Four Weekends and a Funeral

by Ellie Palmer

“That note’s a crime,” he says, like a spark of electricity didn’t just flicker between us. “Are you a lawyer?” “No. I’m a carpenter.” “Like Jesus?”

Are you responsible for teaching a workaholic woman the true meaning of Christmas or is that a different grumpy carpenter? Do you guys work in shifts?”

When I was toiling away in Intro to Civil Engineering and Econ 101, no one told me how much excelling in a professional setting came down to looking the busiest.

His face holds a sincere intensity that indicates either a genuine interest in my banal personal trivia or a fierce determination to steal my identity. I won’t know for sure until he asks for my mother’s maiden name or the street I grew up on.

“You’re kind of my favorite new person, if that’s not too weird a thing to say.”

now that I know Adam biblically.

“Because I was asleep—in this walking, talking, waking coma. And now I’m awake. You woke me up.”

I shouldn’t have to make major fertility decisions on my ex’s front lawn

“If this is a misdial, I’ll kill you.” “Suddenly, I’m wondering why I was so nervous to call you.”

Guilt demands action. You have to atone for it. It tells you exactly what it wants from you. Sadness doesn’t do that. At least it doesn’t for me.”