My Sister Called to Say Mom Had Died—While Mom Was Standing Right Beside Me

like she used to when I was little.

“Toast?” I asked, lifting my glass of wine.

Mama smiled, eyes shining in the tree’s lights. “To us, Amara. And to the phoenix.”

“To us,” I replied. “And to the phoenix.”

We clinked glasses. The crystal rang with a clear note that echoed through the quiet house.

Outside, snow continued to fall over Atlanta, soft and clean,continue reading …