I met you, and my teeth fell from my mouth one by one, clicking like acrylic beads. I ran to the bathroom to see what the fuck happened, and saw the “made in China” inscriptions on the base of each one. Nothing feels authentic in comparison to you, but it’s terrifying that my gums didn’t know the difference. You win.
This week has been a dinner party flipped on its side. You’re right, the food wasn’t good, the company wasn’t good. You win. But I put in the time. I wanted to grin and bear it, shifting the gravel between my teeth. I was going to pass the butter, slide chicken bones and pieces of my fingernails into the cloth napkin at my right, throw it all in a bucket of soap later on and sigh so hard it’d shake the room.
Just to give you an update, everything on my end is cracked, even the things I thought were too minor and hazy to do that. Spilled milk on the floor cracked in half, a shard of it lodged in my heel. The napkins cracked, so that’s another thing. Earlier, I planned to make them into bluebirds but they ended up looking more like hawks or napkins.
You really fucked up my kitchen. You win.
The cross-stitched pillow said “Honesty is the Best Policy” but now it’s useless and stained with red wine. When I remake it, it’ll have to be big enough to say “Honesty Leaves Holes in the Drywall and Honesty has a Girlfriend Already, but Honesty is the Only Thing Steady at the Bottom of this Small Talk.”
No, I didn’t invite you to dinner. No, I didn’t make a move. But can we just get past that? If I had, I would have flipped over the table myself. I would have marched over to you, kissed you hard and final, and left the cards stained and scattered in your hands. Your move.
Do you realize how much heat you stirred in me? I listened to a podcast where a woman with a raspy voice and a kid crying in the background talked about how we become magnetic when we’re in love. I don’t think this is what she was talking about. I walk down the street and people in the patios of restaurants watch their silverware lurch forward and fix itself to my stomach. I am covered in thumbtacks, BIC lighter safeties, and that single earring you wear.
I’ll show up at your door covered in all of this. No need to RSVP, I have a place setting or two on me already. Congratulations, this is real. That’s about all I know, but it better be something. I’ll pluck a spoon from my right arm, lock eyes with you, and slip it into my mouth.