– Hey, neighbor! – a voice called from the next yard.
Steven Michael didn’t catch it at first and glanced back. A new neighbor, Mary Florence, was smiling at him, wearing a polka-dot dress. Steven wasn’t one for gossip, but he’d already heard why Mary had moved in. The village women spun all sorts of tales—some said Mary left her husband, others that he’d kicked her out. The common thread was that she’d become unnecessary to her grown children.
– What are you standing there for, rooted to the spot? Come over here! I’m not shouting loud enough for the whole village to hear, – the new neighbor continued.
Steven walked up to the fence.
– Saw you there, Steven Michael, and it warmed my heart. You’re a good neighbor. I’ve been watching you for a while—you’re a handy man, always tinkering in the garden. I live alone, you know, and it gets awfully lonely. No one to share a cup of tea with. I don’t want to sit on the bench with the old ladies gossiping. Listen, Michael, I had an idea—don’t take it the wrong way. You live all alone, and so do I. Marry me, and I’ll cook you some hearty soup! – She burst into loud laughter.
Steven felt uneasy; the woman had made him blush.
– What’s that, neighbor? How’s that even possible? I’ve only seen you twice and know nothing about you, – he mumbled uncertainly.
– We’ll get married and figure each other out, – Mary teased with a smirk.
– Oh, come on, you’re joking, – he scoffed, spitting lightly, and hurried back to his house as her bright laughter rang out behind him.
At home, Steven couldn’t stop thinking about his odd neighbor, always laughing, and wondered if she was joking or serious.
– What a woman, sticking like glue! “Marry me, Michael,” – he repeated her words. – Why would I need someone like her? She’s from the city, all dolled up—what kind of homemaker is she? You can tell right away. Just look at her garden—overgrown, cucumber vines dried up. She could’ve planted zucchini or tomatoes, but no, she’s got weird flowers and a green lawn. What’s the point of that in the village? Who’s going to look at it? You can’t eat flowers or grass, – he grumbled.
That night, Steven went to bed but couldn’t close his eyes. The woman and her jokes kept swirling in his mind. His wife had passed away years ago, and living alone wasn’t joyful—no one to talk to, and he didn’t much care for cooking. Steven often thought of his wife; he loved her, and she was a great homemaker. She worked a job but still managed to feed the cows, pigs, chickens, and geese. The garden always yielded a fine harvest: potatoes, tomatoes, beets, carrots, zucchini, pattypan squash, radishes, strawberries, raspberries, apples, pears, currants, and gooseberries.
Natalie had done it all for their son, Alex. He was their only child. They raised him, educated him, and gave him a happy childhood. Alex died at 39 in a tragic accident. A year later, Natalie fell gravely ill, lingered for a long time, and passed away. Steven sighed deeply, wiped a tear from his face, got out of bed, and stepped outside in the middle of the night. He noticed light in Mary’s windows—seems she couldn’t sleep either.
Mary was also battling insomnia. She hadn’t adjusted to the loneliness. Since moving to the village, she worked in the garden from dawn till dusk. Reflecting on her past, she pondered her mistakes. For years, she’d been in a relationship with a married man she loved deeply. He’d made it clear he wouldn’t leave his family, but she was crazy about him.
The man had only toyed with her, and she realized it too late, after giving him her youth with no family or children to show for it. Mary decided to forget him and move to the village.
Adjusting to village life wasn’t easy. She’d lived in the city for so long, where things were simpler. In the village, everyone knew each other, and when she arrived, the gossip started immediately. Steven caught her eye right away. He looked good—tall, broad-shouldered, with a touch of gray that only added to his charm. He was always busy around the house, hammering nails or tending the garden at dawn, watering and fertilizing. Mary cringed, recalling how she’d proposed marriage to him.
After that day, Steven wasn’t himself. He’d go out to the garden, sneaking glances over the fence, hoping to spot his neighbor. When he did see her, he’d pretend not to notice, acting busy. He thought of her constantly, and one night, she appeared in his dream. Mary was a beautiful woman. She’d step into the yard in a blue robe or light shorts and a tank top, and it took his breath away. Steven never imagined he’d be smitten with a woman at his age. For a whole month, he deceived himself, unable to muster the courage to talk to her. One morning, something came over him. He put on a white shirt, black pants, picked a bouquet of daisies from his garden, and headed to her place.
Mary had just woken up and stepped into the yard in a lovely robe to sit in the gazebo and sip her favorite tea. Suddenly, she heard the gate creak, and there was Steven with a bouquet of daisies. She hadn’t expected him, especially not while she was in her robe, without makeup. She dropped her tea, rushed inside to the mirror to get ready, put on makeup, dressed up, and sat waiting for him to come in. But he didn’t. Mary stepped outside, and he was gone.
Steven returned home, disheartened. He’d chickened out at the last moment, afraid she’d laugh at him. As he started taking off his shirt, he heard a knock at the door. Who could it be? No one usually visited, and his pension wasn’t due until the end of the month. “Come in,” he said. Mary walked in.
– Steven, I’m sorry about my joke, – she said, embarrassed. – I’ve been wanting to apologize for a while.
He laughed loudly. – It’s nothing, I forgot about it ages ago.
Mary suggested they be friendly neighbors, and Steven agreed. They looked into each other’s eyes in silence.
– I’m going, – Mary said sadly, turning toward the door.
– Wait, stay, – Steven called out.
The next day, the whole village was buzzing with the happy news. Everyone was thrilled for Steven, who had hit it off with the new neighbor.
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