The Archivist

I walked in from the funeral, and my husband would not even let me sit down. He looked straight at me, and in a voice cold enough to frost the […]

My neighbor poured concrete over my car because it was blocking her view of the lake. She stood in her expensive robe and laughed, right up until my eight year […]

My mother-in-law Regina called my cooking peasant food at my own dinner table, and I smiled and refilled her wine glass. That was the version of myself I had been […]

For eight years, I believed my father spent every Thursday the same way: a slow morning, a ride to the clinic, maybe a stop at the grocery store, lunch at […]

The letter arrived on a Tuesday, which is the kind of detail you remember when something rearranges the furniture of your understanding. I was standing at the kitchen counter eating […]

The Lake House At Thanksgiving dinner, my son, who had made himself a wealthy man, smiled at me across the table and asked, “Mom, how are you enjoying the lake […]

My name is Natalie Mercer. I am thirty-one years old, and three weeks ago my mother pointed at the front door and told me to get out and never come […]

My father only asked one question, but it left me breathless. “Why did you arrive in a taxi, Jenna? Where is the Honda Civic I gave you?” The words landed […]

Your Money, My Money My husband looked me in the eye and said, “Your parents are your problem. Your money is yours, and my money is mine.” So I smiled, […]

I read the message twice before I allowed myself to react to it. We’re spending spring break at your beach house, my kids, my mom. Stock the fridge by Thursday. […]