Author: NT

At 10:31 on my first Saturday back at Mercy Pharmacy, my phone showed a picture of my daughter in a baptism gown that was supposed to be in my closet. Nora was sixteen days old. I was behind the counter counting amoxicillin, wearing black sneakers with a split seam by the toe, and trying not to leak through my scrub top. The text under the picture said, “A mother makes sacrifices.” I had about twenty minutes to decide whether Diane could erase me from my own daughter’s baptism.

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The gown was crocheted by my grandmother in 1978. The little sleeves had a loose thread near the left wrist, and I had tucked that thread inside the box because …

At 10:31 on my first Saturday back at Mercy Pharmacy, my phone showed a picture of my daughter in a baptism gown that was supposed to be in my closet. Nora was sixteen days old. I was behind the counter counting amoxicillin, wearing black sneakers with a split seam by the toe, and trying not to leak through my scrub top. The text under the picture said, “A mother makes sacrifices.” I had about twenty minutes to decide whether Diane could erase me from my own daughter’s baptism. Read More

The plastic cup was still in Don’s hand when he called my sister dead weight. It was 7:52 at the VFW, and thirty-seven people had just listened to him talk about his retirement like he had personally built every road in the county. I was sitting beside Carla, watching the baked beans on her plate go cold, when he lifted that cup toward Melissa Ray and said, “She’ll enjoy what you wasted.” I knew Carla was going to do something. I just didn’t know whether she had the paperwork to do it.

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Don loved an audience. He’d loved one since I was a kid, back when he used to tell stories at our mother’s kitchen table and wait for everybody to laugh …

The plastic cup was still in Don’s hand when he called my sister dead weight. It was 7:52 at the VFW, and thirty-seven people had just listened to him talk about his retirement like he had personally built every road in the county. I was sitting beside Carla, watching the baked beans on her plate go cold, when he lifted that cup toward Melissa Ray and said, “She’ll enjoy what you wasted.” I knew Carla was going to do something. I just didn’t know whether she had the paperwork to do it. Read More