I didn't think there were still neighborhoods like it, at least not in Philadelphia. It seemed like it belonged more in a quaint (and probably fictional) English country town than within the limits of the sixth largest city in the US. When the real estate agent showed us the house, I actually started swearing; even though it was at the very edge of my price range, and even though I could already tell maintenance was going to be a bear, I knew I didn't have a choice. If I had any doubts about that, Tim made it very clear: this was our new house, and I had to just suck it up and sign the mortgage.
That summer of 2019 was a hot one here in Philly, and the days leading up to the move had been a run of absolute scorchers, but by sheer good luck we were granted a blessedly cool reprieve that day. Still, I was pretty ragged after lugging the three hundredth box of Tim's books and toys up to the room he had claimed for himself, and so the knock at the door offered a welcome chance to rest. I came back down the steps, wiping sweat off my brow, and opened it to find a man, a woman, and a bottle of wine waiting for me. Their names, it transpired, were Jeff, Mel, and Concha y Toro respectively, and I happily invited the former two in to help me out with the latter. While I busied myself pouring the wine into mugs (the closest things to glasses I'd yet unpacked), they introduced themselves as my neighbors three doors down, and as the current heads of the neighborhood's unofficial welcoming committee.
"Apologies for the state of things," I said, feeling suddenly conscious of the sweat stains on my ratty old band shirt.
"Oh, please, our house looks like this half the time and we moved in six years ago," Mel said, taking a deep draught from the "#1 DAD" mug I'd handed her. She was a vivacious woman in her mid-thirties, with a colorful full sleeve tattoo down her left arm, tortoiseshell glasses, and wavy dirty blonde hair pulled up in a messy bun - the kind of person you can't help but like as soon as you meet them.
"I'm so glad this place sold - and to a family, no less," Jeff said. He was about the same age as his wife (exactly two weeks younger, I would later learn, and one year older than me), with permanent stubble and the build of a former athlete. He wore ragged jeans with a fitted t-shirt featuring Gritty, the mascot of the Flyers - and, interestingly, nail polish, in a sort of gunmetal grey. "How old is your son?"
"Tim's just turned eight last week," I said.
"Oh, cool," Jeff said. "Our youngest, Mason, turned eight in June."
"That's fantastic news!" I turned to call up the stairs. "Tim? Come meet the new neighbors, babe. They've got a kid your age."
"Be right down, Dad!" came the voice from upstairs.
"He must have found one of his book boxes," I explained. "He might be a while."
Mel laughed. It was a good laugh. "Well, don't worry, we're not going anywhere any time soon. If he's free later, tell him he's free to come by and meet Mason if he likes. No pressure."
"Of course, I'm sure he'd love to," I said. "By the way, Jeff, I like your nails."
"Oh, thank you!" he said, smiling warmly. "Our fourteen year old tells me this is the cool new look for men now."
"It definitely works," I said. "I might try it myself."
"Hell, Jay, where are my manners?" he asked. "Can I help with some of these boxes or anything?"
"Oh, no, please, I've got it," I said.
"You sure?"
"Yeah. There's a..." I looked around at the scattered piles of numbered boxes. "There's a system."
"Well, you let us know if there's anything we can do to make you feel more welcome to the neighborhood," Mel said with a wink.
As I thanked them for the wine and the welcome and walked them out the door, the wink stuck with me. That night, lying in the dark on a mattress on the hardwood floor, I replayed it over and over in my mind. Each time I did it got saucier and saucier, and the emphasis on "anything" got stronger and stronger. Exhausted as I was, I couldn't sleep until I'd indulged in a few fantasies about what "anything" might entail. When I was done, I crashed out into unconsciousness so hard and so fast I didn't even let go of my dick.
* * *
Jeff, Mel, and their two kids became a regular feature of our lives as the weeks went on. When the school year started, it turned out that Mason and Tim, who'd already begun to hit it off, were in the same fourth grade class. After that, they became almost inseparable. Mason's older sibling, Kris, was 14 and looking for babysitting money, so when one Friday in late September Jeff texted to suggest that the three adults go out for dinner while Kris babysat the younger two, it seemed like an obvious win all around.
Jeff was going to come to the restaurant straight from work, so I walked over with Tim to pick up Mel. She came to the door looking stunning in a garnet red bodycon dress that hugged her many intriguing curves, and though I had by this point mostly switched my nocturnal thoughts away from fantasizing about the neighbors, I was immediately tongue-tied. I'm not sure if she noticed and decided to give me a moment or if it was just luck, but fortunately she greeted Tim first and sent him up to find Mason and Kris upstairs, and by the time she turned to me I had managed to compose myself again.
"Wow, Jay," she said. "You clean up nice." She brushed a hand against the sleeve of the old cashmere blazer I'd unearthed from the back of my closet.
"Thank you," I said. "I'm just amazed it still more or less fits. I found a receipt in the pocket from 2009."
She laughed. "Give me one second to make sure Kris has everything they need and I'll be right back." When she returned a moment later, I offered my arm almost without thinking. She put her arm in mine and we walked to the car.
I had suggested a restaurant I remembered fondly from when I was dating Tim's mom, and although it had been a long decade, I was pleased to discover that it was still around and still maintained the atmosphere I'd remembered - dignified, but not stuffy. We arrived before Jeff, so we headed to the table and ordered drinks while we waited for him.
"My goodness," she said, glancing over the menu. "A menu without chicken tenders on it? Feels like I haven't seen one of those since I was 25."
"It is a bit of a change of pace, isn't it?"
"A very pleasant one." She smiled at me, and for a moment I forgot I wasn't on a date. Then she caught sight of someone behind me and waved. I turned to see Jeff approaching. I'd never before seen him out of jeans, and in fact I still hadn't, but these weren't his usual well-worn and faded jeans. Rather, he'd put on a pair of tight-fitting dress jeans which he wore with a blazer over a turtleneck sweater that matched Mel's dress perfectly.
"Sorry I'm a bit late," he said, sliding into Mel's side of the semicircular booth and greeting her with a kiss. "I had to change out of my work clothes. Pretty sure the hard hat wouldn't meet the dress code."
We chatted over dinner, which was every bit as fantastic as I had remembered. I took the liberty of preening slightly as the others complimented me on my suggestion afterwards.
"It's so nice to just have adult company doing adult things," Jeff said.
Mel, who was not driving and therefore was several Manhattans into the evening, sniggered. "'Doing adult things', huh?"
"You're so drunk," he said, and she laughed and leaned her head back on his chest.
