Future Found—US
/Leaves glistened—
green dulled under cloud.
October slipped away.
She let me in—
maroon walls lined with photos,
fire shifting,
lavender candle flared.
Maryanne—
TV flickered, muted,
we chewed gossip,
ears tingling,
sipped beer,
foam mustaches—
we teased.
Still single,
circling.
She invited me for pumpkin pie
Next month, turkey day:
cooking for her folks.
She didn't say it—
nerves.
She wanted a taste tester,
not knowing—
her thought sweetened
my tongue.
I leaned in—
"Pumpkin pies are criminal."
I sipped—
"You might turn
jack-o’-lantern," she teased.
"I'm a walking jump scare."
She laughed—stifled.
"So true."
Falling in love—
my only fear;
pumpkins,
second to shame.
Maryanne swore
I’d love her pie,
bet me—
I couldn’t say no.
She tucked her dark bangs.
I took her hand—
said, "Fine."
At twenty-two,
we graduated last year.
She joined her family's firm.
I worked at Mom’s
design business.
Just friends—
I thought it'd stay that way,
though I hoped it wouldn't.
Our eyes met—
chest tight, head light,
room spinning—
carnival ride.
She slipped out,
then returned—pumpkin knife,
V-neck top,
sapphire eyes aflame.
"Subaru" played
on the radio.
“I’m scared,"
she said,
sitting on pine
her mask slipped.
"I'm sorry?"
I touched my parted lips.
She wiped her eyes.
"Maybe I waited too long,"
she said.
"Maybe you don't even want me."
"I'm confused."
I scratched my neck.
She stood, arms folded.
"That's what I get
for trying to explain myself."
"I'm scared," I said.
"Did you mean it?"
She nodded,
eyes swept oak.
"What about the pumpkin stuff?"
I said, each word drawn out.
She shook her head.
We laughed.
"I burn hot water."
I tabled the beer,
approached her.
"Will you burn me?"
Our gaze met—
more than friends.
She brushed my beard.
"I'll be your treat
if you play stupid tricks on me."
I blushed.
"Deal."
Kissing a friend
hit differently;
she knew me.
Pumpkin pie,
old white lies,
sweet layered faith,
stitched together—
more than friends.
Damn dead ends,
future found—us.
By Andy Cooper
From: United States
X: AC0040