It’s Christmas and we’re six years old, and I cannot say “I love you.” The evening has stretched into night and the air has grown warm with wine and conversation. My parents glance over and find me, head tucked into the crook of your knee as I struggle to fight the steady in-out of your…
Tag: fiction
An invitation [to be pretty]
“You would be so pretty if you just…” Dear Sir, Growing up my mother never told me I was pretty. I don’t say that to mean she referred to me as beautiful, or lovely, even, but that she rarely referred to my looks except to offer some mild criticism. That suited me well, as I…