This, This Is Easy

I left a Christian cult. Tried Hinge, and the best conversation I had with a man was about Taco Bell. I switched my preference (I came out as a lesbian at 14, and was now coming back out at 27). Quickly, I fell for Jillian. It was scary, the good kind. Sobering, like we had known each other before. Kind, like you just want to rest in each other’s presence. We’ve lost parents, jobs, community; faced life-threatening illnesses. Of course it’s hard. But it’s better together. “Damn,” I often tell Jillian, “life is hard; but this, this is easy.” — Jordan Kates

Umma’s Fruits of Love

My mom, Iris, who sings into cucumbers and gochujang bottles, who returns your silly face with her own, who falls asleep with acupuncture needles in her back but fears cats. My mom, Iris, who tells me as she vacuums the floor beneath my feet that I must study hard, so my future work isn’t the hard labor of chores. My umma, Iris, who loves economics but chooses to work for her children. My mother, Iris, who never fails to give me a bowl of gleaming blackberries and cherries, even after all the work is done, even without me asking. — Evelyn Kim

90 Miles to Sleep

In their 80s, they had shared a bed for decades. Now separated by 90 miles, Mom in a hospital bed, neither could sleep. Every morning Dad would put on his good light-blue suit and hat, grab his cane, and one of us kids would drive him to her. His hat would come off, his cane would hang on the bed. He’d sit next to her in the chair the staff had placed especially for him, knowing its importance. They’d smile with their eyes, hold hands and, within minutes, they’d be sound asleep. — Diana Hartman

Stuck Together

By the time I discovered the gum in the back of my sister Peggy’s hair, the tangle was already huge. We kept it hidden, brushing the top layer of her thick dark curls over the knob. In the hall bathroom’s mirror, I’d hold Peggy’s gum-hair in place and she’d spin, trying to catch a glimpse of it. No luck. When it reached the size of a tangerine, our older sister, Mary Jane, spotted it, chased us down and snipped it out. Mom never knew. Decades after leaving Missouri, spread across the country, the three of us are still stuck together. — Nancy Brier

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