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we arrive at the house,
wind up the hydrangea-lined driveway
i park in front,
open the passenger-side door for you
as if we’re in swishing evening gowns and towering stilettos
you feign a curtsy,
and i swear i stop myself from taking your hand just in time
goosebumps not just from the sudden blast of air-conditioning
as we walk through the stately front doors

my parents like to think themselves strict —
a tall order, since they’re never home
it’s nice and cool in the marble kitchen
i’ve got the blender set up,
grab from the wood-paneled fridge:
frozen strawberries
fresh ice
half a bottle of rosé
you do the honors with the cork,
polishing off the rest
as the whirring noise cuts through the air,
neither of us flinch

the pink slush fill two wine goblets to the top,
a bendy straw in each
yours: yellow
mine: blue

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