The Perfect Match
an excerpt

"I just don't get you two," said Lisa, a tall girl, with dirty blonde hair. She passed a cup of steaming black coffee to another girl sitting at a dining room table.

Ingrid, the other girl at the table, rolled her eyes at Lisa.

"I mean, Christ Ingrid, you two have been together for how long?"

"Four and a half years."

"And doesn't that mean anything to you?"

Looking pissed off, slamming the cup back to the table, spilling hot liquid all over herself, Ingrid screams, "What the fuck is it supposed to mean? Of course she means everything to me. You just don't understand."

Ingrid, grabbing a jacket and a messenger bag from a heap of clothes in the corner, storms out of the house into the pouring April rain.

"Ingrid, wait! I didn't mean--" But it was too late.