HER DAUGHTER LAUGHED AT HER HANDMADE QUILT

in my Honda the whole time, in a manila envelope under the passenger seat, ten feet from where she laughed at me.

I didn’t.

I waited. Because part of me, the small ugly part, wanted to see what she’d do with the quilt. I wanted to know if there was anything left in her of the girl in the butterfly costume.

She laughed.

And I drove home with my quilt folded continue reading …