Shorter Stories from The Avocado Grove - Working Title Pink and Short Part I

I am in your kitchen, your kitchen with Ally, and I bring a cake, the same kind of pineapple cake you said you couldn’t get enough of at the block party.

“I heard about Emily.”  This is all I am able to say.  I keep thinking about what you said the night of the party about my tattoo.

“That butterfly looks like it has teeth, perfect teeth.”

You do most of the talking at first about Emily and Ally, but it isn’t long before we talk about everything else.

It is almost a year later when I write Ally. 

I nod and try to focus on your words.

“Thanks for the cake, Marianne.”  I don’t tell you Ally isn’t much for sweets.  I remember what she said about your cake the night of the block party – “We couldn’t keep the flies off that.”

So lucky.  She told me.

The diamond studs sparkled in her ears.   With her new hair cut, she looked regal like she presided over something and I suppose in a way she did.  I didn’t get any more of your cake.

I could tell you a funny story from my middle school days about all the cups of punch I drank getting up the nerve to walk outside; and the stuff my date said about her dress for two weeks leading up to the dance, how I thought “Jessica McClintock” was her best friend.  This stuff always got laughs as ice breakers in new situations, at sales meetings and conferences.  Your dress is pink and short and it doesn’t go past your knees.  I shouldn’t be sitting here.