Fiction

In her dreams, she’s a teenager again. She has not lived 92 years; she’s young. There’s a reckless feeling—riding in the backseat of a car with the windows open.

How could a mother possibly be strong enough, or wise enough, to escort her daughter through the land mines of adolescence?

Caterpillars aren’t meant to live in jars. The confinement is too extreme. Nor am I meant to live much longer in the confines of my spasms. I will die soon…

When she didn’t know what else to do, she’d go for a walk. She would leave the triplets at home on the living room floor, blocked in by the couch…

I Believe in God Because of Rainbows, the poster said. Not good enough, I thought.

When the doctor told me I had cancer, I’d asked, how much? It was like when Tami found out she was pregnant. The nurse said, “How pregnant do you want…

Amanda Quinn was cooling her jealousy on the rooftop of Time—Manila’s (not very) secret hotspot—when she got the call. She scoped out the gathering storm while avoiding a despedida for…

Terry grunted, rummaging in her backpack for her Greek-English dictionary. Instead, she found her latest journal. Flipped it open, jotted down: Marina, Goddess of the Sea. A bit too old…

The baby moves again, in quick, tiny motions. They are giving her two more weeks to grow, then forcing her out. She will be fine, they say, you will be…

Sarah Kessler had her first real encounter with Rick Wolfson when he hit her leg with his gym bag at the West Side Nursery School. She had noticed him before…

Someone keeps dropping off babies at my house.