Elana Wolff | SOTTO VOCE

  SOTTO VOCE When we’re in the den, they’re in the boidem. We hear the strains of opera, intermittently, from above; slippers shuffling near the ceiling, swish of a housecoat hem through a doorway: burgundy velour. I keep the fancy soaps in the upstairs bathroom, just in case. Your mother—I called her Ēma too— never […]