Excerpt for Stories We Share With Daughters As They Grow Older by , available in its entirety at Smashwords





Stories We Share With Daughters As They Grow Older



















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Jill Okpalugo-Omali

Author of

Ifenne - Finalist in 2015 Les Figues Press NOS Contest

Marriage at Gunpoint

The Girl Who Grew Taller Than Men

The Boys Whose Names I Wish I Could Erase from My Diary















Stories We Share With Daughters As They Grow Older























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Jill Okpalugo-Omali













DEDICATION



For Jonathan Arinze, and Nnamdi David, our remarkable little boys who entered our lives and changed it forever



















































ACKNOWLEDGEMENT



For those who saw me through my writing journey, who provided support, who talked things over when I had doubts, who babysat as I had intellectual intercourse, who read every rough draft, offered comments, edited, proofread and designed—thank you.



My readers. Thank you for reading, for buying.



















































CONTENTS



The Pretty Pink Box

The Circle of Broken Women

Compromise

Disclosure

A Life of Amber Bottles and Sticky Notes

Pseudo-Heaven

Levels Have Changed

Smothered Nostalgia











































The Pretty Pink Box



“You never know what you can do until someone pushes you to a corner,” Mama often said on bad days. And always, Adaure, my younger sister had replied, tall, arms akimbo, legs slightly apart: “And why would you let someone boss you around?”



Today, as I got change for a twenty, and paid the taxi driver, I saw Adaure, angry, on her doorstep. She untied her neatly-ironed apron with one hand and fought to keep the front door open with the other. I understood Mama’s words differently.



“You came.” She hugged me, bunched my bags together, and carried them in hand. She let out a tight smile and closed the door behind me.



Tension hung in the air like thick smoke, without bothering to settle. The calm tick-tock of the wall clock was now a noisy whimper. “You cooked okra soup.” I started light, easy. There was too much to say, too little to leave out. “You remembered my favorite food. Thank you.”


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