Twin Cities Runoff will be back with new content next Thursday, June 30, but in the meantime, consider these stories an open invitation to submit new fiction to firstname.lastname@example.org.
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Six Words for Carlo
I’ll tell Carlo that I cheated on him today. It’s very easy. All I have to do is say, “Carlo, I slept with your brother.” Easy. Very, very easy. Just six words. I must say more than a thousand words to Carlo every day. Maybe more than two thousand. Mathematically speaking, this confession’s only, like, a very small fraction of our words for the day. It’s completely reasonable that some other combination of six words will be more memorable or important. Maybe he’ll say back, “Let’s forget it and order takeout.”
Or even, “Bernice, I don’t care. Marry me?”
He might want to know why I slept with Frank, though. And then I’m in trouble. Because that’s definitely going to be more than six words. I mean, there’s that whole anecdote about Trish’s birthday last summer, the one Carlo couldn’t get off work for. And then the time we all went to the coast for the weekend and Carlo got sick off some bad shellfish. And when he refused to go out on New Year’s. Really, every single time, if he had just done what I wanted, we wouldn’t be in this situation now. I told him not to order those oysters. Like little balls of snot, they were.
I’ll tell him in the kitchen. No—too many knives. The living room, then. It’s nearer to the door. I should put on shoes, in case he kicks me out. There’s no dignity in putting on shoes while someone’s waiting for you to leave. Maybe I should pack a bag. That might jinx things though. Like fate, having some fun with me, making it to where I won’t need the bag unless I pack one, and then wham—out the door.