![]() ![]() Sometimes having sisters, particularly ones who know you too well, really sucks. ![]() “Amma, stop staring at your closet!” Mia bellows. Or, at least, not one I’ll allow myself to consider. That’s pretty much the trifecta of crap that kicks my anxiety into high gear.īut staying home isn’t an option, either. Strangers everywhere, loud noises, unpredictable movements. I do all right during the week, when it’s mostly the same faces over and over again, but Sample Sundays are the living embodiment of chaos. The store is always swamped with people filling their carts and their mouths. The third Sunday of every month, Logan’s Grocery offers free bits of cheese, sausage, and burrito on toothpicks, and you’d think they were giving away hundred-dollar bills dipped in gold. And today is definitely one of the latter. “I’ll be right there.” I will my feet to move, to take me out the door and down the stairs, but I am, for the moment, frozen. “Come on, Amanda,” Mia shouts from downstairs, her voice carrying through my partially open bedroom door. If I curl up on my side, I’ll have plenty of room. It’s not quite long enough for me to stretch out completely, about three inches short, but that’s close enough. The closet in my bedroom at home is exactly sixty inches long and twenty-four inches wide. ![]()
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