I have a story up at one of my favorite lit mags, Joyland.
Julia was not a woman given to magical thinking, one of those Whitmanesque souls who saw God’s fingerprint on everything from Orion’s belt to the annual parade of autumn leaves. No, it was only on days like this that she felt her skepticism ebbing. It was December 21: four days before Christmas, one day before her 36th birthday and a mere six hours since her doctor had informed her that her chances of conceiving a child naturally hovered somewhere between zero and three percent. Add to this the fact that her best friend Sylvie had just arrived at her front door two hours early looking venomous and underfed and it was hard for Julia not to feel that she was the butt of some great cosmic joke.
To read the full story, go to here.