by Heather Chang
She muttered something that sounded vaguely like "...putting my affairs in order..." when I asked her about her morning. I just looked at her, over my coffee, not wanting to decipher a meaning in words I'd only half heard, unwilling to acknowledge the change I could see in her. "Jules," she said, so softly I didn't realize she'd spoken, "I think my world is falling apart." I didn't speak, wondering exactly what I was supposed to say, what she needed to hear, thinking back to what she'd said about not knowing how actors could pretend to love each other with such conviction when some days, she couldn't even pretend to like the man she'd vowed to spend the rest of her life with. "You can always crash at my place," I said, breaking the silence with carefully chosen words that felt so hopelessly weak, considering the occasion. "My stuff's in the car," she said, nodding, and took a sip of her coffee.
Heather Chang enjoys writing flash fiction and was previously published in "In the Write Mind."