Ride-Share Roulette

Another rider joins the Lyft pool. Now I might be late for my date. “Mustafa?” the new rider asks. “Yes. Melissa?” Wait a minute, I think. I’m on my way to meet a Melissa. “Melissa?” I say. “Yes?” she replies. “It’s Erik.” She doesn’t put two and two together. Awkward silence ensues. “Oh, you’re actually going to the same place,” says Mustafa. “Really? Why are you going there?” Melissa asks. “Uh, I think I’m going on a date with you,” I say. Mustafa laughs. We join in. I feel briefly hopeful that, despite apps and algorithms, serendipity still exists. — Erik Moyer

Seeing Clearly

Our eyes first met behind ski goggles as we rode together in a chairlift. I was instantly smitten by this handsome, bronzed god of a ski instructor. Our mountain romance escalated to a marriage proposal — his valiant attempt to silence hidden desires. After a fairy-tale wedding, two children and two decades together, my husband said, “I can’t hide anymore,” and came out as gay. After years of devastation, we reconnected. Our eyes met once again, but for the first time, we saw each other clearly. I now accept him for his authentic self, introducing him as my lifelong friend. — Lina Lambert

A Quiet Reminder

Over the years, my siblings and I have built our own lives. The days of living across the hall from one another and celebrating every holiday together are memories. People say they’ve “moved on,” which to me implies that they’ve not only left behind their old life, but the people they love. As I sit in nostalgia in New York, I see my phone light up. My younger brother, Sandeep, is calling from Connecticut, and my little sister, Navneet, in North Carolina, has left me five text messages. A quiet reminder that growing up doesn’t have to mean growing apart. — Jasmine Guleria

Helping the Only Way You Knew How

After my miscarriage, I flew east to sleep under my parents’ roof. You found me in the kitchen, sobbing into the neck of my mom’s bathrobe. Muttering something about running errands, you grabbed your wad of credit cards, wrapped in rubber bands, and charged out the door. An hour later, you returned with a grocery store bouquet, a flower arrangement so excessive there wasn’t a vase in the house able to contain it. You, my Army veteran stepfather, spoke shyly then. “I don’t know how to fix it, but thought these might help.” — Erin Leach-Kemon

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