Terry grunted, rummaging in her backpack for her Greek-English dictionary. Instead, she found her latest journal. Flipped it open, jotted down: Marina, Goddess of the Sea. A bit too old and fat to be a siren. What about me? Twenty-ninth birthday yesterday, no man in sight, to Mom’s despair.
The baby moves again, in quick, tiny motions. They are giving her two more weeks to grow, then forcing her out. She will be fine, they say, you will be fine. Everything will be fine. I want to believe them.
Sarah Kessler had her first real encounter with Rick Wolfson when he hit her leg with his gym bag at the West Side Nursery School. She had noticed him before of course, not because he was particularly handsome but because he had dark eyes and reckless hair and the sweaty intensity of an unsatisfied appetite. That Rick was married to a small-busted and well-assembled Wall Street banker who seemed unworthy of her husband’s bohemian charm only increased his value. As Sarah knew from experience, it was easier to fantasize about unhappy men.
Let’s dip into a couple editor favorites from Father’s Days past. In Hungry to Eat from 2012, David Harris Ebenbach writes of a father figuring out on the fly how to help a grown son with a big hurt that a Band-Aid …
She had changed. Her darling girl carried a lift in her shoulders, a stance she’d mastered overseas, without Margaret’s reminders. It was a posture a mother wished for in a daughter, yet hoped it could be achieved by her influence. Now, when they spoke, Bonnie seemed to hold her mother’s gaze as if challenging Margaret to be the first to look away.