Dinner With Miller

She stormed out of the office and drove to her favorite spot, an abandoned field with wild flowers and a particular tree with twisted limbs that seemed to reach for the sky and the clouds like giant floating pieces of cotton wool moved ever so slightly across its expanse. Overhead, seagulls soared, their cries piercing the air. She counted them. There were four.

Removing her jacket, she spread it on the grass and sat down.  The anger was subsiding but Gillian’s words still played in her head.  “You’re kidding yourself if you think a gorgeous man like Miller would go out with you.  You’re too dark and you’re overweight.  I’m the kind of black woman most white men prefer.”

That miserable, skinny light-skinned—

Her cell rang.  It was Miller.  “Hi.”

“Hi.  We’re still on for tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Good.  See you later.”

“See you later.”

She dialed Michelle’s number.  “Rain check?”

“Sure.  Working late again?”

“Nope.  Dinner with Miller.”

“Huh? Um, have fun.”

She ended the call.  In five minutes, Gillian will learn about her date.

175 Words

This was written as part of Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. For more information visit Here.  If you would like to read other stories, visit Here.