Brush Your Teeth

Flash Fiction.

“You never brush before bed,” she said moments after she spit out mouthwash, seconds before she’d take her place in the tacitly agreed upon side of my queen-sized sleep machine, where she’d place her cold feet under my warm legs, which felt nice. Familiar.

She had a point. But I only didn’t do this when she was around. Some nights she spent at her place, I’d even get crazy and bust out the floss before bedtime.

This was, admittedly, a strange quirk. That’s not at all lost on me. I was sometimes (three or even four nights a…