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“It’s a youth art exhibition,” she said, pressing a plastic cup of red wine into my hand. “Local teenagers. Free admission. Low pressure.”
“Yes. And please, Tanya, try to look at something besides the exit.”
“I am looking.”
“It looks like a melted toaster.”
She almost smiled.
I hadn’t heard Lily’s laugh in three years and two months. I knew the exact time because grief had made me strange with numbers. I counted days. Weeks. Missed birthdays. Missed school years. The age she should have been.…continue reading …
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