A bloody comedy-horror-romance published in miniskirt magazine’s PRIDE issue

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Janet opened up her flower shop that Saturday like usual.

She had to stick to her schedule—to feel normal, to remind herself that life wasn’t over just because Frank, her husband of 10 years, had told her the night before that he’d kissed Charlene, their across-the-street neighbor with the long legs and long neck and sparkling hazel eyes that were green or brown or golden, depending on the light.

Charlene.

Charlene who watered her roses on Sunday mornings, who always waved or called hello when she noticed Janet watching her from her front porch or the driveway or the bay window that got all that slanting afternoon sunshine.

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Janet pictured Charlene’s shiny dark hair as she put on her green apron, printed with “Bloomerang: Come on back” in white letters. She pictured Charlene’s crooked lower tooth—two over, left side—as she unlocked the door and flipped the sign to OPEN. Charlene’s perfectly symmetrical ears as she checked the temperature on the walk-in cooler. As she looked over next week’s wholesale order, used the bathroom, made a pot of coffee, images of Charlene’s face and hands and easy smile played through her mind on a loop.

Then Frank’s voice joined the reel like a soundtrack.

Sorry, honey. I kissed Charlene.

Kissed Charlene.

Charlene.

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