Before ‘Polyamory’ Was in Vogue

Veronica’s prom date wanted to marry her, but I was her preference. Our honeymoon was nice but not exciting. After joining the Navy, I left on a six-month cruise of the Mediterranean. While I was away, Veronica’s old flame visited, reawakening affection. Sensing her need, he seduced her and gave her the intense pleasure I hadn’t. In the months and years to come, we realized that, in many cases, sex is just sex. We built a caring marriage by accommodating our sexual incompatibility with other partners, long before “polyamory” was in vogue. — Walter Dombrowski

Souls on Social Media

A 21-year-old man posted on social media: “Men have souls. Women don’t. Do you understand?” I didn’t, and I expressed my disagreement gently. In messages, he revealed his handle was a pseudonym. After a bad breakup, he’d allied with misogynists on the site; anonymity made that easy. We shared stories from our lives. The unexpectedly warm exchange, he said, was jolting him back into himself. He wanted to leave the social platform and heal. Days later, his account was gone. Now I wonder: How are you, kid? Do you think about my soul, as I think about yours? — Pamela Rafalow Grossman

Mom’s Favorites

I reached into a green bucket at the farmers’ market and grabbed a bunch of sweet-smelling lilacs to bring to my mother for Mother’s Day. I’d surprise her since she was under the weather. She greeted me in obvious pain, but half-smiled and said: “These are my favorites. How did you know?” All these years, I had no idea. My mother died unexpectedly a few weeks later. In my devastating grief, I attempted a word puzzle, her favorite pastime. That day the answer was five letters, L-I-L-A-C. I believe she was sharing the blooms with me. — Elana Rabinowitz

Devoted Detours

He suggests we skip the Napa trip, the one with the nonrefundable Airbnb. He searches “hikes with restrooms near me,” then swipes away photos from a far-fetched ski retreat. We shop for Gatorade and Jell-O before my semiannual colonoscopies. He makes me a broth that I’ll barely touch and hangs over my shoulder as we scour clinical studies. I’m grateful that he lets me be sick but never makes me feel like a sick person. I love him for all the times he’s rerouted to a gas station bathroom for me. All the times he’s rerouted his life for me. — Preeti Talwai

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