Cheesecake

When she called with the news, I felt helpless. Here I was delighting in discovering my new hometown – a place with art, and architecture, and music, and tourists – and my friend was hurting, miles away. She had suffered one of those losses for which words are useless, and physical gestures are the primary means through which you can show your support. Hugs. A prepared meal. Comfortable silence. All things you can’t do from across the country.

I considered sending flowers, but it felt wrong. It wasn’t Valentine’s day, and she had never been one for flowers. Flowers die. Giving her loss after The Loss would be like shining a spotlight on the emotional ripples that would flow from this event over the next weeks.

When Sarah Met Clyve, Part 2

You can read part 1 of this story here.

Sarah rolled over, curling into Clyve’s ever-present warmth.  She suspected that he’d found some dizzy, unnatural means of fending off the cold to better survive the winter nights of Washington, DC’s lonelier park benches.  He gave off heat the way a cat or a space heater did.  Lots better though.