Trying to conceive a son almost killed my husband. Killed may be an exaggeration; almost gave him a heart attack is more accurate. After my husband and I were married for eight years, I decided it was time for a son. Like ordering up a desired entree at a restaurant, my request to the Universe was specific: […]
I was cleaning out my house’s back room one day, and noticed how much stuff I have gathering dust: a LSAT prep book from 2000, boxes of scrapbook supplies, and a treadmill. These are all things I was passionate—to the point of obsessive—about at one time in my life, but for one reason (possibly excuse) […]
“I’m afraid,” I confided to my grandmother. “See this?”—Gran swirled her snifter of honey-hued whisky—“It could break anytime. Imagine shattered glass on the floor. Trust me, dear. Life would go on. Accepting it’s already broken makes my decision simple: enjoy.”
I wanted my wife to see that damn suitcase first and hear silence. Claire had left around eleven that morning for her monthly hair appointment and shopping trip. After she pulled out of the driveway, I put our two kids, aged two and four, into the car and headed to my in-laws. It helped […]
I wanted my wife to see that damn suitcase first and hear silence. “I hate you!” she screamed each word. “Lately, the feeling’s mutual, but I still love you. What’s your decision?” Fuck. He’s serious this time. Rehab’s going to be hell.