‘Doing’ Nice

Sitting between my little brothers at church, I would stretch out my arms beside me, palms up. Our unspoken sibling sign to “do nice.” A term I coined because every night our mom — a strong single mother of four — would lull us to sleep with soft tickles along our necks and backs. It felt nice. In our pew, my brothers would “do nice” along my hands and forearms, sometimes with chubby toddler fingers, other times driving the dinky toy cars they had snuck in their pockets. Of all the sacred rituals at church, this one was my favorite. — Natasha Chiam

Changing Mimi’s Mind

“Mimi,” I said, mouth full of Cheerios. “They’re legalizing gay marriage in your state.” At 14, I was proud to know this. I had read it in the newspaper (newspaper-reading being a habit I’d decided every teenager should have). “I know,” Mimi groaned, “it’s awful.” Mimi is very Catholic, Mom later explained. Two weeks before she died, Mimi and I chatted on the phone: “Seeing any fellas, or…,” she paused, “gals?” “I wonder if my being nearly 30 and single triggered this open-mindedness,” I said to my mother at Mimi’s funeral. Mom laughing, replied, “It’s never too late to change.” — Caroline Santinelli

Not Flaws at All

My boyfriend texted me: “Heyy bighead.” Early in our relationship, I told him I felt insecure about my head. “It’s too big,” I texted one night. But he loves it. “It’s where all your best ideas come from,” he replied. Nicknames are his way of showing love. His gentle teasing help me realize that I can be myself, that my perceived flaws aren’t really flaws at all. We’ve learned to laugh together, lean on each other and grow. I feel safe knowing he’s there to remind me to relax, bighead and all. — Imani Moscoso

Sizzling Through Generations

Years ago, I cooked for five, thinking the food held us together. With three daughters grown and gone, the sofrito sizzling on the stovetop, the cat looks up, meows and I realize it was never just about food — it was love, one meal at a time. The smells fill the kitchen until a text chimes: our oldest daughter, asking for grandma’s recipe “to make for friends.” I smile, picturing each daughter sharing meals and memories, cooking up love in their own lives. I set two plates on the table, grateful that love lingers even when the table is now just for two. — Marni Battista

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