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PROSE
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The family of six has caught up and awkwardly shuffles around Alayna and Graham.
“And me? What about me? I love you, Alayna. Alayna, look at me. Please, I—I need to know... I
just—I want you to—”
“I’m sorry.”
“Please, Alayna.”
“Graham. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be married anymore. There’s nothing to fix. You haven’t
done anything wrong.”
“I love you.”
“I need to do this. I’ll still help with the girls of course. I love them. I love you.”
“Alayna. Alayna, look at me.”
“Hey, Mom, Dad, look how fast I run and run!” Michelle has passed the tree and is attempting a
live-action-Monet-tulip-dance. She ducks and twirls through the reds, yellows, and pinks.
Alayna watches, a blank canvas.
Graham watches Alayna.
“Mom! Dad!”
“That was so fast, babe!” Graham turns Alayna towards him.
“What are we doing? This is crazy. I’m hearing you. I think I understand. But let’s just wait till we
get home. We can talk about it. We can—”
“Fix it.”
“I love you.” Graham wilts. “That’s not enough is it?” He clutches Adrie tighter. “You’ve
already decided. Just like that. In three minutes, you’ve decided. What about me? Do I