My Wife’s Phone
by Sean Ennis
Got laid. By Grace, so there’s no shock or scandal. But not before I helped her find her phone. She swore she had it when she left Colleen’s, but now here she is crying in the car port, phoneless.
I imagine when Grace dies—I’ve seen this in movies—I’ll hug all her clothes in the closet, smelling the perfume I gave her. That’s how attracted to her I am.
This is not to say Grace is sick or involved in danger.
Sex is not a thank you card in this house. The phone was, almost inexplicably, on the bed.