By Cullen Corkery
I come home late with no answers.
The kitchen light is on and she is sitting there in a bathrobe with an empty wine bottle and a stained glass. I look around, then take a seat at the table, sitting across from her. “We should probably talk,” I tell her, ashamed.
“Tomorrow,” she replies.
I get up from the table and head upstairs. From the bedroom I can hear her pouring a glass of water, shutting the light off, and coming upstairs. She lays down next to me in bed and we go to sleep as the sun rises.
Cullen Corkery writes to better understand the side of ourselves we hide from others.