A Short Story For Saturday

April Ayers Lawson’s “Virgin,” from the Fall 2010 Paris Review, begins this way:

Jake hadn’t meant to stare at her breasts, but there they were, absurdly beautiful, almost glowing above the plunging neckline of the faded blue dress. He’d read the press releases, of course. He recalled, from an article, her description of nursing her last child only six months before her first radiation treatment. Then he noticed she wasn’t wearing a bra.

What did they have inside them: saline or silicone? And how did these feel, respectively? He probably stared too long. (But how could she expect people not to stare when she wore a dress cut like that?)

She’d noticed.

Had his wife noticed? Doubtful. She noticed so little about him these days.

Read the rest here. Previous SSFSs here.