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New York Times
14-05-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
Tiny Love Stories: ‘Why Don't You Have a Girlfriend?'
A Fateful Crosswalk 'Why don't you have a girlfriend?' my younger brother asks. 'Everyone thinks you're gay.' Panic consumes 14-year-old me. I pray and hear: 'Find a girlfriend.' I date the most popular girl in high school until I graduate in 1983. The homophobia of that time leaves a deep scar, and I spend my life healing it. Dozens of ill-fated relationships with guys ensue. After I give up on love at 45, I pass a man in a crosswalk who asks, 'Leaving so soon?' I reply: 'What do you want to know? I'm single.' We've been together 14 years. Hope springs eternal. — Michael Hauser In the Wake of Him, Her My 37-year-old brother married Priscilla three weeks before a bicycle accident took his life. They had been together for a while, but, because of the pandemic, I didn't know her well. In the wake of his death, we worked side by side, making impossible decisions and caring for what was left in his absence. We cry a lot. We also laugh. She could have been a stranger I never met. Instead, she became my sister, my brother's last gift to me. Grief gave us a terrible beginning. Love makes it last. — Stephanie Springer Simmering After 37 Years He orders a new TV remote, unclogs the toilet, pays our daughter's car insurance. Not the passion of staying in bed all day in our 20s. Nor the excitement of buying our first house. Or riding gondolas in Venice. It's more like a hearty, slow-cooked meal. He shares our daughter's Instagram post. We plan her college graduation party. Relish her professor's help getting her a job. Love after 37 years. It does not boil over. Rather, it's steady as it simmers. — Kerry Leonard Paone Wrong to Scoff My boyfriend is happiest in the kitchen. A former chef, he moves with confidence and precision — whisking and chopping, tasting and sautéing, all while cursing under his breath at microscopic 'mistakes' made along the way, errors a cereal-minded woman like me would never notice. We recently made potato gnocchi together. As always, he sent me home with a doggie bag. I scoffed at his detailed cooking instructions. This man really thinks I can't boil water? I ignored his warnings and ended up with mashed potatoes. Like the gnocchi, his instructions were made with consideration and care. Sorry, honey! — Sophie Bramnick See more Tiny Love Stories at Submit yours at Want more from Modern Love? Watch the TV series; sign up for the newsletter; or listen to the podcast on iTunes, Spotify or Google Play. We also have swag at the NYT Store and two books, 'Modern Love: True Stories of Love, Loss, and Redemption' and 'Tiny Love Stories: True Tales of Love in 100 Words or Less.'
New York Times
23-04-2025
- General
- New York Times
Tiny Love Stories: ‘The Secret About People'
Anxious Affection My mother's love language was worry. An anxious woman, she believed panic was a form of protection. 'It's what you don't see coming that gets you,' she said, searching out the unlikeliest dangers. If a plane crashed 10 states away, she'd scan her mental Rolodex: Which cousin might have been going to Ohio or Nevada? Years of therapy later, I have learned to keep worry at bay (somewhat). I remind myself that worry as a means of security is magical thinking. And that you can love someone without staring sleeplessly at shadows at 4 a.m. It works (sometimes). — Jilann Picariello Committed Comedians Steve and I met at a club in Los Angeles, both comedians chasing fame. I was 23, fresh from Canada. When my visa expired, I asked Steve to marry me. We were both gay, so it was a perfect union. We spent years together traveling the road, navigating one-night stands and sharing our truths. In 2001, Steve contracted AIDS and moved home to Virginia. I visited him often. Watching him deteriorate was unbearable. He passed away in the spring of 2014. To some, it was just a green-card marriage. To us, it was a faithful, lifelong friendship. — Lois Bromfield Cycle of Care When my father was a college student and moved from Karachi to California, his father wrote him letter after letter that could be collected only at the post office. When my father told his father that his shoes were getting worn out by walking to and from the post office, his father promptly airmailed him a package. Inside the box: new shoes. Luckily, I'm a 45-minute drive away from my father, not a daylong flight. Yet, the cycle of care packages continues. For me, he will deliver steaming soup, my favorite books and box upon box of sweet mango juice. — Reem Faruqi Guilty as the Ghost The first time he ghosts you, you are 16, your sincere messages left unanswered on a flip phone. The second time he ghosts you, you are 18, waiting three hours by Newcastle, England's towering monument until you realize he won't show. The third and final time he ghosts you, you are almost 30, incredulous that he has changed so little and mad that you — apparently — haven't grown out of this pattern either. Here's the secret about people who fall for serial ghosters: You are just as guilty as they are, believing their false apologies to be true. — Francesca Willow See more Tiny Love Stories at Submit yours at Want more from Modern Love? Watch the TV series; sign up for the newsletter; or listen to the podcast on iTunes, Spotify or Google Play. We also have swag at the NYT Store and two books, 'Modern Love: True Stories of Love, Loss, and Redemption' and 'Tiny Love Stories: True Tales of Love in 100 Words or Less.'
