All in JUNE 2018 (V.I I.III)
A throng of people howled their lungs out. All sorts of people. Jack saw cream and navy suits, tattered denim, bright candy flashes of sweatshirts and pea coats all amassing together. People cradled their phones to their cheeks and wept, and the sound frightened birds out of trees.
He moves so that our bodies meet. We’re facing each other, but I keep my arms by my side, resisting his hug. His dick is resting against the waist of my bikini bottoms. I burrow my toes into the sand.
Weddings have a wonderful way of monopolizing your life and pushing everything else to the side. So even when the doctor called and said, “I have the results from your ultrasound,” Susan listened and then answered, “You know I can’t deal with this until after Rachel’s wedding.”
The recipe was one his mother made. Now they can’t remember the process. The father has asked the daughter to try. Please think, he says. Please help.
It stains my fingers and tastes like June. Maybe in January when I’m desperate for warmth I’ll come back to this day and remember the sunny juices.