![]() The post Tiny Love Stories: ‘Were They Just Using Me?’ appeared first on New York Times. Now I’m his widow, a name I wear with sadness but gratitude for our life together. We needed different names: husband and wife. Citing privacy, nurses asked me: Was I family? A caregiver? Anticipating his decline, our bond deepened. His health diminished, requiring frequent medical appointments. Frank called me his roommate, or “roomie.” Years passed. Roberta Beary (originally published on Jan. We’re old, we’re new, we’re together, in Ireland. But it’s caught in Clew Bay, near our home in the shadow of Croagh Patrick. My boyfriend? Ridiculous for someone pushing 80. Three years, two funerals and two weddings later, we still eat fish for dinner. How to name our relationship, once we coupled? My friend? Too casual. Lori Tripp Peckham Names for My Everythingįrank was older than me: 75 to my 54. Mom was always behind the camera, dutifully capturing our memories. ![]() But where was Mom? And whose finger was that sometimes covering the camera lens? Ah! It was Mom. We studied our smiling faces at the Jersey Shore with our grandparents and at campsites with Dad. We found plenty of photos of ourselves, including yearly poses under the silver Christmas tree and in the front yard with our yellow Easter dresses and white shoes. “Why aren’t there more pictures with Mom in them?” I asked my sister as we prepared a slide show for our mother’s funeral. “Are you thinking of getting married?” “Yes,” I say. “Congratulations,” I say, but we know I actually mean “goodbye.” She gives me her mango stained smile. Six years later, I go to her wedding with a bouquet of cheap flowers and a greeting card. I tell her, “I will stay with you here forever.” “I know,” she replies, unaware of how strongly I feel. Summer 2017, we meet at my grandmother’s house in Goa, brown limbs exposed and mango juice dripping down our elbows. Forty-seven years, six children, two grandchildren later, I’m inclined to believe him. Would anyone ever like me for me? My brother’s best friend Sam had the answer. Karen T., Betsy B., had they ever really been my friends, or were they just using me to get within flirting range of my brother? John didn’t mind the attention, but feeling like a steppingstone shook my 15-year-old confidence. He was bespectacled, skinny, an honor roll guy - no jacked heartthrob. I just finished a re-read (on audio this time, narrated by Stacey Glemboski) a few days ago, and loved it so much, again.My girlfriends made a habit of crushing on my big brother John. ![]() In fact, the "new beginnings" appear at the end of this book rather than being the catalyst for the story. It also has one of the most satisfying endings I've read in ages. ![]() This book was slow to hook me, but once I was in, I was IN. When she finds herself in the middle of a love triangle, it becomes all the more difficult to balance her art with "real life," and she just might reach her breaking point. While her friends have given up on their artistic ambitions in favor of stability and the next phase of life, Casey still harbors creative dreams and firmly grasps her youth. Lost without direction, 31-year-old Casey waits tables to make ends meet while she works on her novel in a tiny, dingy rented room. This much-anticipated follow-up to King’s award-winning 2014 novel Euphoria follows Casey Peabody, who is mourning the sudden death of her mother plus a messy break-up in 1997 Massachusetts. I recommended this to Sarah Bessey in WSIRN episode 211.
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