cnu-At my fortieth birthday party, my sister swung a baseball bat into…

a cream blouse, hair smooth, eyes red. She had perfected the look of someone already wounded by the accusation. My mother sat behind her, holding Brooklyn’s hand. Brooklyn was thirteen now, taller, quieter, her face closed off in a way that made her look older and younger at the same time.

Part of me felt sorry for her.

Then I remembered the Instagram continue reading …