Mothered

by Zoje Stage

When you were little. I didn’t mother you. And maybe you don’t want my mothering now, but . . . I can try, Grace.” Grace blinked, unsure if this was real—unsure if her mother was telling the truth. She’d always wanted her mother to admit such faults to her, but Grace didn’t know Jackie well enough anymore to know if this was a performance. The right words, well placed—with company as a witness?

This woman was a collection of splinters, held together with glue, dabbed with paint in the general likeness of a person she had once known as

Mommy.