He isn’t her fiancé. Isa continued to clip the drawer divider to fit. Her socks neatly fit to either side. She measures the next dresser drawer.
Sharing a bed is different.
Hangers part at the long sleeved shirts. She slots in a blue, changes her mind and shifts the blouse to the evening wear. A pile of donation items is beginning to seem daunting.
Isa tidies the kitchen. Plenty of space. Geoff says he likes to cook. He can stock it. The refrigerator, Isa cleans two shelves, which she keeps for herself.
A cross-country car trip is a little short on adventure yet each evening fills with familiar names matching unfamiliar faces who part spaces for their night’s stay.
Finally home. The rules can wait until morning.
Eventual prenuptials. Sign on the divided lines.
Years divide the present from the past. Isa’s life joins with Geoff’s as death divides the sum of young years between relatives.
©2014 Sandra R. Davidson
A Layering of Perception 