An Earnest Endearment
“So now that we’re dating, what should I call you?” she asked. “Sugar pie, honeybunch, darlin’?” she said, teasingly, putting on a Southern accent. I giggled. “My favorite has always been ‘love.’” “Love,” she repeated with a happy sigh, pulling me in closer. “Do you mind if I keep that for later?” “What do you mean?” I asked. “For when I love you,” she said simply. I think about that often; it was never a question of if we were going to fall in love, but when. Two years later, we call each other “love” every chance we get. — Anika Asthana
Diamonds in the Dirt
In the latest news from here on Earth, the jeweler you bought my engagement ring from has retired. On a cold spring afternoon, I paced the Philadelphia block, looking for the familiar storefront to repair another loss. Did you know this ring style is called a halo cut? One large rock encircled by a sparkling sun. Every few years, I’ll look down to see a tiny diamond has fallen out, another piece of glitter gone to city dirt. I wear it on my right hand now, as other widows do, only you died before I got to marry you. — Madeline Gray
A Thief for Grandma
As a boy, I saw my grandmother Mary once or twice a year. She was the fun one. We once hiked through the woods, jumping a stream, to get fish sandwiches at Dairy Queen. When it was time for her to fly home, I hid one of her favorite clip-on earrings in the drawer of an end table, hoping she’d have to stay longer. My parents begged me to reveal where it was, but, through tears, I refused. For years, she would ask about her earring on long-distance calls — always with a chuckle, knowing she was loved. — Robert Pierosh
Giving Him ‘the Out’
I gave Sam “the out” early. Two months in, my stress, emotional suppression and insomnia caught up to me. Our relationship was new, shiny and full of potential. Unfortunately, I was off-the-rocker unwell. I called him at 2 a.m., frantic and starving. He listened to 20 minutes of spiraling while I insisted my mental health wasn’t his burden. I told him the door was open; no judgment if he walked. Sam listened, said little, then DoorDashed me a burrito and stayed on the phone until dawn. The door’s still open, technically. But no one’s choosing to walk out. — Nava Carlyle
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