When the water hits their ankles, then above their knees, Cricket curses up a storm of holy fucking hells that zing around them in echoes, making them laugh through chattering teeth. Their mother hated when they cursed, but they hate that she's dead, and this this ocean is ice cold, and that this New Year's Eve polar plunge was Liz's idea of a good time. 'Why couldn't she just bake cookies like a normal mom?' Cricket yells to her sister, who cackles with her head back, the luminous white flesh of her neck offered up to the stars.
Spectacular Things, Beck Dorey-Stein
