I wait to make the frosting. The noise probably won’t wake her, but who wants to gamble on that at 5:30am?
I’m angry that I care about the dress. I tell myself it’s not important in the grand scheme of life, the universe, and everything. But there’s a competing sadness at yet another compromise. I’ve waited so long to fix this. Did I wait too long?
A sniffle and a tear. Sports aren’t my thing, and I haven’t lived there for a decade, but it’s still my city.
There and back again.
We talk freely and frankly, in a way that’s cool water to my uncertainty-parched soul. I’ve missed this.
When you cross the border, it’s just different. It shouldn’t be. But it is.
These days, there’s a pause that goes on a beat too long whenever someone asks me how I’m doing. Because I don’t know. I have to stop to collect myself in the present moment to review the past before choosing the right words to abridge the story for casual conversation.
I hear the emotion in his voice over the phone as she sings to him. A twinge of jealousy.