My Mother Locked the Gate on Me

tired to replace it.

The lobby at St. Adrian’s smelled like burnt coffee and floor cleaner.

My mother stood near the elevators in a pale blue dress with a corsage still pinned to it.

The flowers were crushed.

Maribel was beside her, barefoot, wearing white satin pants and a sweater that said BRIDE in little fake pearls across the chest.

She looked smaller continue reading …