Second First Impressions

by Sally Thorne

“When you’re this old, weed and takeout is all you have left to live for. And love, of course,”

“It was the way he laughed at the question that made me feel really . . . sad. He said he didn’t have it in his DNA to love someone properly and forever.”

All I know is, nothing in life feels that bad when I’m eating carbs and fat. Everything will work out, because of cheese.

“You’re the thousand-dollar dress on the rack in this thrift store and I can’t believe no one’s picked you up yet.”

“Brown-eyed sublime being. She of soft, deep cardigan pockets. Bubble-bath taker. Pool jumper. Cheese provider. Sunset glower. Heaven sent.”

“We’re lying right in the middle of all your hard work and kindness. Your mark is all over everything.” He looks at his tattooed forearm, then sighs up at the sky. “I wish I could be even a fraction of the person you are. Sometimes, I lose all composure when you look at me. You’ve got this look that just . . . levels me flat.”

Teddy smiles brightly, then reflexively looks at me, and I’m in love.

It’s an angel, around five inches tall. She’s got flowing robes—or is it a cardigan?—wrapping a neat, curvy frame, tiny pointed bare toes and wings out, she’s reaching up to the heavens. And in her hands, smaller than half a fingernail in size, is the unmistakable outline of a tortoise.

When the priest said that Renata was survived by her wife, Aggie Parloni, a ripple of applause went through the room.