The Last Moment with the Woman I Thought I’d Marry
When we parted ways that day I didn’t realize it would be a “goodbye forever”
At the time I didn’t know the moment was our last. I had little reason to.
I’d just returned home from brunch with my parents. We’d eaten at a local Ethiopian spot, owned by a kind lady who always greeted me with a warm smile. She’d serve up a platter of lentils with Injera and we’d chat about our cats — hers Rainbow, mine Mickey and Callie.
S was napping in my bed, covered in the bedsheets like a beautiful taquito. She’d stayed out late with a few of my friends the night before. Unable to stifle my yawns for any longer than I did, I’d left the gathering early to get some much-needed sleep.
I lay next to her now, wrapping her gently in my arms. She turned over, put her hand against one of mine.
“Hi, Babe,” I whispered.
“Hi,” she murmured back sleepily.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“Tired,” she said. “How was your brunch?”
“We feasted. I brought home leftovers. They’re in the fridge if you get hungry later,” I offered.
She thanked me, said she was glad we’d had a nice time.
