Fiction - Winter 2021

January

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“I wonder if I can get the sound of a vase shattering over the phone without actually shattering a vase.”

By Olivia Clare | December 7, 2020

When this one calls, Mikey doesn’t like it. Mikey calls him Love Number 6 because once I said that this was my sixth boyfriend ever, years ago. I never actually counted, but Number 6 stuck. Number 6 phones at three a.m. to tell me factoids and calamities.

“The baby’s sleeping,” Mikey says in my left ear, beside me in the bed. “Tell him you can’t talk.”

“Did you see the world news?” Number 6 says in my right ear, miles away in Sarasota.

“Word news?” I say.

World. World. There’s a virus starting up. I always told you one would.”

“What virus?” I say.

“It’ll spread fast,” he says.

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