Flash fiction by Huina Zheng

Fresh eggs

During a deep clean, a photo slipped out of an album. We were in school uniforms, shoulder to shoulder, smiling. Three years of high school, inseparable. We promised to be best friends forever. It’s been more than ten years since we last spoke. I turned more pages. Faces once familiar now felt distant. I don’t know how I lost them. Or how we lost each other. Distance? Work? Or just change? My best friend from college. I barely see her once a year. The mom I used to meet when our kids were in preschool stopped messaging after they went to different schools. We used to share picture books, plan weekend parks. Making friends is hard. Keeping them is even harder. Sometimes I pick up my phone, scroll through contacts and don’t know who to ask, “Does this dress look good on me?” The emptiness is hard to name. This morning after drop-off I parked my scooter downstairs. In the lobby the cleaning lady in her blue uniform was mopping. I asked her to wait a minute. Ran upstairs and brought down a stack of boxes. She collects recyclables to sell. I used to think friendship was built on shared interests. When I handed her the boxes she reached into her cart and held out a small paper carton. “Fresh eggs from my hens back home. For you and your child.” We looked at each other and smiled. No more words were needed.