Time has a way of running memories through the dryer one cycle too many, and sometimes they come out too small, or too stretched, or

They took no classes together, and, after that first year, never attended the same school, but somewhere, inside the scattered years of their lives, there

Please have your props at the ready:  A little tin box, A little yellowed bag with white, frayed string, Cunning letters that make up cunning

I watched him for a moment sitting on the dock.  His back was facing me, his eyes toward the water.  He didn’t know I was

Nestled in the narrow streets of Palma de Mallorca, among the layers of green and yellow shutters behind slim garden terraces, where the raw strum

Night-time, mid-week and liberated by fake ID we’re out. My teenage friend is sprawled across a car bonnet boyfriend on top riding and grinding her.

My husband didn’t make it on Marcel Proust’s Questionnaire—he didn’t even come close.    My idea of happiness?   I nodded and played back memories

It’s no accident that I’m writing to you poolside from a rehab on the west coast of Phuket rather than from the library at Sing

Chrissie decides that anyone who gives her shit about her marriage is unfair.  So she remarried within eight months of Linton’s suicide.  So she barely

***TW: This story references assisted suicide.   We sit side by side on the bed, you and I, our shoes on the floor, our best

I was the only imperfect child. My five older siblings and I were all born in a kiddie pool my mom’s doula filled halfway with

In late spring, the tiny hitchhiker got a ride with Calvin and Jess as they left the Des Moines hotel they’d stayed at for their

“You’re my Darcy,” Susan said. “My Captain Wentworth.” Her mane of black hair fell over her eyes as she dipped her head.  “Darcy? Wentworth?” I

She said there was something about the way I look when I am tired that made her fall in love with me. It was Saturday.