They collided on the Farmers Market at Clinton and Bailey streets in Buffalo, New York, on a sultry Saturday in August. She was forty-six, and outspoken. He was twenty-one, and given to few words. They both spotted the last basket… Continue Reading
What she liked most about Ken Krieg? He didn’t mind she was taller or a volleyball star. Eating Buddhist cuisine in Buffalo, he told her flat as their food, “I want to marry you, work on Wall Street, and live… Continue Reading
A deafening cacophony escaped the kitchen as countless pots and pans crashed to the floor. Andria plugged her ears until the ringing subsided. A high-pitched “Aye aye,” squeaked from her lips. She replaced her fallen utensils and started again. Filling… Continue Reading
For years Teresa ate pasta twice a week, on Tuesdays and Sundays, and it had become, she believed, a necessary part of life. She found refuge in a warm bowl of bucatini or farfalle, even after the most hectic days… Continue Reading
The hallway smelled of cabbage, yet Suzanne remained optimistic. Despite her heavy boots, she bounded up the stairs, clutching the slip of paper Yuri had inscribed with his address. Yuri and Irina had invited her, their first American friend, home.… Continue Reading
After my promotion, the pay cheque didn’t look quite right sat in my account. The rent wasn’t going to make a dent in it, and the same figure would be arriving next month. And the month after. My head felt… Continue Reading
My sister slices the pie, her lips drawn together in a tight purse, the disapproving grimace of a person performing an unfamiliar task. We sit at the dining room table. I look because I can’t stop myself from staring over… Continue Reading
“You not can to eat Chicken a Sea tuna fish in a Friday,” I heard Nona say to my mother in the kitchen. Nona is the Italian word for grandmother. My Nona lived on the other side of our double… Continue Reading
Epiphany: I need lemons. A tumble of lemons, a volcano of fresh explosive citrus, the obese mamas with that extraterrestrial shine, not those dinky rough-hide goblins lurking at the bottom of produce boxes. Fifty will do, I think. No, seventy;… Continue Reading
Nobody could love somebody like her, Amy-Louise thought as she awkwardly squeezed herself into a booth. Daddy had always made that very clear to her, so the taunts of the good ol’ boys in the parking lot outside the diner… Continue Reading