By Maggie Sinclair
Paris, 1978. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him, enjoying the warmth of her body through the thin cotton dress. Holding the umbrella high, he allowed the rain to trickle inside his collar so she would stay dry. In the middle of the wet pavement, she stopped, kissed him, and whispered, “I love you.”
Edinburgh, 2018. Head bent against the rain, she scowled sideways from inside her fur-lined hood. “Asshole…showed you the forecast…spent a bloody fortune on this haircut…”
He pushed his hands deeper into the pockets of his cagoule and thought of Paris.
Nice. Lovely counterpoint. ??
Your story expresses so well how their relationship devolved over the years. Well said, Maggie.
A deftly distorted mirroring of the bookends of this relationship.
Clever use of the cagoule to underline that he’d never left Paris but she certainly had. Fine piece.
Beautifully done, with such a sad last line.
Ha ha..some people find this sad. But after forty years together, I guess it means she loves her ‘asshole’ even if she does not say ‘I love you’ :)..very well written
Love it.
Loved it!
Nice twist. A complete story in such few words.