Ain’t Gonna Stick

By the time I met him, in my thirties, my expectations were properly tempered. I knew enough not to get used to the feel of his warm arms or the sweet smell of scotch still on his breath or the peaked ceiling with the windows underneath. When he saw the morning snow falling and said, “That shit ain’t gonna stick,” he didn’t have to tell me. I was already pulling on the clothes we’d carelessly discarded and heading out to my car. It wasn’t worth waiting or even scraping the ice off, because he was right, it was already melting.

Lauren Kosa is a Virginia-based writer, with stories in the Antioch Review, The Offing, Lunch Ticket, Fiction Southeast, and others. Her work was nominated this year for Best Small Fictions.

Photo Credit: Nik Stanbridge

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.