13x19 comes with a 2.75” mat.
Three languages pour out of her mouth like it’s nothing new. Rote. Routine. Her hands are covered in salt, sand, and scales, so she brushes them off on her skirt. Good as new. She looks at us with dancing eyes, always bursting with a smirk and a comment delivered to her closest ally in her local staccato tongue. She wants her face to be white like ours, she says with a smile. I grimace with the pain that comment sends to my stomach. ‘But your skin is beautiful — tell her she’s beautiful!’ I say, forgetting one of her three languages is one I know and speak. No, it must be to protect from the sun. It must be tradition. It must be anything but that. But me wanting what isn’t doesn’t make it so. She looks at me in her painted face and smiles.