You, Again

by Kate Goldbeck

He examines the label. “Who shows up to a party with Trader Joe’s white zinfandel?” “Don’t talk that way about the wine retailer of the proletariat,” Ari mutters.

Sometimes it’s not until she encounters genuine parental affection that she recognizes the utter lack of it in her life. It hurts more to fill the cavity than to leave it empty.

“I lied before,” he continues. “If we met in some other timeline, I couldn’t have gone back to my life like nothing happened. You would have fucking ruined me.”