: About Me

Four Years After four years it was amazing that Liz and I were still finding ways to care. The day was supposed to be about us, but my father had called this morning. That was a four year anniversary too. He didn't say he was sorry, and neither did I. So there she sat in the burgundy robe I'd bought her in Baltimore on a business trip, chewing gingerly on a dark chocolate. What's in this one, she asks laughing. I look between the nibbles and tell her it's marzipan. What's that she asks. It's like caramel for white people. She laughs again. On the kitchen counter a bottle of cheap Champagne...