Two summers ago, Mom and I flew to Chicago, where Aunt Cathy had lived for years. Mom’s only sibling was younger, twenty pounds lighter, single, and obsessed with cosplay. Cathy traveled to comic book conventions, Renaissance Faires, and movie premieres.… Continue Reading
We were told to look both ways when we crossed the street and never talk to strangers. And if a stranger asked you to get in a car with them, you must say no. I listened because I was a… Continue Reading
She had been talking with the man on the balcony long enough that the beads of condensation on their wine glasses had evaporated. The man’s face reminded her of a beach, full of reddish freckles and seashell-white teeth. Even the… Continue Reading
I slammed the closet door and begged whatever divine entity was making the planet twirl on its axis to just give me a break for once. “I’m supposed to be in St. Croix, Mom. This really sucks.” “Stop whining,” Mom… Continue Reading
self-raising flour caster sugar mixed spice butter lard currant egg milk bread potatoes peas Bisto Delyth looks at the slanted writing, the looping gs, and the capitalized B for Bisto with its flourishes, making even this common-or-garden shopping list look… Continue Reading
Ella was a loud and opinionated child — but also careful and caring and never cruel. “You’re such a difficult girl,” her mother would wail. “Why can’t you be more like your sisters? They do as they’re told.” But while… Continue Reading
It was a dark and stormy night. Mummy Pig tucked her piglet Percy into bed and started her bedtime story: “The Three Little Pigs: Penny, Paul and Peter,” Mummy Pig smiled sweetly, as she turned the page. “All leave their… Continue Reading
“The realtor says your house will be listed tomorrow.” Mom ignores me. We both sit, enthralled by the blank TV screen, in the living room of her apartment. She moved to the independent-living section of this old-folks village six months… Continue Reading
Mom’s ashes are in the urn on the table, and I smile with my lips at people who hold pieces of her. I am greedy for every fragment, but hugs are extortion. “She never got to be a grandmother,” one… Continue Reading
I’m lying on the floor of the playroom. The ugly carpet is scratchy against my face, my nose is running and my sinuses are playing a drum solo. I rub my cheek back and forth: It keeps me awake. I… Continue Reading