Home for the Holidays

By: Laura K.

The sky is marginally lighter than the slush walling the streets. The air stings my nostrils. It’s a relief after yesterday, too many people and stories squeezed into that house; nineties Christmas albums; cookies and champagne at noon, wrapping paper and packaging everywhere. 

He’s divorced, now, no kids.  I made it here okay, not even skidding around Dead Man’s Curve, to his East Side walkup with a young lawyer couple below. 

It’s better than after-Christmas sale shopping would have been. 

Afterwards, we’ll attempt small talk. I’ll blast The Cure on the way home, just like before our lives stopped intersecting.

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