by Tim Patterson
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "So you're not Jack," she said. It wasn't a question.
"You're not Sarah," he replied.
He went to the cupboard to get her favourite mug. There were two of them, so he grabbed both. Then he poured boiling water into them. "What kind of tea do you want?"
"Coffee," she said, but when he looked at her she was smiling the way that his Sarah did when she was being coy.
"Peppermint?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied.
With the mug in front of her she slipped both her hands around it as if to warm them. Her feet stretched out to rest on the rungs of the wooden chair across from her. He looked at her in her old Reebok sweater. For everything that was different, so much was the same.
"I loved you," she said to him while looking at her tea.
"You mean you loved him."