Elliott, my absolute best friend and boyfriend of six years, began cheating on me in November, and for the last five months I’ve kept my knowledge of the affair a secret.
The boy sits on his parents’ bed. His mother sits on the floor. Outside, a few soapsud clouds drift against the blue.
The first time I had a gun pointed at me I was 14 and I ran home crying, and my brother laughed at me, calling me burra, saying I’d better get used to it. I didn’t know if he meant getting used to seeing guns or getting used to being stupid.
They could not afford the honeymoon Alicia wanted most — mossy-hilled Ireland or terraced, pastel Cinque Terre — but she managed to find a getaway closer nearby, in Cape Meares, that would still feel far from home.
I stood between the melons in the produce section at Lundardi’s, honeydew and watermelon, thinking about the lost daughters of the world.
Things were going well with my girlfriend. Surprising, since we were both near forty and had never been married.
Onscreen, the pug pulls away just as Mrs. Hernandez in 7C calls to complain about an awful noise coming from the roof.