Inappropriate

by Vi Keeland

No rain. No flowers.

“My brother is like an oyster. He’s shut tight, and he might never open, or you just may be the one who pries him loose. If that happens, I promise you’ll find a pearl waiting for you.”

“She worries like a rocking chair. Gives her something to do, but it never gets her anywhere.”

“That’s the key to a happy marriage. Marry a woman who scares you a little, one who makes you think what the hell is she doing with a jackass like me? Then spend the rest of your life trying to live up to what you think she deserves.”

“I found a drywaller.” He plucked the card from my hand. “Who wants in your pants. I’ll file this for you.” Grant crumpled up the card. “Oh my God. You’re jealous?” “No, I’m not. I’m territorial.” “That’s the same thing.” “Whatever. Show me the tile.”

My aunt used to say grief was a lot like swimming in the ocean. On the good days, we could float on top with our heads above water, feeling the sunshine on our faces. But on the bad days, the water grew violent, and it was difficult

not to get sucked under and drown. The only thing we could do was learn to be stronger swimmers.