Our Dying Sex Plant
The day I first slept with my husband, I bought a plant at Home Depot. Seven years later, toward the end of our marriage, it struggled. An hour of collective effort repotting it would have revived it, but we never found the time. “Will you take the sex plant?” I ask the day we move out. I’m leaving town, and he has a new place down the street. He says no, the sex plant is dying. “It’s still alive,” I argue. “It just needs some care.” He leaves the sex plant on the sidewalk. I suppose I do, too. — Ali Griffin Vingiano
The Funniest Thing
My aunt, my deceased mother’s twin who is living with Alzheimer’s, loves chatting with strangers. On our walks to the park in Orange, Australia, she comments on the cuteness of dogs and babies and waves to the motorcyclists, their shiny Harley-Davidsons lined up along the street. Sometimes she decides to tease me. When she spots a bloke walking our way, she points to me and declares, “She’s single and is looking for a nice man!” Often, the confused male stranger chuckles, lowers his head and hurries past. We laugh like it’s the funniest thing in the world. — Denise Mills
A Love Without Language
My father first met my son Charlie in the NICU. It was the first time Pop entered a hospital by himself. He visited for 21 days. When we later told him about Charlie’s autism diagnosis, he dispensed the fatherly wisdom he had given me my whole life, “Well, what are you gonna do?” Pop didn’t know English when he moved here as a teenage refugee from Libya. He learned by watching “Sesame Street.” Perhaps that’s why he understands Charlie so well. He, too, knows how to give love without having to speak and how to hear what isn’t being said. — Beth Ruggiero Bell
Completely Full
Two months into seeing each other, I came down with the flu. I called to cancel plans, raspy and apologetic. An hour later, Amy showed up with a jar of lentil soup. Homemade. Still warm. I sat across the kitchen, blanket-wrapped and sniffling, trying not to breathe on Amy, who uses they/them pronouns. They stayed anyway, telling me about their day, close in presence if not space. Between spoonfuls and stillness, I let myself be cared for. When I finished the bowl, nourished, comforted, loved, I asked, “Is it about time I get to be your girlfriend?” — Kaanthi Pandhigunta
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