Sharp, poetic observations of contemporary women’s lives fizz through these short stories that deal with everything from miscarriage and motherhood to body dysmorphia and death. Reading them, I felt like I was rushing along the streets of New York, or enjoying a sun-soaked piazza in Italy. Happy moments sparkle, but the stories also revolve around the raging anxiety and second-guessing that can often make up women’s lives.
But this living, breathing sadness was why Rory felt so choked with guilt every time she cancelled on Thanksgiving. She pictured her mother alone, looking at the hideous rug and the photographs of another time in denial. Thinking of her sitting at the table, sipping wine and wondering what to be thankful for pained Rory, made her emotions twist into strange shapes. But then, there on Long Island, the guilt suddenly seemed preferable to the actuality of her mother: overbearing, casually cruel, and somehow, always, reminiscent of her own self, which made Rory feel sick.
