Rebecca Miller
The sunlight was strained through the window sashes, landing in great, trembling, buttery squares that carved up Alex’s childhood living room so that her angular body, as she passed through the grand and airy space, was intermittently striped by spindly blue shadows, then blasted by yellow light, then again painted by shadow. This was her first time on the Vineyard since she had gotten engaged, and she was surprised by how unreal it felt, as though she were standing on a set for a play. The enormous, handmade, feather-filled white couches faced each other like albino bison, quiet in . . .