She picked at the green plastic straw, then drew it halfway up out of her drink, focusing on the white coating of whipped cream that covered the opposite end of it. With just as much attention, she dunked it back into the caramel frappuccino before bringing it back up. Up and down, up and down.
“So.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and pushed his gray hat up off his forehead, giving her a sly smile of conspiracy. “What’s really going on?”
She shivered as the December wind ripped through her. Shouldn’t have left your coat in the car, she silently scolded herself, dumb. She found her thin arms wrapping themselves tightly around her waist.
Their eyes met. His question had a way of making it seem as if the last hour and a half of conversation hadn’t happened. No more psychoanalyzing her relationship, no more rehashing his past (afternoons spent over games of Scrabble and evenings over Jeopardy!), no more quiet sobbing or chewed fingernails as she waited to hear his advice.
Her fingers trembled, making her drop the straw back into its cup. Here was the true suspense, the terrifying part that made her heart beat so loudly in her chest that Alfred Hitchcock would be jealous. I’m not a cheater.
“I love you.”
He removed his hat entirely, placed it on the table, and leaned back to study her. “I know.”
Gretchen Corsillo is a writer and librarian living in the suburbs of NYC. She holds a B.A. in Literature & Creative Writing from Ramapo College and a Master's of Library & Information Science from the University of Pittsburgh. Gretchen is a columnist for Public Libraries Magazine, and her writing also appears in Salon and Feminine Collective. Find her on Substack at gretchencorsillowrites.substack.com.
Comments