toast

Claire stared at her morphed reflection on the side of the small appliance. A soft hum seemed to emulate from the glowing nichrome wires. There was something hypnotic in the simplicity of burning her slices of seven-grain wheat. 

“You know you have to call him,” her roommate nudged from the frame of the kitchen doorway. 

Claire sighed. “I know… I know.” She traced the empty base of her left ring finger.

The noisy spring pushed her bread slices into the air with a surprising pop, pulling her attention. “I’m just not ready to yet.” 

Burnt crusts echoed against the thin ceramic dish. 

“I get that. So what do you think you’re gonna do?”

Claire pulled two fresh slices from the bag. “Make toast.” 

-b 

June 29, 2020