I rode in the passenger seat
of her two-door Pontiac Grand Prix
as we idled in the drive-thru
of that small-town KFC/Taco Bell.
I pulled the small purple photo album
from my woven Sak crossbody,
and her eyes widened as they caught
a glimpse of the picture –
grey matter woven
within waves of black discourse,
dark and uncertain as the future to come.
I pitched the plan and the wedding
set for the next month, my confidence
masking the quiver within my voice.
Her disapproval was revealed
through each follow-up question,
though I answered each one
with precision and conviction.
She handed me the bag of food
and I dug through for mine.
I opened the lid to the Nachos
BellGrande and stuffed a
cheese smeared tortilla chip
into my mouth when she asked,
“Do you even love him?”
Lindsey is a writer born and raised in Upstate South Carolina. She has words in Emerge Literary Journal, X-R-A-Y, Emrys Journal, Red Fez, Schuylkill Valley Journal and more. She spends her time at home raising a strong, confident daughter. Find her on her website at https://r3dwillow.wixsite.com/rydanmardsey or on Twitter: @rydanmardsey.