Zest Lit Issue 2, October 2013 - Page 164

grin, the pond glistening under a balmy sky. It was so good; at least he’d thought it was.

She held her chin straight on her slender neck and sighed. Now she was ready.


She would always be his truest critic. From that first day on the playground to his clumsy adolescent attempts at making impressions, even during his more sophisticated dabbling in oils, he knew he could count on her to be unflinching. She was not the type to blush at his nudes or pussyfoot around his recent foray into realism. Her knack for cutting through the shit was precisely what he needed. She kept him honest. She always had.

Of course she’d read it. She must have. She had to after all. This morning he made things that way.

‘You’re not coming?’

She flapped through the apartment in bursts of frustration tempered by grace. It was so strange to see her this way, a ball of energy moving room to room, but tender while grabbing his portfolio, his résumé. He could only watch quietly from the corner. The fact that he wouldn’t answer made her all the angrier.

‘It’s probably best that I don’t.’

She knew as well as he, that his skillset wasn’t meant for the boardroom.

‘But he wants to meet with you. He loves your work. Elliot, don’t you see. This can be the difference. How can you say you’re not coming?’

‘It would be awkward.