“Let’s pretend we’re at the beach,” she said, getting up. His
eyes followed her to the doorway, where she disappeared
and then reappeared with two bags of certified fair trade
Colombian dark roast from his freezer. She smiled and
started sprinkling coffee grounds at his feet.
Thirty-two ounces of coffee didn’t make much sand but it
was cold and gritty beneath their feet, and he rewarded her
by rising to make them each a fresh drink.
“Let’s fuck and make babies. Why not?” His voice was thick
with alcohol and summer and he repeated himself: “Let’s
fuck and make babies. See how romantic I can be?” He
grinned down at her, holding his empty glass and swaying
slightly.
“I think I love you,” he said, she-didn’t-know-how-many
G&Ts later. His words inside the tent were almost puzzled,
soft around the edges like watercolor smudges; her legs
wrestle-wrapped round his waist. Sometimes he cried when
he was really drunk; sometimes he was mean. This time he
bruised her neck with kisses.
Georgia Bellas is the fiction editor at Atticus
Review. Her work appears in Sundog Lit,
WhiskeyPaper, Cartridge Lit, The Collapsar,
and [PANK], among other journals. You can
follow her teddy bear, host of the Internet
radio show Mr. Bear’s Violet Hour Saloon, on
Twitter @MrBearStumpy.