One Good Cookie
“He was the best boyfriend ever,” I declare to my visiting Parisian friend over a glass of chardonnay. “Let’s see what he’s up to.” Clickity-clack on the keyboard. My giggles turn into stunned silence when “Obituary Information” appears onscreen. Seeing my frozen smile, my friend asks, “What’s wrong?” His date of birth, then his date of death, age 55. “Cookie” was my first true boyfriend 30 years ago. My teenage son said it’s weird that I continue to talk about him. So when he goes to bed, I sit in the bathroom, remember Cookie and cry. I was so lucky! — Deborah Carter
A New Ache
I’ve never given birth, never suckled an infant. When other women swoon over chubby babies swaddled in adorable onesies, I yawn, nod politely and wonder what the fuss is about. Babies are cute like puppies, I’ll admit, but I do not understand the frenzy. Then, my stepdaughter is pregnant. I observe her swelling torso, her blooming bosom. How does it feel, tiny limbs flailing inside her? Soon, a boy is born! He has his mama’s cheeks, his daddy’s eyes. Something quivers inside me. My heart cracks open. All I want is to breathe his scent, snuggle this tiny human, forever. — Luise Bolleber
Metal vs. Rubber
I’m 23. He’s 40. In July, we met on Grindr; he invited me for lunch. When a summer storm hit, I lingered, and we ended up having sex. We kept dating until November, enough time for me to “fall in love.” Two days before he told me he didn’t see our future, I bought him a vintage toy fish. I never got to give it to him. Last night, I left it beneath a statue of two people embracing in an Italian park. Only then did I realize how small his fish was compared to the magnitude of real love. — Vito Gesia
‘Well Played, Grandma’
I hate knickknacks — the useless junk that collects dust. My mother found this hilarious, so she bought me the ultimate nonnecessity, a glass unicorn. She even started a rumor that I collected unicorns. The next summer, before I left to study abroad, my grandmother pressed a wrapped package into my hands and told me to open it at Christmas. It looked and felt like a book. Months later, I unwrapped it to find a unicorn painting she’d made. She died the next summer. It was her last painting. Now I’m stuck with this ridiculous artwork for life. Well played, Grandma. — Juliette Green
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