Undercurrent

At my mother's wedding, I met my fourth nominal "stepmother." Veiled, she smiled with gentle elegance.

As the guests egged her on with their own agendas, she tossed her bouquet behind her.

I caught it.

When I walked over, she looked startled for a moment, then quickly composed herself. I gazed at her porcelain-white chin and remembered how it had rested on my shoulder as she panted softly.

I smiled.

"Congratulations on your wedding, Stepmom."

-Happy wedding day, my ex-girlfriend who left without a word.

The more beautiful something is, the less I should touch it.

A short story to fill in the blanks. Not for sale.

It's a tragedy.

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