Becky sat cross-legged on the worn leather couch, her headphones snug over her ears, drowning out the faint clatter of her mother bustling in the backyard. Music vibrated through her, the bass keeping time with her tapping fingers on the edge of her phone. Her world was simple: a screen to scroll, beats to get lost in, and the distant promise of solitude.
But that peace was shattered when her mother’s voice cut through the song.
“Becky! Can you come here for a second?”
She groaned, pulling one ear of the headphones off but pretending not to hear. Maybe if she ignored it long enough, her mother would forget whatever she wanted.
“Becky!” Catherine’s tone had sharpened, filled with the gentle authority Becky couldn’t outrun.
Dragging herself off the couch, Becky shuffled to the backyard. The sight that greeted her was nothing short of a nightmare: her mother stringing fairy lights along the fence, arranging folding chairs, and humming as though she were preparing for a festival instead of an awkward neighborhood dinner.
“Why does it have to look like this?” Becky muttered, crossing her arms. “We’re not hosting a wedding.”
“Becky, don’t be dramatic. It’s just a casual dinner to get to know the neighbors,” Catherine replied, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “And I need your help.”
“Help?” Becky raised an eyebrow. “You know I don’t do... social things.”
“Yes, well, today you do.” Catherine handed her a small stack of invitations, their edges tied with delicate gold ribbons. “I need you to deliver these.”
Becky stared at them like they were poisonous. “You’re joking.”
“Not at all,” her mother said, smiling sweetly. “I’ve been setting this up all day. The least you can do is help with the invitations.”
“I don’t even know these people.”
“Perfect time to meet them, then.”
Becky groaned again, louder this time. “You’re actually torturing me. This is torture.”
“Becky,” Catherine said, her tone softening, “it’s just a few houses. Be polite, hand them the invitation, and come back. It’ll take twenty minutes, tops.”
With a dramatic sigh, Becky grabbed the stack and stalked toward the gate. “Fine. But if I die of secondhand embarrassment, it’s on you.”
Catherine chuckled. “You’ll survive.”
Becky approached the first house on the block, a cheery yellow bungalow with flower pots lining the porch. She adjusted her headphones around her neck and knocked twice, hoping no one was home.
The door swung open almost immediately, revealing a middle-aged woman with curly hair and an overenthusiastic smile.
“Oh, hello! You must be Catherine’s daughter!” the woman exclaimed, clasping her hands together.
Becky resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Yeah. Hi. My mom’s hosting a dinner. Here’s the invitation.” She held out the card like it might bite her.
The woman took it with both hands, her smile somehow widening. “How lovely! Tell your mother we’d be delighted to come. Oh, and what’s your name, dear?”
“Becky.”
“Becky! Such a beautiful name. I have a niece named Becky—well, Rebecca, but we call her Becky. Do you go by Rebecca too?”
Becky blinked, unsure how to respond to this verbal avalanche. “No, just Becky.”
“Well, it’s so nice to meet you, Becky! Your mother is such a sweetheart. You must take after her!”
Becky snorted. “Not really.”
“Well, we’ll see you tomorrow night! Don’t be a stranger now!”
“Sure,” Becky mumbled, turning on her heel and practically fleeing the porch.
The next house was dark and foreboding, with overgrown hedges and a sagging mailbox. Becky hesitated before knocking, half-expecting bats to fly out when the door creaked open.
An elderly man with piercing eyes and a permanent scowl peered out. “What do you want?”
Becky held up the invitation, her voice monotone. “Dinner party. Tomorrow. Here’s the invite.”
The man squinted at the card as if it might contain a secret code. “Dinner party, eh? What’s the catch?”
“There’s no catch,” Becky said flatly.
“Hmph. Never trusted free food.”
“It’s not free. It’s just... friendly. You know, neighbors.” Becky was already regretting this entire venture.
The man gave her a long, suspicious look before snatching the invitation. “I’ll think about it.”
“Great. Have a nice day,” Becky muttered, walking away before he could interrogate her further.
Becky braced herself as she approached the third house, a large, cheerful-looking place with bikes strewn across the lawn. A toddler opened the door before she could knock, staring up at her with wide, curious eyes.
“Who are you?” the toddler demanded.
“Uh, Becky. Is your mom or dad home?”
The kid didn’t move, just kept staring. Becky sighed. “Okay, well, tell them this is for them.” She held out the invitation, which the toddler snatched before running off screaming, “Mommy! A stranger gave me a card!”
Seconds later, a frazzled woman appeared, holding a baby on one hip. “Oh, hello! I’m so sorry about that. Kids, you know?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Becky handed her another invitation. “Dinner party. Tomorrow. My mom’s hosting.”
“Oh, how wonderful! Thank you for stopping by. Will you be there too?”
Becky blinked. “Uh... yeah, I guess.”
“Great! We’d love to get to know you better. My husband will be so excited—he loves meeting new people!”
Becky forced a polite smile. “Can’t wait.”
By the time Becky reached the last house, she was exhausted and thoroughly annoyed. The house looked as cold and uninviting as she felt: dark windows, a peeling fence, and a yard that seemed perpetually shadowed.
She knocked twice, waiting longer than she wanted to. Finally, the door creaked open to reveal a girl about her age, her eyes wide with something Becky couldn’t quite place—fear, maybe, or just exhaustion.
“Hi,” Becky said, holding out the card. “My mom’s hosting a dinner party. You’re invited.”
The girl hesitated, glancing over her shoulder before stepping slightly outside. “Thank you,” she said softly, her hands trembling as she took the card.
Becky tilted her head. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” the girl replied quickly, too quickly.
Before Becky could say anything else, a sharp voice rang out from inside. “Who is it?”
The girl flinched. “Just someone from the neighborhood. I’ll be right there.”
Becky’s brows knitted together, but she said nothing. She turned and left without another word, the sound of the door clicking shut behind her lingering in her ears.
For the first time that day, her annoyance faded, replaced by a strange sense of unease.
YOU ARE READING
A Gentle Collision
ActionBecky is an 18-year-old introvert whose sharp words cut deeper than her silence. Living with her kind-hearted mother in a modest home supported by their family's restaurant, Becky has little interest in the world beyond her headphones and mobile scr...
