My daughter’s red hair lights up the room, this wild child, this toddler Pippi Longstocking. Her father had red hair. I met him in a mad, bad, crazy time in my life when I broke up with Tim, my eight-year-long… Continue Reading
Even in the dead of night, my eyes do not falter from the nightstand beside of my bed, where my phone lies dormant. Checking it only confirms that it’s still 1:17 A.M. My mind shuns away any hope of sleep.… Continue Reading
That evening, we sat either side of my neighbour Goronwy’s kitchen range. He pronounced my latest batch of scrumpy cider — mysteriously cloudy, both sharp and sweet, with the smell of autumn — almost as good as the scrumpy his… Continue Reading
I’m not sure how long Henry has been using my peppermint foot butter as a deodorant. I can’t blame him; the packaging is almost identical to his stick. I mentioned it to him and he shrugged and rubbed it under… Continue Reading
Jeffrey sleeps right on the edge of the mattress, like he might fall out at any moment. I used to worry he would — I still do, I suppose. It would do his bad hip no favours. The space between… Continue Reading
Two raindrops race down the glass. I watch, silently calling their progress like it’s the Preakness. The man across from me waxes faux-poetic about my shape, my skin, my eyes. I don’t have words, they’re swallowed by his voice before… Continue Reading
From: MillieTo: All StaffDate: 07/02/20, 11:32Subject: Secret Valentine’sHello everyone!After the success of Secret Santa (thanks for my box of scrumptious chocolates!), I’ve decided to launch a Secret Valentine. It’s just for fun. Names out of a hat. Come by my… Continue Reading
The line for the fear merchants stretched three blocks. Juana’s hand sweated in Nick’s as they inched forward. She’d sold fear once, the night she crossed the border. It wasn’t courage like the No Fear Association claimed. It was a… Continue Reading
Back then, I imagined my postman was Arnold Schwarzenegger, and he’d have a massive coronary and die under the weight of all my Valentine’s cards. Why Arnie had to die was best left for the pioneering Austrian therapist I’ve still… Continue Reading
“There’s a face in it.” “A face? I don’t see it.” She pointed at the shape on the ceiling above their bed, twisting her wrists and fingers like a belly dancer as she gestured to the parts. “See? Look. It’s… Continue Reading