She’d invite the husbands over on Wednesdays. Dinner was pot roast. She made them take off their shoes. Her daughter brought fake berries on a pretend plate. They were all failures, more or less. After, she wiped their mouths. There was a tent downstairs; a blue Coleman that’d withstand gale-force winds. They waited in it naked while she washed the dishes, squinting at their watches, as if finally late for something.
by Matt Marinovich of Parts Unknown