One Last Day

Emily racks the balls while Stacey circles the table like she already knows every angle. They trade shots. Stripes. Solids. The green felt keeps its secrets. Every time Emily leans in to take aim, Stacey watches from behind, and every time Stacey leans over for her shot, Emily can’t look away. The balls crack. A pocket swallows one. Then another. Soon they both forget the score. They move around the table without really moving away from each other, and at some point the cue rests against the rail and nobody picks it back up. Hands touch skin instead. Emily’s mouth finds the sharp bone of her stepmother’s hip. Stacey’s fingers trace a line along Emily’s jaw, then lower, then inside the open top of the last bathing suit. They back against the edge. Stacey’s thigh wedges between Emily’s legs and stays there. The game belongs to whoever pulls her suit off first. No one bothers to count the points anymore. They’re on the table before the cue ball finishes rolling.