Fiction

“Remember the girl from work?” My voice doesn’t shake. It shouldn’t, not at this point in our marriage. God, don’t worry so much, Sasha. I hold my knife and fork in midair, waiting for my husband to look at me rather than the TV over my shoulder. “Josh?” ...

In the car, on their way back from her grandmother Mae’s house, Abigail felt that they were not alone. It was a girl this time, red hair with curls that lay coiled like snakes against the pale skin on the girl’s neck. She sat in the back seat next to Lila’s sleeping form as if she were waiting for something....

Reese writes the first time off as an accident because she’s newly single, and they meet in June over Red Eye’s at Whistler. Fucking hell, she thinks, ducking her warm face when bright eyes stare back. The woman chuckles with a hand over her dark lips. Then she uncrosses her glossy legs and slides over...

Twenty-five years old and my mother tells me I have to come home immediately, Roger’s in the hospital, an overdose. At this point I had been living out in San Francisco for almost three years, only making my way home for Christmas and weddings...