First lines of the novel, "An Imperfect Present," I'm too mired in festivities to write today:

"It was Christmas Eve — the last one they'd share, though it didn't seem possible at the time. Even as high school sweethearts, they'd always taken one another for granted.

Just past sundown, carolers arrived — their breath visible against the raw night. Paul and Maria stared out the window, but did not open the door.

The world, it felt, had been closing in on them. It started when Paul lost his job in March; the tension between them had tightened like a piano string each day since, it seemed.

They'd both been dreading this Christmas for months — since Labor Day, at least. Neither dared mention it.

And now, they sat in stillness and silence as snow fell, sharing this imperfect present."

— Damien Willis
December 24, 2018