A Modest Proposal
Orpheus and Eurydice were in their underwear, which is why they still hadn’t told their mothers about how Eurydice didn’t want a big wedding, or any wedding, anymore. She casually admitted it on the loveseat in the living room. After a decade of wishing desperately for the marriage he didn’t want, she awoke today with her desire having disappeared. Throwing a party is something we already know how to do, she told Orpheus, matter-of-factly, like being together. She knew once her confession escaped there was no taking it back. Like a champagne cork expanding, the promise of the bottle easing the release for good. She’d buried a dream she wasn’t even sure was hers in exchange for a life with him. Speaking of escape, the butterflies in Eurydice’s stomach started galloping as Orpheus gazed at her, seated assuredly in her mismatched bralette and cotton underwear, and felt his own wants begin their surrender. Suddenly, a pale yellow creature flitted from her throat. Orpheus caught it, handed it back to his girlfriend, let the fragile legs land on her finger. The little wings flapped rapidly, then calmed. I’m doing this all wrong, Orpheus conceded. He offered to wrap the love of his life in the one thing she always wanted. They would meet at City Hall in May.
