The Seven Year Slip

by Ashley Poston

I loved how a book, a story, a set of words in a sentence organized in the exact right order, made you miss places you’ve never visited, and people you’ve never met.

The pigeon whirled its head around like the girl from The Exorcist and blinked at him.

Vera never measured any of the ingredients, and watching her in the kitchen was like witnessing a hurricane personified.

“I’m pretty great at reading people.” “Oh?” “In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m halfway to figuring out your favorite color.” “It’s—” “No!” he cried, holding the knife up to me. “No. I’m going to guess it.”

This was the kind of silence that was so loud it screamed.

“It was a perfect weekend,” I whispered, keeping my doubt at bay. “Any longer and it would turn out bad. You’d find out that he listened to Nickelback or—or worse.”