On a Little Vaca

“The impetus darling, is that I love her.”

“But sweetum, You only just met.”

The cold bay breeze blows brine and dying fish into their faces. Sandy grit gets into the soft spots and they blink together. One of the few times in years they have done anything at the same time.

She looks down at her lap, then over at her brown carry-on with the white polka-dots. Inside are her vaca clothes.

“She’s waiting.”

“What am I to do then?”

She looks at her husband, twelve years and feels hot tears seeping through, “I don’t really care.”