51
Feb 22, 2019
I see them in Riley’s closet when I open it to get her shoes, that stack of crowns in every style–gold and silver, jeweled and plain, some with ribbons, some with combs, some with adjustable bands. The stack teeters, a proud tower of hats, trying to blend with the rows of walked-in shoes, the every […]
52
Feb 8, 2019
Adam and I wait, car idling in the driveway, until Riley hurries out, shoes in hand, a pair of socks tucked in like a stowaway. The necklace she plans to wear dangles in the crook of one elbow, and she shivers, because I already brought her jacket out to the car. I admit it, I […]
53
Dec 7, 2018
In the black stillness of morning, I groan, thrusting my toes out into the cold that has settled on the room. I have no choice but to get up, so I throw off the covers and slide out of bed, meandering around the Christmas tree to feel for the plug. Let there be light.  I gaze […]
54
Mar 23, 2018
I settle the game in front of me, sliding off the lid. The box shudders audibly, a stuttering breath, as though the insides hold more substance than half a dozen glossy, tabbed sketch books, some dry erase markers, cards. Black smudges and half-erased lines fleck the books, memories of other game nights, memories of us, […]
55
Mar 9, 2018
Riley walks in the door in the afternoon, backpack slung over one shoulder, conversation and friendship glowing warm on her cheeks. It’s as though laughter rests on the tip of her tongue. “How was school?” I say, rising from the worn table where Zoe and I have been sipping coffee, where our meandering words have […]
56
Nov 18, 2016
I remember the year that opening gifts made my daughter weep. She stood in front of me, just there, tight blond curls falling haphazardly around her ears, belly pudging out the shirt of her Christmas pajamas, holding a silvery gift. Â At 3, she still didn’t understand our expectant faces, or even what made toys fun, […]
57
May 20, 2016
Waiting at the stoplight on the way to school, drizzle dotting the windshield, and I grab my phone to take a picture of my daughter. Â The cloud-cast makes her skin look more alabaster than olive-gold; makes her blue-gray eyes look stormy. “What’re you doing?” She asks. Â But I catch the hint of a smile, just […]