Journal 85
Evelyn 41
Grant writer
- Life
- A kitchen table with room for three cups
- Temper
- Steady and glad
Kinks
- Everyone named, everyone agreed
- She likes seeing her people happy
- Slow, before the day starts
I am Evelyn, 41. I write grants at the kitchen table in the mornings, pages face down when the work is not mine to leave open. My husband is Pete, 43. He bakes on weekends and tells the truth on weekdays, which is the trait I married. Claire is 38, a program officer we met through work and then, carefully, did not date through work. The three of us agreed months ago, and again before every night, that this is a real arrangement and not a slip. Mornings are our favorite. Compersion is the feeling I was afraid would be theoretical. It is not. When Pete kisses Claire and I feel warmth instead of a trap, I trust the morning more. Any one of us can cancel. We drink coffee after, three cups, and nobody has to perform a regret they do not have.
The blog
2 entries, newest first.
Three cups
Three cups, and none of us in a hurry. The chairs were pulled out already, sunlight on the rims, my navy cardigan buttoned once and uselessly. Pete had poured for Claire before she was in the room. She came in, kissed him thank you, kissed me longer, and said she still wanted what we had named last night. Last night's naming counts, and I still like a morning check. I…
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I turned the draft face down and left my hand on the paper a second longer than I needed. Morning was bright on the kitchen table. Pete was already up, and Claire had stayed over because we had agreed on Friday, in daylight, that Saturday could be ours if nobody woke up reluctant. I asked before I closed the laptop. Pete said he wanted us. Claire, in my navy cardigan…
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