Terrence had never been one to just suck a lollipop. No sooner had he popped it in his mouth than his teeth were clamping down, chipping shards as sharp as glass.
I use my fingers, letting the white slip down into the bowl, leaving the glistening golden globes one at a time cradled in my hand. So easily done—what once was whole has now been twain.
You’re on the ice. On a lake. In a car. Imagine the ice cracking and the car sinking into the deep, dark, deathly cold water. Try to breathe. Stop imagining. Try to breathe.
Dad gives no signs of noticing, pecking away at his laptop on the well-worn sofa in the family room that’s been more solitary room this week.
“Sheesh, Suzette’s been strutting around with a chip on her shoulder today!”
“You’re telling me! Acting like a big fish in a small pond lately.”
Three minutes can be an eternity. Forty-five breaths. One hundred and eighty seconds. Two hundred and ten heartbeats.
The Airbnb was quaint and quirky and we blew in with the wind, strewing makeup bags and wine coolers across the place like our signature: four best friends, there to whoop it up.
Life is full of all these tiny instants that you can’t undo. Any given second can cause life-long consequences.
Open the door, for Pete’s sake, because this is real life and it’s the pizza delivery you ordered, not your Prince Charming.
He’s clever. He’s handsome. He makes you feel at ease. That’s your Brandon, he’s a catch!