While driving to the airport two weeks ago, I had a horrible thought.
What name did my son use to authorize me to pick up my 12-year-old CA grandson from the Boston airport?
“Sky” had never flown on his own. But he couldn’t wait for the taste of independence (and full attention from doting grandparents) by flying across country to visit us for a week.
I scrutinized the man under veiled eyes. My long dark eyelashes were one of my vanities, and in times like these they came in useful. (The Exit Door)
Since when did I follow a complete stranger ( I wondered – what’s an incomplete stranger?) out of a social setting where I knew at least half the participants, toward a “wonderful café” he suggested?
“George,” the blue-jeaned “complete” stranger said as if reading my mind. And no, I don’t do this often.” Continue reading
Amy didn’t know how to tell him.
They’d been dating almost seven months. In September, at month two, she wondered if he was the one.
But something held Amy back. Continue reading
On one of my hold-my-breath-until-we-land flights a few months ago, I was the last passenger to enter the plane (my normal routine) and sat next to a nice-looking man who barely looked up.
But I looked him up and down, gauging how well the flight would go. Not garrulous, check. Not nervous, check. Not a drinker, check. All good to go.
But as I placed my purse under my seat and opened my book, I took offense. Perhaps this man – mid-30s – dismissed me already for being one of those things: a talker or a nervous flier or worse, just an “older woman” who was – dismissible. Continue reading
I didn’t mean to, but I made a grown man cry.
A huge hulking man who wore high-heeled boots.
It all happened on a sunny Sunday in front of a restaurant on a busy Boston cobblestoned street. Continue reading