By Tess Callahan
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Extra info for April & Oliver
She looked worse now. Shaky and hot. ” “Jesus,” he said. “Free advice. The first time make sure you face her. ” “And don’t kiss if you don’t mean it,” she said seriously. ” “First of all, that’s none of your business, and second, maybe I didn’t want to. ” “Piss off,” he said. Her knee on his thigh was creating heat. He was sure she felt it, too. “I’m out of here,” he said. She leaned forward on all fours, one hand on either side of him. Oliver smelled whiskey on her breath, salt in the air, the heady fragrance of buds.
She knew how to unlatch the crib rail and slide it down quietly so as not to disturb the dog, whose jangling tags in the dead of night could awaken their father, always grouchy when woken. She would give Buddy his bottle even before he cried for it. She remembers the milky scent of his skin, the down of his hair, and the tiny half-moon of his fingernails. The group blesses themselves, following the priest, and April does the same, drawing a line from head to heart, shoulder to shoulder, father to son.
I’ll see if I can’t scrounge up an extra ticket for the season opener. ” April doesn’t feel she can promise anything at the moment, nor imagine herself paying attention to basketball. ” He kisses her, on the lips as usual. It’s not a sexual thing exactly, more like a provocation. The ash on his breath stirs her craving for a cigarette. “Try not to break too many hearts on the road,” she says. He smirks and trots down the deck stairs. She can leave, too, she thinks. Just slip away without saying good-bye, Al-style.
April & Oliver by Tess Callahan