On day nine of my indefinite pandemic summer escape to my boyfriend’s childhood home in the New Jersey suburbs, we get drunk with his mother on his younger brother’s margaritas. The tequila loosens the tension of being trapped together. She tells me about her earliest romantic relationship and how it ended, then shrugs. “First boyfriends are for practice.”
Condensation drips down my glass; this man sitting next to me says nothing.
“Judy,” I begin, knowing I shouldn’t, “your son is my first boyfriend.”
She looks at him, then looks back at me. “You gotta dump him.”
She takes another sip.
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Emily Polson is a Pushcart-nominated writer whose work has appeared in HAD, Salt Hill Journal, Capsule Stories, Wizards in Space, and elsewhere. Originally from Iowa, she now lives in Brooklyn and works as an editor at Scribner. You can find her on Twitter @emilycpolson.
Photography by: Taylor Simpson
