Pears and Polaroids

It is the time of year when pears hang too ripe from the trees. And when memories of adolescence and lost love cling like spiderwebs.

All that separates us is a small wooden table, an empty green bottle, a Mason jar half full of red wine, and a pear.

From the silence that grows between two people who have said all they have to say to one another, I speak.

“What are you working on?”
“Oh,” she says, “not much.”
I wait
“You know I don’t talk about my work. Not before it’s done.”
“Yeah,” I say. “You don’t talk about much ‘til it’s done.”
Another pause.
“A pear,” she says.
“You’re painting a pear?”
“Yeah.”

To read the whole story, go to gin + gelato's new short fiction/essay blog: Burning Sunflowers.