- Spice and vanilla and the crispness of waning light: the bittersweet scent of fall.
- I finally acknowledge the exhaustion in my throat and neck and voice, a strange tiredness after one song or one book read aloud that silences me, tissue swollen from who knows what. Together with a stress-clenched jaw, it paints a pretty metaphor, but I refuse to tease it out for fear of giving it life.
- Less coffee, more water; less sugar, more salt.
- By the time this is all over, I’ll be an expert.
- I’m sure I’ll flub it at first, but I think I’m ready.
- Tres leches. Well, dos leches and a bit.
- The first piece of real furniture—one we would have kept forever otherwise—scurries out the door with its new owner. It’s silly, but it feels more real now.
- The photo stops me completely. My scrolling, my breathing, my heart. Is that really him? Is that what he looks like? Didn’t I see him that way once before? How could I forget?
- Just wash the plates. Okay, just the bowls, too. The glasses. The sharp knives. (But that pot can wait.)
- How is it after 9 already? I have to shower. In the morning, I tell myself. For real this time.
Of a tired voice, being down one leche, and tricking myself into doing the dishes.