Now Audrey was getting married, and her mother wanted a seat at the celebration.
“Dad,” Audrey said when I told her, with a calm that should have warned me, “tell her she’s welcome. I’ll take care of everything.”
Chapter 2: Ten Shades of Pink
You want to know what fifteen years alone with six girls actually looks like.
It looks like a man memorizing the chart on the back of a hair-dye box so his daughter’s recital bun matches her costume.
It looks like learning that “pink” is not one color. There is blush and rose and salmon and coral and fuchsia and dusty-rose, and a nine-year-old will cry if you buy the wrong one for her birthday, and so you learn all ten shades, because her crying matters more than your pride.
It looks like three jobs stitched into one life. It looks like falling asleep sitting up and still showing up to the second-grade play.
