Allison Langer

When my mom remarried, she pulled me into her closet and handed me a long flowery dress and silver flats. I was 30. I wanted to wear my navy dress and high heels. “I have an outfit,” I told her.  “It’s my wedding,” she said. “Can’t you, for once, just do what I ask?”  For 55 years, my mom and I have been at each other — constantly poking the soft spots and picking at scabs. She…