“Tangerine Road” by Ann Calandro

As I doze, my hands loosen on the coupons. My father keeps his apartment cold, but the car is warm. Sometimes I crack my window and let my fingers drift into the wind, enjoying the contrast between inside and out. We go grocery shopping every Saturday night. Per the divorce agreement, my father picks me up at my mother and stepfather’s apartment on Friday evenings at eight p.m. and brings me back on Sunday evenings at seven p.m. Every Sunday evening, I walk in with a ten-dollar check made out to my mother.