There really was nothing quite like the smell of fresh-cut grass, the sound of burgers grilling, the taste of a cold beer, the feel of a warm breeze, and the view from a hand-built deck on a warm summer afternoon. For Richard Wilcox, this really was the high life. Arlene was off in the kitchen, humming to herself as she fussed over an apple pie made from apples fresh picked from their tree, the kids had gone off to university, and he was increasingly sure he’d be able to retire by the time he turned sixty. This was the sort of lazy Saturday afternoon that would stretch on forever. He couldn’t even complain about the nosy, gossiping neighbors or the overbearing HOA, as much as they were often a thorn in his side. He’d practically won the lottery. In an increasingly unstable Terran Accord, he’d somehow managed to claw his way into a cozy spot in the rapidly shrinking middle-class. 

Perhaps it was a bit trite, but cozy suburban bliss—a house with a picket fence and a yard, trips to the hardware store and summer barbecues—had been Richard’s dream since he was a boy. Of course, he sometimes felt a little guilty for all the things he had, especially compared to those far less fortunate than he. But Richard and Arlene did their best to live as good, mindful people, and helped those around them when they could. They donated to the poor, they volunteered at the increasingly dwindling number of shelters, soup kitchens and community outreach groups, and they had made sure to raise Josie and William to be empathetic, considerate and thoughtful. Richard was proud of himself, proud of what he had achieved: a loving wife, a pair of smart, empathetic kids he thought the world of, and a mundane, but satisfying life. He was, admittedly, a bit of an old fashioned guy, and the world around him was changing faster than he could ever keep track of, but he was happy to have carved out his own little oasis of simplicity. 

* * *

As it would turn out, Richard and Arlene Wilcox’s mundane little lives were on the verge of changing in a manner neither could scarcely predict. And yet, when the morning news brought frightful headlines of aliens from beyond the Milky Way, hell bent on conquering and enslaving the human race, most of Richard and Arlene’s neighbors seemed far more concerned by a set of particularly tall hedges, and what might be going on behind them. 

That would change soon enough, however. As the war dragged on, the news grew ever more dark. More and more colonies fell; more and more battles were lost. Every morning, and every evening, Richard and Arlene Wilcox kept a daily ritual of watching the news. But, as the war dragged on, their options grew more and more scarce. It seemed every other month or so, there would be one fewer Terran news channel; in its place, Richard and Arlene would find brand new channels, each full of programming hosted by ten foot tall plant people and dazed, but happy looking humans. They would bring uplifting, reassuring messages about safety and hope, in stark contrast to the messages the Terran news carried. Arlene had even developed a fondness for them, particularly some of their more recreational programming: cooking shows, soap operas and the like. But, as time carried on, the chasm between the conflicting types of news only widened as terran sources grew increasingly rabid, and affini ones increasingly insistent and condescending. 

Over time, Richard wound up tuning them out. He wasn’t getting anything from either of them anyway; all the news did was make him worry. Instead, he focused on enjoying his own tiny slice of heaven for as long as he could. Of course, suburban apathy would not keep fate from knocking. Soon enough, Richard and Arlene Wilcox’s unassuming little suburb found itself basking in the shadow of colossal starships the size of entire cities. On that particular moming, Richard looked up at the sky, and realized his quaint little life was falling apart. At first, he expected to feel dread. In truth, he just felt small. He had no idea what to think about all this. Truthfully, perhaps it didn’t matter; the world was outside of his control. Richard Wilcox sighed, and bowed his head. All the media ever said was ‘free terranism, human domestication.’ He just wanted to grill for stars’ sake. 

* * *

On a bright, sunny Sunday afternoon, Richard Wilcox awoke at 10:30 am. He’d slept soundly through the night on a comfortable bed. He sat up, and stretched long and slow. The aches and pains that had come with age were long gone. Richard Wilcox felt fresh as a spring chicken. He stood, and, with a bounce in his step, strode to the kitchen. There, he saw his beautiful wife, already preparing breakfast. Arlene always liked to wake up early on Sundays to catch her favorite morning affini TV program. Richard though, he liked to sleep in. She greeted him, they shared a quick kiss, and Richard murmured a drowsy thanks as she handed him his breakfast. After he ate, he sat on his chair with a mug of fresh coffee and the paper, as he and Arlene made idle chit chat. This was typical for Sundays, Arlene was always much more plugged into the goings on around her than Richard was, but he appreciated that about her. She could fill him in with the important details while he enjoyed his much more narrow world. 

Apparently things were going well both for Josie and Hailey. In fact, Hailey had aced her midterm exams, all thanks to the help she’d gotten from her owner. Richard tried not to think too much about how his daughter was a twelve foot tall plant’s pet. Particularly, he tried not to think too much about what that entailed behind closed doors. What mattered was that his daughter was happy. Hailey’s owner, Zoysia Macrantha, Second Bloom was a nice enough lady, and she had done much to help Richard and Arlene’s once struggling daughter excel both in university, and with self acceptance. Richard just felt bad he hadn’t realized sooner that he had a daughter instead of a son, but when he’d mentioned that to Zoysia, she had assured him it wasn’t his fault. 

