Come in

Chapter 93 - Come in

Dinner was quiet and heavy.

May sat at the head of the table, still wearing the soft pink housewife dress from earlier, the apron long since removed. The sleeves were slightly creased from the day's work, and a few strands of hair had fallen loose around her face. She looked tired, but there was something controlled about the way she carried herself, as if she were deliberately keeping every emotion beneath the surface. Every few minutes her eyes drifted toward Rem, and whenever they did, the temperature in the room seemed to drop another degree.

Rem noticed every single time.

She kept her head down and pushed the pasta around her plate, separating the noodles with the edge of her fork without actually eating much of them. Her shoulders remained tense, and she seemed determined to make herself as small and inconspicuous as possible. The earlier excitement she had shown while shopping was completely gone now, replaced by an uncomfortable silence that followed her wherever she looked.

Mike ate quietly across from her, occasionally glancing toward the mountain of shopping bags still sitting by the door. The colorful bags looked almost ridiculous against the subdued atmosphere of the dining room, but neither of them had bothered to move them. They were simply there, an unavoidable reminder of how the afternoon had ended.

For several minutes, the only sounds were the faint clinking of utensils and the quiet hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen.

May eventually stopped eating.

She placed her fork beside her plate and rested her hands on the table, her attention settling completely on Rem. She did not say anything at first. She simply watched her daughter, waiting.

Rem's movements gradually became slower under the weight of that stare. Her fingers tightened around the fork, and she lowered her head even further. When she finally muttered something beneath her breath, it was so quiet that Mike could barely make it out.

May heard it.

She asked Rem to repeat herself, her voice low and controlled.

Rem's cheeks flushed almost immediately. She hesitated before lifting her head, but instead of meeting her mother's eyes, she looked toward Mike. There was an obvious embarrassment in her expression, mixed with the stubbornness of someone who had already decided what she was going to do and did not want anyone trying to change her mind.

She apologized to him for the money she had spent and quietly promised that she would pay him back.

Mike barely had time to respond before Rem pushed her chair away from the table. She picked up her plate and stood, moving quickly enough that the chair scraped against the floor. She avoided looking at either of them as she crossed the room, her footsteps becoming increasingly hurried as she reached the stairs.

A moment later, her bedroom door slammed shut upstairs.

The sound lingered through the dining room.

Mike remained seated, his fork still resting loosely in his hand. His eyes stayed on the staircase for a few seconds before eventually returning to his plate.

May did not move either.

The tension that had filled the room before Rem left had changed into something quieter. Without Rem sitting across from them, there was no longer anyone to direct it toward. What remained was the uncomfortable aftermath of everything that had happened earlier, sitting between May and Mike just as heavily as the shopping bags sitting near the door.

May's expression slowly softened as she looked toward the staircase again. Whatever anger had been visible in her eyes before was harder to find now. She seemed caught somewhere between frustration and concern, and for the first time that evening, she looked less like an angry mother and more like someone who was simply worried about her daughter.

Neither of them spoke.

They continued eating in silence, but the atmosphere was no longer hostile. It was merely tired, awkward, and strangely intimate in the way that only silence between people who had too much to say could be.

“You look so much like your father when you sit like that,” she said quietly.

Mike looked up at her.

May was no longer looking at him. Her eyes had drifted toward the empty chair where Rem had been sitting only a few minutes earlier, as though she could still see her daughter there. Her expression softened, and a small, sad smile touched the corners of her mouth.

“Same posture,” she continued, her voice barely above a murmur. “Same quiet way of just… dealing with things. He used to sit exactly like that whenever something was bothering him. He'd never say anything. He'd just sit there and carry it by himself until he thought nobody was looking.”

She paused, her fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the table. “Sometimes I forget you're not him.”

The smile faded almost as soon as it appeared. “You remind me of him so much it hurts.”

The last words came out unevenly.

May quickly looked away, but not before Mike saw the sudden shine in her eyes. She blinked once, then again, trying to force the tears back before they could fall. For a moment she simply sat there, staring down at the table while she gathered herself.

When she finally stood, she did so slowly.

She picked up her plate, but her hands were not quite steady. The porcelain gave a faint rattle against the silverware as she lifted it, and she immediately tightened her grip around the edge of the plate.

“I’m going to clean up.”

There was no attempt to explain herself further. She turned toward the kitchen, keeping her face angled away from Mike.

Mike watched her for a moment before rising from his chair.

He said nothing.

Instead, he picked up his own plate and then reached across the table for Rem's abandoned one. He carried both after May into the kitchen.

May was already standing at the sink when he arrived. She had turned on the water, letting the steady stream fill the silence between them. She rinsed the first plate and placed it into the dishwasher, then reached for another without looking at him.

Mike set the plates beside her and quietly joined in.

For a while, that was all they did.

Mike rinsed the dishes, scraping away the remaining sauce before passing them over. May loaded them into the dishwasher with deliberate, almost mechanical movements. Neither of them mentioned Rem. Neither mentioned May's tears. Neither returned to what she had said about Mike's father.

The silence was not uncomfortable anymore.

It was simply the kind of silence shared by two people who understood that there were some things better left untouched for the moment.

Eventually, the last plate was put away.

May shut the dishwasher and stood there for a few seconds, staring at the counter. She reached for a kitchen towel and slowly dried her hands, rubbing her fingers together even after they were already dry.

Then she looked at Mike.

The sadness was still visible in her eyes, though she had managed to regain control of herself. She gave him a small, watery smile that looked more like an apology than happiness.

“Good night.”

She turned before he could answer.

May walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway. Her steps were slow at first, almost hesitant, but she did not stop. She passed the staircase and continued toward the bedrooms, one hand briefly brushing against the wall as she walked.

At the end of the hallway, she reached her door.

She paused there.

For a moment, her shoulders rose with a quiet breath, and Mike could see her fighting whatever emotion had returned to her.

Then she opened the door and slipped inside.

After a hour.

Mike went to the cabinet, pulled out a bottle of the good whiskey May kept for rare nights, and walked down the hallway. Two soft knocks.

The door opened.

May stood there in a thin white nightgown, the kind that was almost sheer under the hallway light. The soft fabric clung to the heavy curve of her breasts, the dark outlines of her nipples faintly visible.

The hem stopped mid-thigh, leaving the smooth length of her legs bare. Her dark hair was down now, falling loosely around her shoulders. Without the apron and the daytime dress she looked softer, warmer, more dangerous. The nightgown shifted with her breathing, the full weight of her breasts moving just enough to make Mike’s cock twitch hard in the fabric.

She looked at the bottle in his hand, then up at his face.

“Oh… Mike. Come in.” She stepped aside.

The door closed behind him.

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