Category Archives: Meg Tuite

It was their monthly Ulysses meeting at Kildare’s in Bee Branch, Arkansas. Michelle, Walter, and John sat behind frosty mugs of Bud with their stained, unabridged copies of the tome in front of them. No one else was going to … Continue reading →

We met at The Corrale. The adrenaline was rising with his hair that puffed like a pastry every time he swept it up with his hand. I ordered Cuervo and a pina colada chaser. I was in an island disaster … Continue reading →

Oh yeah, there were fabrications up and down our pristine block. A perversion of flawless green-as-Ireland lawns, pot-bellied monoliths to dadhood grunting and sweating, pushing lawnmowers like workdays, bald spots of ruddy, brick skin all the way down past plaid … Continue reading →

There was an elasticity to Camilla’s arctic mouth that crunched and spit out anything anyone else said better than any ice-maker I’d ever come across. Her biting insults cut across the teeth-gritting tundra of her lips into the bulls-eye of … Continue reading →

She stuffed her laugh for later when she could truly enjoy it and watched Percy edging his stalk-this-useless-town Saab up next to her El Camino. What an ass! He was the only guy she knew who actually circled the neighborhoods … Continue reading →

There was an apparition blooming in my throat when I saw him pull up in his rental car. We hadn’t spoken in over three years. Now he lived on another planet, somewhere in the Amazon. It hurt to watch those … Continue reading →

The morning was so calm. My son, Luke, and I sat at the kitchen table and watched the school bus slow down, wait, and then move off again. The grocery list was still up on the refrigerator as if it … Continue reading →