The Hand Job

by Rip Peterson

Table of Contents

Everyone seemed to only care about politics. Simpler times.

I never expected the happiness to last but I wish it could have lasted a bit longer. I did say I was lonely, though. So you’ll have to understand.

This wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t shown up at my house unexpectedly. Or if I hadn’t been lonely.

I was an idiot of course. But you probably knew that already. But hindsight…

It was seven o’clock at night. I heard a soft knock from the front door. I definitely wasn’t expecting anyone.

And I didn’t know anyone with weak door knocking skills.

At least it wasn’t going to be the police. Though I wish it had.

I opened the door.

It was my wife. Former wife as I like to call her. But neither of us have filed for divorce yet. She wasn’t alone. Her younger sister was with her. The sister looked a bit sadder than I remembered but I never really paid much attention to her.

Her younger sister that looked older.

My former wife still looked pretty amazing.

I sighed. I didn’t really feel like getting a hand job from my wife’s sister. But maybe I could spite my way through it.

“Hey,” my wife said sheepishly.

“Hello,” I said nonchalantly, hoping my tone came with an aloof coolness.

“I need your help,” she told me.

“I’m sorry. I’m about to get the kids ready for bed,” I responded.

“Trish will do it,” she told me.

Her sister entered the house and disappeared down the hallway towards the children’s bedrooms.