I often looked forward to being sick as a little girl. There was a delicacy to be had only when I was sick. It was a hardboiled egg. My mom would put her palm on my forehead
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I often looked forward to being sick as a little girl. There was a delicacy to be had only when I was sick. It was a hardboiled egg. My mom would put her palm on my forehead
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The basket weave butter cream frosting was exactly what Amanda had asked for, as were the piles of roses and butterflies that made the cake look more like a floral arrangement than something edible. But the color was all wrong.
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1. Our mother calls me to come and look at her. That is how we begin. “Say something,” she says. She tries to sound petulant, but her image in the full-length mirror makes her smile. “A sheath,” I offer, cross-legged on the floor. I hold a pillow on my lap despite the heat.
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We were seventeen when I paid for my best friend’s abortion, helped answer the doctor’s questions,
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