I remember searching for the nearest trash bin in the Whole Foods parking garage, worrying that the overpriced kombucha might come back up on my bleach-stained leggings and ratty sweatshirt. His roommate looked the same, tall, lanky, a rugby player with a set jaw, but, like me, the last decade had thinned his hair, lined his forehead. His expression was that of pure focus, beelining from his SUV to the sliding glass doors, chin raised high above all that didn’t interest him, like the day he played hours of Madden NFL on the living room couch as I carted my belongings from my ex’s bedroom.
Holiday potpourri and wreaths lined the garage’s store entrance, prickling my nose. The gin and tonics flowed too freely at my friend’s wedding the night before, so it was my own fault (wasn’t it?) I looked and felt my worst. Though most friends’ weddings, back then, hadn’t I snuck the extra champagne flutes from the catering trays and befriended bartenders until they poured me doubles? My own matrimony hadn’t gone to plan, so why not celebrate love’s elusiveness while I could? Coconut water could fix all hangovers.
Ribbon from an autumnal flower arrangement snagged at my thumb and forefinger, and I bent over, squinting at the pattern, to avoid the roommate’s approach. Should my ex get married, would his bride hold a bouquet? Perhaps it would be a Vegas ceremony, the tackiness overlooked for urgency. She’d have to be smart, I imagined, to get her ring before he felt trapped, pinned like an insect to a museum wall. I inhaled slowly, willed my heart’s fluttering to calm. I tipped my ballcap low over my eyes. His roommate passed by without incident, without fanfare, without notice (why should I expect differently?), and my burbling stomach didn’t betray me. I unlocked my car and tucked my bag in the passenger footwell. I slept in the backseat until dinnertime.
~
Lauren Kardos (she/her) writes from Washington, DC, but she’s still breaking up with her hometown in Western Pennsylvania. The Molotov Cocktail, Spry Literary Journal, hex, Bending Genres, Best Microfiction 2022, and The Lumiere Review are just a few of the publications that feature her stories and poems. More of her work is available at www.laurenkardos.co and say hello on Twitter @lkardos.