mritzker

German-Canadian living in the UK. Student of history, literature, film, writing. 2 dogs.

  They ate home-made burritos every Friday. They had both been raised on chicken casseroles and macaroni and hot dogs in the summertime. They had never travelled south of the border and the only non-English words they knew were the same non-English words everyone knew. Hola. Mi casa es su casa. Adiós amigos. It began on her 23rd birthday. She opened the card and read the details slowly. “A cooking class?” The dimples didn’t appear in her cheeks when she smiled at him. On the day he waited in the driveway and watched as she locked the front door, fumbling with the keys she wasn’t used to yet. “New jeans?” he asked. He was asleep when she left work work in the mornings and by the time he got home …

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Andrea hoisted herself onto a stool and leant across the counter. She grabbed a menu from the stack and flipped to the all-day breakfast. She could never decide between pancakes or scrambled eggs in places like this. The Appetite Plate had both, but she wanted one or the other, without the added hassle of hashbrowns and bacon. The mirror was full of faces. Andrea could hardly see the wallpaper of her childhood bedroom through the collage of relatives crowded behind her. Her own hair took up a third of the space. For some reason she’d thought it would be a good idea to curl it and now she was mildly concerned it had become a safety hazard. Her 5-year old cousin was half drowning in the frizzy mane. “You look …

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