For those who love hard.

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Edited by Sinclair Sexsmith

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Janice rocked in her favorite porch chair, the southern wind blowing her gray locks free from under her hat and pressing warm breath over her sun-kissed skin.

“Mama?”

Kendra’s face was careful when she handed over the photo album. Although her mother had never spoken on why it remained untouched on the study bookshelf, Kendra understood the book was a precious thing.

“You’ve got me worried, Mama.”

Janice chuckled and exchanged the newspaper in her lap for the album, running her thumb along the dusty spine. “You’ve got nothing to be worried about, sugar. There’s just something I yearn for.”

“What’s in there?”

Janice opened the book and flipped to the first page. “Living,” she sighed.

The first image presented a much younger version of herself holding a dark-skinned beauty around the waist, Janice’s chin resting upon a bare shoulder, her face half obscured by her companion’s naturally untamed hair. The beach had been packed with bodies evading the heat on the gentle ocean shoreline that day. She still remembered the humid weight of the air and the sweet smell of Annette’s skin.

Kendra turned her attention to the paper in her hands. “That looks just like this woman here in the paper, Mama.”

Janice hummed an affirmation while she glanced at her two grandbabies chasing one another in the garden. Her heart held no regrets for loving Kendra’s father, having his children, or caring for her husband until the day he died, she only wished she hadn’t waited so long. Regret was more a wretched beast than the cancer. There was no ignoring the deep, desperate ache still in her heart.

“It says here she’s organizing floats in the Atlanta Pride Parade this afternoon.”

Kendra looked at her mother as her wrinkled hands flipped more pages, revealing slightly faded images of the same black woman running through a field, another shot of Janice pointing at the sky while holding her hand, both sporting matching bell-bottomed jeans, their bare feet molded together like yin and yang in the sand. There was even one where Janice kissed the thick joyful lips of her companion.

Kendra sidestepped and shook her head. “Mama, this woman is a lesbian.”

“Back then we just said ‘gay,’ sugar,” Janice corrected her.

“Mama…” Kendra swallowed hard and crouched down next to where the old woman continued to rock, her fat-knuckled fingers outlining her memories. She hesitated, fearing the question on her lips could offend, but what was graver, the answer could change everything, and change was a hard thing. But despite her anxiety, Kendra felt the need to understand. “Mama, are you a lesbian?”

Janice cackled and slapped the arm of her chair. She turned to her daughter with tears cresting her eyes. Kendra couldn’t tell if they’d been caused by amusement, wind, or memory.

“Oh, sugar. It’s not all so cut and dry.” She wiped her face and went back to her photos. “I loved...

Love Remembers