As their conversation died down, Richard took a moment to focus on the paper. The news was inconsequential, as always. Apparently the Annual Mx Galaxy Cutest Floret contest had been hosted in the local cluster this year. The turnout had been huge this year, with more affini than ever before registering their florets as contestants. Unsurprisingly, it had been a 75,879,445,324 way tie for first place. Another article made mention of some sort of errant beam which had been affecting a few different planets a few dozen systems away, but whatever ‘snugglyfication’ was, apparently it was a very good thing that nobody needed to worry about, so Richard didn’t. At around 12:30, Richard stood from his recliner, and got ready to start his day in earnest. 

A warm breeze tickled his skin, the sound of birds singing filled the air. Richard took a long, slow breath. No smog, just the scent of flowers and grass. He took a moment to appreciate the world around him. In every direction, as far as he could see, were rows upon rows of gorgeous, futuristic hab units. Clean, efficient, publicly available transit vehicles bustled through the air, over the roads, and along railways. Everywhere he looked, he saw friendly faces: kind, empathetic, happy people who busied themselves with their passions, and their relationships, instead of petty gossip or public image. In fact, just then one of his neighbors, Agrostis Palustris, Fifth Bloom, emerged from their hab unit. He gave them a friendly wave, and a ‘hey neighbor,’ which they returned in kind, before tugging gently on the leash in their hands. A moment later, their pet—a twinky femboy sporting cat ears and a bushy tail—crawled after them on all fours, completely naked. Richard gave him a friendly wave too, and he chirped a cheerful merp in response. 

Richard took another sip of his coffee, and breathed a contented sigh. It really was the perfect picture of suburban bliss. And, at the center of all those futuristic, glitzy hab units, was a mundane, but comfortable house with a white picket fence and a yard. Of course, the affini had offered Richard and Arlene a brand new home like all those other, but they had declined. This was all they’d ever wanted. That didn’t mean they were exempt from affini living standards though. An entire team of affini architects had gone over their house with a fine-toothed comb, and retrofitted the entire place, but they were sure to be as unobtrusive as possible, and kept the classic suburban look the same. 

After a few more moments of taking in the world around him, Richard set down his mug, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work. He had a big day this evening, and there was a lot to do to prepare. Most importantly, he had to make sure his lawn was good and ready. 

* * * 

Decorating Richard and Arlene Wilcox’s back deck, was an assortment of outdoor tables, each with an array of fresh food, all home-made. In one corner of the deck sat a cooler, filled with chilled wine, ice-cold beers, and soft drinks for those who did not partake. The smell of a fresh apple pie baking in the oven wafted into the backyard. Arlene was in the midst of putting on a few finishing touches—a spread of chips with her famous home-made dip. And, most importantly—at least if you asked Richard, the grill was fired up and ready to go. 

It didn’t take long for the first guests to arrive. The party was set to begin at 8:00, and at 8:01 Poa and Pratensis Poaceae, Third and Fourth Blooms respectively, along with their pet, Felicia Poaceae, First Floret, strolled in, buzzing with excitement. From there, more guests slowly trickled in. There was Festuca Arundinacea, Eighth Bloom, and his pet Peter, Cynodon Dactylon, Fifth bloom and her florets pinnate, of course,  Agrostis Palustris and their pet came as well. Even Bouteloua Dactyloides, Sixth Bloom—who had been initially nervous about attending when the party planning first began, as her floret was a very recently domesticated former feralist—showed up, leading a dazed looking terran by a short leash. Her fears were quite unfounded, apparently; she’d done an excellent job breaking them in. 

Soon enough, the get-together was in full swing. There was much talking, and laughing, and eating and drinking. Of course, the affini in attendance also spent much of their time fussing over their florets, and one another’s florets, but Richard and Arlene didn’t mind, on the whole they made far more pleasant neighbors than their previous ones. Richard even got to discuss in great detail the mechanics of home improvement and how properly cook a steak with the butch lesbian affini who had just moved in across the street—the trick, see, was to only flip once. 

When all was said and done, many goodbyes were said, and Richard and Arlene Wilcox retired to their bedroom for the evening. They talked for a while, discussed matters of the party, and their days, while getting ready. When all was said and done, Richard assumed his usual position, face down, ass up. He tensed for just a moment as Arlene worked a glob of cold lubricant around his backdoor, but relaxed at her warm touch. Just as she was about to get started, Arlene seemed to remember something, and spoke up. “By the way, dear, after the party Agrostis suggested we come by their place some time for a spit roast! I told them it sounded like a lovely time; I'm sure it will be quite delicious.”

Richard nodded. “Of course, I’d be happy to! You know me, I love free food.”

With that, Arlene positioned herself behind him, and thrust inside. As his wife raw dogged him into sweet oblivion, Richard couldn’t help but take a moment to appreciate the sweet, simple, suburban bliss he found himself living in.