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Tiny Love Story: “7 Years of Itching”

Mario was a foster child. I was a protected bookworm. We got married at a young age in Union, Maine. After seven years of plight, we decided to refurbish a cliff-side villa on Santorini for a crazy Malibu defense lawyer. It was 1994, before the island’s spine sprouted the resort. Working days included carrying a bag of cement on the back of the donkey. On holidays, I hike, swim and tan on the topless beaches. We toasted our relationship with each pink homeric sunset. At night, I washed broad beans and fish with Retsina and ate them. And olive. Oh, those olives. — — Sherry Barker Abaldo

A few years ago, I was visiting my mom in Wisconsin. One night, a little drunk, my brother lay down on her and me, hating her and the president I supported. Stunned, we left. Since then, politics has divided our home. Mom called me one night recently: my brother has a coronavirus. Shivering, I argued about reaching out. Does he want to hear from me? The next morning, I heard about a parliamentarian whose son died of suicide and the support he received from Democrats and Republicans during the riots in Washington. I sent a text message to my brother and his wife. Only his wife answered. — — Wendy Rucomski


I sometimes saw Anthony at a bar in Los Angeles. We were always friendly. Then one Friday we bumped into each other at a street fair. We met again on Saturday. Also on Sunday. Still, it’s just frivolous chat and ambivalence. On Monday, Anthony was walking beside me while I was driving. I finally gave him my number and cooked him a supper a week later. We, who are still married 17 years later, do not believe that it means something. We believe in a mixture of mind and head: luck and commitment. — — Dean Descent

The day before his 32nd birthday, Greg held my hand in the emergency room. Ultrasonography revealed a miscarriage. He comforted and fixed me while I was walking in the sea of ​​sorrow for weeks and months. After seven years and two children, when New York City was rushing towards a severe closure, Greg remembered picking up my 39th birthday cake and hand sanitizer. Now, almost a year later, almost a year ago, almost a year at home, I bravely walk towards my 40th birthday and know that the true milestone is our love and health. .. — — Christine Byung

Tiny Love Story: “7 Years of Itching”

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