Everyone in This Room Will Someday Be Dead

by Emily R. Austin

I am looking into Eleanor’s face on her pillow. Her eyes are brown. “Your eyes are brown,” I tell her. “I know,” she replies, smiling. “Do you think you’ll want to get married one day?” I ask her. She snorts. “Wow, I can’t figure you out!” “What do you mean?” I ask. She laughs. “Half the time you don’t text me back, and now you’re talking to me about marriage? Don’t you think it’s a little early to ask me that kind of question, Gilda?” “I just wondered,” I explain, “in general, do you think you’ll ever want to get married to anyone?” “Well,” she answers, rolling on her back, “I’m not really sure.” She has freckles. “You have freckles,” I tell her. “I know,” she replies, smiling.

MY BABIES