Letdown | Nicole Brogdon
After Dan’s Atlanta conference, Judy upends his blue carry-on, dirty clothes tumbling onto the laundry floor—khakis, twin socks, damp boxers. One gossamer green thong springs up like a grasshopper. Judy sinks onto cold tile, pincer fingers lifting the undies—lace with black spiky straps, Small. She smells them. Judy never wore thongs. Since Baby’s birth, she wore cotton floral briefs, Large.
From the den, Dan hollers, “I’m flying back to Atlanta next weekend. Another meeting.”
Baby howls in the master bedroom.
Judy’s pendulous nursing breasts swell, tender and pained, that let-down. Her whole body, sticky, sad, and letdown.
About the Author:
Nicole Brogdon is an Austin TX trauma therapist interested in strugglers and stories, with fiction in Vestal Review, Cleaver, Flash Frontier, Bending Genres, Bright Flash, SoFloPoJo, Cafe Irreal, 101Words, Centifictionist, etc. Best Microfiction 2024, and Smokelong Microfiction Finalist.
Twitter: NBrogdonWrites.