She was scrutinizing the structure of her poem. The doorbell sounded. She glanced at the Skype icon, no, she tapped a different icon, no message hovered bottom left on Facebook, she squinted at her mobile phone.
“Oh!” she grunted, swinging around. She tipped the cat, and unfolded herself on the way to the door.
She opened it to a man with flowers.
“Samantha ... ” he hesitated over her Polish last name.
“Whoa Chuck,” she offered. The ridiculous grade school joke. Her poor brother ...
“For you.”
“Thanks.”
No card. Charles always remembered their birthday.
“Oh!” she grunted, swinging around. She tipped the cat, and unfolded herself on the way to the door.
She opened it to a man with flowers.
“Samantha ... ” he hesitated over her Polish last name.
“Whoa Chuck,” she offered. The ridiculous grade school joke. Her poor brother ...
“For you.”
“Thanks.”
No card. Charles always remembered their birthday.
