“Clog was bad,” I say, kneeling by the toilet. “Needed a wet-vac.”
“How’d it happen?” he demands from the bathroom doorway. I watch him intently. He has no idea.
She peeks from behind him, slender hand nervously brushing her belly. Close enough to clasp in mine. But, of course, I don’t.
“Mostly hair,” I say, rising to block his view of the open wet-vac canister. He glowers at her.
“It’s a common problem,” I assure him, and discreetly close the lid to hide tiny stillborn feet still poking through the muck.
I fix clogs and leaks. I can’t fix everything.
Sidney Stevens has an MA in journalism from the University of Michigan and lives in Pennsylvania. Most recently, her short story “Necessary Lies” placed as a finalist in the Writer’s Atelier fiction contest. Her creative nonfiction has appeared in Newsweek, New Works Review, Sure Woman, and a new anthology called “Nature’s Healing Spirit” from Sowing Creek Press. Find her on Twitter: @SidneyBStevens1.
The Centifictionist 
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