Flash: Indisputable

‘It’s here,’ I shout up to her.

She doesn’t thunder down the stairs like she would have until recently. She moves slowly, with newfound a gentleness or trepidation.

I hold up the envelope. It is thick; the window has my name in it, and our address.
   Her eyes wetten. She sinks to the bottom step. ‘Go on then,’ she says; her voice a sigh.
   It’s not the reaction I was anticipating; I was expecting shouty loudness. I feel for a tissue to give her but my pockets are empty.
   My heart is thumping. ‘You open it.’ I thrust the envelope at her but she recoils and it falls between us.
   She wipes her eyes on her sleeve and I notice she's wearing my old sweatshirt. She looks up at me, her eyelashes glistening with tears. I’d forgotten that she is beautiful.
   I stare back, trying to read her thoughts, until finally she says, ‘Just get it over with.’
   I pick up the envelope and run my hands over it, wishing it was braille and I could read it without reading it. She watches, diminished, contained by the occasion. She looks cold. I sit down and put my arm around her. She smells of summer Saturdays.
   ‘Or I could not open it,’ I say into her ear. The words make me giddy with possibility.
   ‘What?’ Her face swings to mine, almost too close to focus on. I feel her body tense, then unfurl.
   I tear the envelope in half and she gasps. Then I rip the paper into a confetti of tiny pieces and throw them into the air. She laughs loudly, uncontained again and pulls me towards her.