Lightning in a Mason Jar

by Catherine Mann

As if a woman’s entire worth, her sum total sense of self, were tied into her ring finger and uterus. A Mrs. or a mom.

She gave Bailey Rae a swift hug, one of those firm kinds that hurt a little as it reminded a person of the tender spots on their heart.

Boundaries weren’t her strong suit. Walls were more her style.

“You’re worth the wait,” he said. “You’re my lightning in a bottle, that once-in-a-lifetime event. Difficult. Challenging. And exciting beyond belief.” “We’re in the South,” I reminded him. “So that should be lightning in a Mason jar.”