American Chordata: Magazine of New Writing Issue One, Spring 2015 | Page 122

104
FICTION

“Okay,” I said. “I’ve just been watching a lot of TV.”
“TV,” she said. The living room was framed by bookshelves full
of well-worn paperbacks. She went over and browsed, pulled out
two books. “Here,” she said. “This one’s about a couple who falls in
love in India. Very spiritual. And this one—this is essays about
families. This writer, he has a lot of pain, but he’s very funny.”
Lately, I hadn’t felt like reading. I had picked up Camus and the
words just slid off the page. “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll definitely read
them.”
“Alright, kids,” Mrs. Larkin said, ruffling Jack’s hair. “I’m going
to bed.”
“Goodnight, Mom,” Jack said.
As Mrs. Larkin’s steps disappeared upstairs, Jack put his arms
around me. His hand scraped my stomach under my shirt, and I
shivered.
“Want to go downstairs?” he said.
“Okay,” I said.
He leaned down and scooped me into his arms. As we went
down the steps, I felt the 7&