Dec 04, 2020
And Another and Another and Another Glass of Rosé
We’re each of us on our third glass of rosé when the Bachelorette sends home the Last Man of Color.
We’re each of us on our third glass of rosé when the Bachelorette sends home the Last Man of Color.
With the baby came trouble, but not any of the kind the mommy blogs warned Ana about.
She was frightened by the lackadaisical way he displayed his violence, the way America trained her students.
Maybe it’s strange that I haven’t acknowledged my ex, but how can I after the nails, which are either about me or not about me, and which is worse?
He’d seen himself as something different then: greater than he was, more worthy of acclaim.
Talking about it would make me sound mentally ill, and sounding mentally ill—in this economy?—feels dangerous.
The house erupted faster than it should, but that’s the trouble with dancing on somebody else’s hurt.
My mother’s favorite spring has water that reflects her beauty more honestly than a front-facing camera.
Some women attract deadbeats; others, their fathers. Isn’t it possible, then, for some women to attract gay guys?
One didn’t come all this way in the careful study of the instrument to play it safe.
Though Zya had been too young to recognize it as unusual, she could remember the first time Rania had washed her brain.
Our relationship might crack as we build two babies, but turtles don’t rush.
They weren’t shaped in the same image he had of the older Korean boys Jacob had not seen since he left, these hyungs who towered over Jacob still.
Good mothers don’t lose composure, she thought, even if an asteroid is heading at them, they don’t loosen screen time limits or miss piano lessons.
Suddenly a heart beat inside its concrete shell. It was a murmur, a light and irregular thing, so faint that I wondered if it was real.
Here was the situation: Pearl belonged to Ba, Em belonged to Ma, and I belonged to my sisters.
Oftentimes, the dead leave town. Olga thinks the dead leave because they find there is no place for them.
When a girl Miss-Mary-Macks with you, it’s like you share a birthday for a full breathless sixty seconds.
