Page 44 of Exquisite Things

It is the last day of the last month of the first year of a new decade.

Oliver is gone when Changeling wakes me up by crawling atop my face. She meows until I acknowledge her. She misses Oliver

when he’s gone. I do too. She prefers Oliver to me. I do too.

“I know, sweetie, I’m not him. But he has a session today. He’ll be back.”

On his side of the bed is the journal I got him for his birthday. Now filled with our thoughts and fears. We keep it carefully

hidden under a loose floorboard, for our words would give our secret away.

I flip the pages until I see his new note: I didn’t think it possible, but I think this was the best year of my life. Thank you.

I write my own: Next year will be better, I promise.

I place the journal back under the floorboard. He’ll see my message soon enough. I feel a sudden wave of superstitious panic.

Am I tempting fate by promising an even better year?

But the anxiety doesn’t last. I’m too happy. Too certain that the best is yet to come.