much when they left. Since the vampires had gone, Dexter always associated their house with his marriage -- once apparently full but now empty. Full, but not really full, like residents that you know are there, but never really see. Like a marriage without love. Dexter, always a closet sentimentalist (which he was aware of, and also aware that it was quite odd for a manly landscaper), wished someone would move in; a way to finalize the exorcism of the demons. Banish the emptiness. "
Plus
," he thought, "
I'm sick of doing that fucking lawn
."
----------
The first anniversary of his divorce fell on a Sunday in October, perfect Pennsylvania fall weather. Dexter watched as red and gold leaves from the big silver maple tree in his front yard drifted to the ground one by one, splashing color across the grass. "
I'll bet Ashley would complain about the leaves in the yard
," bitter thoughts from bitter scars.
Dexter and Dog were in the front yard bouncing around when a pick-up truck loaded with a mattress, box spring and some boxes pulled into the Vampire's driveway. A young man hopped out of the driver's side, literally hopped and bounded back to start untying the cargo. A car, a chirpy little Mini Cooper, pulled along the curb in front of the house. It was clearly full of plants and other bric-a-brac.
Dexter turned to Dog. "A woman," he said. Dog looked at him with her best "
What the fuck are you talking about?
" look.
He scrunched his weekend worth of unshaved face, "It's the plants. And she's young because an old woman wouldn't move plants, or move into the Vampire's house at all. And she's single because the guy in the pick-up is way too happy to be moving. He's not her ride. Probably her brother. She's a tree-hugger, too." Dog continued her 'WTF' look.
"What?" Dexter asked, "I'm right. I'm always right." (
And I'm talking to a dog
)
The Cooper's door opened, and a leg slid out, followed by a boob, and then long hair, and more legs, and finally another boob.
"I'm a pig." Dog wagged her tail.
Dexter did his best to catch one furtive but complete glance. She had long, straight hair, kind of a light brown that had seen a lot of sun. Tan legs and cut off jean shorts (
Jorts
!), not too short, and a nice, athletic looking body. He looked away in an effort to not stare. Dog sat, still looking up at him and Dexter gave her a little chuckle, "Winner winner, chicken dinner."
---------
Day had just about given in to night when Dexter knocked on the door. "Hello?" Jen answered, opening the door only partway. Light blue eyes surrounded by sun-drenched hair, and perfect lips. Full and soft looking. A quick check down to assess and, as men will always do, quantify the mass of her breasts, which were small, very perky, and all-in-all, sugar cubes to starving flies. And then he noticed her tee-shirt. 'ZOMBIES EAT BRAINS (You're safe)'. (
Blue eyes, boobs AND zombies? Dear sweet Jesus, thank you for letting me be divorced...
)
"Umm, ah, I, um...hi," Dexter touretted out, "Since no one else will probably officially welcome you to the block, I'm here. With a pie. Apple. Pie. I baked it. And I have a female dog." (
