No Match for a Mud Puddle
We met at the employee Christmas party at a place where I didn’t work. Open bar. We traded lipstick colors and a kiss. Later, we went on a sprawling epic of a date: pingpong, Louisiana swamp at night (no flashlight), roller skating, gas station wine and ooey-gooey cake. I moved out of state and lost June’s number when my flip phone drowned in a mud puddle. We completely lost touch, but I never forgot her. Six years later, I moved back to New Orleans and walked into a bar. There June was. Turns out, she never forgot me either. — Amanda Casassa
A Tiny, Loving Habit
As far back as I can remember, my mother, Jung-shin, sat beside me at meals, waiting until I finished every bite. I thought she stayed in case I needed anything, but her habit continued even into adulthood. When my son was born, she flew from Seoul to Chicago and did the same for him — a tiny, loving habit enduring through generations. Now, a father of two, I understand. It wasn’t about the meal; she simply wanted to be with me. Though she’s gone now, when I eat alone, I still feel her presence, her love filling the empty chair. — Yoosik Youm
Signs Etched in Cement
An agnostic Jew and an adamant atheist, we nonetheless felt we’d received divine affirmation of our love when we came across an old sidewalk in our new city with our names etched into it. Years before we even knew each other, “Laura and Dan” was a pairing already written into permanency. Half a block down, we discovered another cement square with both sets of our initials. How could that be? Surely, this was additional cosmic confirmation! When you’re young and in love, simple coincidences become imbued with a sacred magnitude. — Laura Steefel-Moore
Kicked Off the Family Plan
It wasn’t truly over until I was taken off your family plan. Netflix glared: Sign up or sign in? It hurt more than it should have. I’d been using your account for months after our split. Whenever I sneaked an episode here, a rom-com there, I inflated with hope. Each cinematic conquest convinced me you’d call to comment. I wonder who’s sharing your account now. I wonder what profile she’d pick, if she and your little sister watch the cartoons I knew she’d love. I wonder if my recommendations still populate your screen, an amalgamation of algorithms, infinite what-ifs. — Ella Chon
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