Two By Novak: "Tuggle" and "Live For Sugar"

Tuggle

Preston’s last name detracted from his good looks and everything he worked toward in high school. He skipped cross country practice twice a week for photography club and stared into the different baths in the dark room with his full lips pressed together. His portfolio had a lot of pictures of department store mannequins and dogs. Milk proteins in his shampoo kept his curly brown hair lustrous and strong even in season when he showered twice a day. There was the fact that he only owned one blazer. No one in his family really talked about his mother’s sister, who lived in a mobile home the color of a dirty sock. Even on Thanksgiving when his father used the electric knife. Even as Gram rattled off the progeny. Preston shot the scraps in the trash can. There were crumpled white napkins and Chinet plates with compartments.

Live For Sugar

Every girl loves a hotel, my mother tells me the week before Valentine’s Day. I’m fifteen. We’re at the spa waiting for matching sugar waxes. And all this time, I say, I thought I was supposed to hate satin sheets and tubs with jets. Don’t be difficult, little girl, she says, paging through an issue of an outdated glossy. My clutch is in my lap and there’s nothing to distract me. We have a split of champagne on the table between us and a dish of violet lozenges. Over the speakers, I can’t tell if it’s a he or a she crooning La Vie en Rose. No one drinks, but my mother chews the candies like they’re pearls or baby teeth