Slices of Life by Georgia Beers

her life and what her immediate future might hold. Lisa had been trying to get her to retire for almost two years now. Soon was always Geri’s answer, though soon never seemed to get any closer.
    She passed down the hallway slowly, stopping to look at each photograph Lisa had hung lovingly, precisely, on the wall. They were excerpts of their life together, like still shots from a movie. Their trip to Ireland more than twenty years ago, both smiling, intoxicated, and looking impossibly young. The two of them sitting in front of their first Christmas tree, a pathetic sapling that made Charlie Brown’s tree look full and mature. Geri grinned as she thought about Lisa pleading to let her get that one, that it was just too small and sad to be left at the garden store, how nobody would buy it and how no tree should be left all alone at Christmas. Geri hadn’t stood a chance against that face of hers, the pleading eyes, the pouty lips. The tree had one sturdy branch on it, so that’s where all their ornaments were hung. They looked stupidly happy sitting there on Christmas morning in their jammies in front of what was essentially a decorated branch. And again, unbearably young.
    “Were we really such babies?” she whispered to the air.
    Continuing down the hall, Geri’s gaze skimmed over snapshots of her life, a bittersweet sigh escaping as she passed the pictures of the five different dogs they’d chosen, loved, and lost in their time together, finally deciding they couldn’t take the heartbreak one more time. It was still weird to come home and not be greeted by a wet nose and wagging tail. More photos, more memories, and not for the first time, Geri understood how lucky she was. Like any long-term couple, she and Lisa had their bumps, their issues, their heated arguments. They had ugly moments and they each said things at one time or another that they wish they hadn’t. But ultimately, they were there for one another with a strong, deep love and gentle forgiveness that outlasted any kind of muck, no matter how thick. Geri couldn’t imagine her life without Lisa. And more than anything, what she did not want was for Lisa to have to take care of her down the road. With her back issues and her arthritis, she knew she could end up at least somewhat disabled if she didn’t watch herself, if she wasn’t more careful and less stubborn.
    She shucked her clothes and stepped into the hot shower. Standing so the water tattooed a gentle rhythm on her back, she braced herself against the wall and inhaled deeply. “God, I can’t stand getting older,” she muttered into the steam. The thought of being weak, of not being able to carry her own weight, nearly brought her to her knees. If she was anything, Geri was independent.
    A quick wash and rinse and she was finished. At the dresser in the bedroom, yet another shot of her and Lisa—this time on an Olivia cruise to Alaska—looked out at her from a brushed silver frame; their faces radiated warmth and happiness. When she picked up the picture and looked closer, one corner of Geri’s mouth quirked up as if tugged by an invisible thread.
    Do we always look this happy? she wondered as she rubbed her short hair with a towel.
    The thought flushed a lovely tenderness through her entire being and an answer to her question seemed to come to her from nowhere and everywhere at once.
    Yes. Because we are.
    Nodding slowly, she set the photo frame back down and glanced around the room, the most important room in the house, in her life. The walls were soft khaki, the accents eggplant and ivory. She and Lisa picked the colors together; Lisa stumbled across the paisley print bed linens and matching curtains when shopping with her mother one day. She found them totally by accident. The hardwood was polished to a glorious shine and the area rug was thick and plush. They shared everything in this room: sleep and dreams, emotional meltdowns, lovemaking (both gentle and raw), favorite TV shows,