Fiction

The table is piled high with class picture proofs and volunteer forms. One lonely check written to the Homeowner’s Association. A partially completed to-do list floats to the floor.

Still, some other life haunts me. The possibility of things I could’ve done better. The possibility of how I could have been better.

When your mother calls, you can’t account for the time. Surely you weren’t feeding and changing her the entire morning, but you can’t say exactly what happened, only that you’ve…

She’s nestled in the space between heartbeats, a ghost child who never grew up. We had such a short visit with her, the memory now tucked into boxes along with…

I’m exhausted and watch a woman slouching on the bench opposite me who is seated next to five small children dressed in colorful knit sweaters and stacked like a pile…

It has occurred to me, it is a recurring thought, even, that the brisket weighs the same as Lily. Nine pounds, three ounces.

Is this what perfect mothers do? Look like deranged, ecstatic Moonies who can’t seem to leave their kids alone? Is this what I signed up for?

I sprinted into the house and made the call. I remember desperately wishing my mother was there.

In her twenties, Emily can’t picture becoming a mother. She doesn’t want a life like her own mother’s—to settle, or settle down.

When I squeeze my eyes real hard at the photograph of Mamma’s wedding day, the one with her mouth wide open, I can see it—the sad something Mamma managed to…

The air had grown still, and the window gleamed. She wished she was flying onto a bank of ice, wished that baby would appear and scream with hunger, and she’d…