She won’t shut up about her new rug. She found it on Instagram. I look it up later and realize she must have spent a fortune, but while we’re there I assume she got it on Amazon. It’s real wool, she keeps saying. Ours always off-gasses, we leave a window open. Someone breaks a glass and she doesn’t bat an eye, her cabinets are enormous. She pulls down another delicately stemmed wine glass, the belly bulbous in her manicured hand. My husband laughs on the train ride home: That thing will be shedding for years. I nearly quake with jealousy.
Julia Kenny's fiction has been published in The Greensboro Review and Okay Donkey. She works in publishing and lives in NYC with her family. Twitter: @juliafkenny.