Perverted Daddy System

Chapter 152 - Dinner at Mary's

Wednesday, and the signal comes through just the way we rehearsed it — a scrap of paper folded twice, passed from hand to hand through the schoolyard until it lands in mine during the afternoon lull. Two words in Hope's careful handwriting: *Friday night.*

I pocket it and smile at nothing. Friday night. The twins did their part — Dana leaning close to her mother over the kitchen table, all wide-eyed innocence, "Mom, Mr. Roberts said he'd look over my geometry before the test," and Gina adding, offhand, "you should invite him and his wife over for dinner, as thanks. We can help you cook." Simple. Clean. Not a single suspicious seam.

Thursday, Mary calls. I let it ring twice, the way a busy man would. "Ben? It's Mary — Mary Hudson. Apartment six, third floor." A pause, breathless. "The girls mentioned you're helping Dana with her geometry, and I thought — if you and your wife are free tomorrow evening — you could both come over. I'll make something simple. To say thank you."

"We'd love to," I say, and I can hear the relief in her exhale.

Friday, six thirty. I knock on the third-floor door. The door opens on a woman who's clearly been through every nervous ritual in the book: hair re-braided, the dress pressed, a smear of lipstick that's been chewed down at the corner. She's in her good church dress — the blue one with the high collar and sleeves to the wrist, saved for occasions — and she's been worrying at it all afternoon, and the sight of it — the trying — does something to me.

"Hi," she says, a little too bright. "Come in, come in. It's nothing fancy, I hope you don't mind."

I step inside, glancing at my phone. "Katie's just finishing at the office," I say, easy. "Should be along any minute — you know what accountants are like at month-end."

Mary's shoulders unclench — a couple was expected; the evening reads properly. "Dinner's ready," she says. "I hope you like shepherd's pie."

I'm following her toward the kitchen when my phone buzzes. Katie's name. I answer on speakerphone, holding it out between us — and Mary, two steps ahead at the stove, can hear every word.

"Ben, love, I'm so sorry." Katie's voice is warm and rueful and carries. "Marcus just dropped a client's year-end on my desk — the partner wants it done by morning, and I'm the only one who knows the files. I'm not going to make dinner."

"Ah, no," I say, my face going apologetic toward Mary. "The firm can't find anyone else?"

"It's the month-end close, Ben — there's no one else. I'm mortified, I really am. Promise you'll stay for her? She's gone to so much trouble, don't let it go to waste."

I meet Mary's eyes and give a small, rueful shrug — the good husband relaying his wife's shame. "Of course I'm staying, love. Get it done, get home safe."

"I will. Tell her I'm sorry and I owe her. Bye!"

"Bye." I tuck the phone away and spread my hands. "Month-end close at the accounting firm. Stood me up for a stack of ledgers — that's love."

Mary's face falls for a second, then smooths. She smiles, a little lonely. "Well. More pie for us, I suppose."

The table's set for five, and the fifth place sits empty where Katie should be — a small absence neither of us mentions. The apartment smells like garlic and baking — better than the institutional air of her usual weeknight. Dana and Gina are already seated, freshly washed, in their best casual clothes, and they greet me with a mirrored flash of mischief that Mary, mercifully, doesn't catch.

Dinner's good. Shepherd's pie, done properly. We talk about the clinic, about the girls' school, about nothing at all that matters. Under the table, Dana's bare foot finds my ankle once, just once, and pulls away before her mother notices — the twins, keeping their end of the bargain at the dinner table. Mine is the mother. Mary's trust is banked, hour by quiet hour. All that's left is to collect.

Mary clears the plates herself, refusing to let me lift a finger, and then Dana stretches and yawns with suspicious timing. "Mom, we've got that history quiz tomorrow. Gina and I should go over our notes."

"Yeah," Gina agrees, and the glance she flicks me over her shoulder as she heads for the bedroom is nothing short of a wink. "Don't stay up too late talking, okay?"

The door swings shut behind them, leaving a crack of hallway light ajar — the twins keeping watch on us without being seen. We're alone, Mary and I, in the small kitchen that suddenly feels smaller, the quiet settling around us.

"More coffee?" she asks, and her voice has gone an octave higher, nervous.

"Please."

She makes it — hands trembling just slightly around the pot — and we carry our mugs to the couch. She sits at one end, knees together, hands wrapped around her cup. I sit close enough to feel the warmth off her skin, and I don't rush it. I let the quiet do its work.

"You've been on your own a long time, haven't you, Mary?"

She blinks, startled by the gentleness of it. "Since the girls were little. Their father — he left when they were still in diapers." A pause, then, quieter, "He didn't even have the spine to do it to my face. The divorce papers came in the mail one morning, plain as anything."

"All those years of decisions." I keep my voice low, unhurried. "The rent, the bills, the girls, every single choice landing on your shoulders, every time. It wears a person down."

Her eyes get glassy. She looks down into her coffee. "You don't know how tired I am, Ben. I'm so tired. I'm so tired of being the one who has to decide everything, forever, alone."

I set my mug down, and I take hers out of her hands and set it beside mine, and I take her hands. They're cold. "What if you didn't have to decide anymore?"

She looks up at me, a long, uncertain look — the flicker of a woman who knows she shouldn't, the landlord, the tutor, the eyes of the whole building — and I can see the fight in her, and I can see the wanting, and I know which one is going to win, courtesy of a small pin.

I lean in. I kiss her. Soft, patient, thorough — and she makes a sound, small and surprised and hungry, and after a breathless second she kisses me back, hungry, desperate.

[Pervy act detected: kiss (Mary): 10 PDP]

[Pervy act detected: French kiss (Mary): 25 PDP]

I pull back just enough to hold her gaze, her lips wet from the kiss. "You said you're tired of making decisions, Mary." She nods, small and fast. "This one, I'll make for you." My thumb traces her cheek. "Undress."