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dragged Mom’s old sewing machine out from the laundry closet and set it up on the kitchen table.
I said, “Bossy.”
The next morning, Carla saw it hanging on my door.
It felt like Mom was there with us somehow. In the fabric. In the careful way Noah handled every piece.
The dress hugged the waist and flowed at the bottom in layered shades of blue denim. continue reading …
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