I sit down and show her my hands. Aha, she says as she prepares the manicure tools. I told you not to bite your nails while reading. If you don't want to listen to me, there's no point in talking to you. Stop opening any books. Look at my nails. You'll thank me in a month. Her lips purse as she searches for the right nail clippers, with clear desperation in her eyes. I laugh and nod, hoping to soften her mood. But what about a year from now? I say, and she pouts again. It's your business, I only want what's best for you.
Oana Jindiceanu
She looks well, she thought to herself: firm breasts, flat stomach, seductive look, clearly younger. She placed the phone back exactly where she found it, wiping away her traces carefully. Then she clumsily undressed and gazed at herself in the mirror. Breasts like two half-empty bags of milk, a pregnant woman's belly even though she had given birth six years ago, a cold and lost gaze, dark under-eye circles. Can you bring me a towel?, he called from the bathroom. She quickly straightened up, took the hairdryer from the cabinet, opened the bathroom door smiling, and.
Alina Marcu
I'll miss our breakfast and that coffee only you know how to make perfectly. You've always made me feel like a king. And the weekly shopping session, and that glass of wine in the dead of night when we gossiped about the neighbours. I'll miss the scent of linden tree from the window, the lavender aroma from the closet, and the cookies you packed for me. I know it's hard for you, it's hard for me too. But please understand. I'm sorry, mom, I'm moving out tomorrow. With her. I love her. You're happy for me, right?
(Translated by Claudia Garofina Greculeac / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.