The Last Orgasm by Nin Andrews
What you have long suspected is true. I know. It happened to me on April 11, 2013, a Sunday. My husband served me coffee and croissants in bed. Ada, the terrier, joined us and snuggled beneath the covers.
Three Micros by Nicholas Cook
He hands me a scrabble dictionary. He wants me to squawk words at him in the middle of the night. We sit on his mother’s couch.
Back Then and Now by David James
Back then we used to dance slowly to Sam Cooke’s “You Send Me” on your parquet floors, whispering about planting our vegetable garden, planning to seed the lawn with centipede grass, promising to count all the red cars that came down the street.
Dearly Departed by James Claffey
The porridge oats soaked overnight in the double broiler and sat on top of the cold Aga range.
Where You Left Her by Paul Asta
She lived three blocks over. Four houses down. Played the violin for the past sixteen years and hated it. Earlier she had asked you if you could curl your lips Chicago Style and you tried desperately to imagine what exactly that would look like.