An Arrow to Amsterdam
Traveling Berlin solo, I download a dating app to find someone in the famously queer city. Waiting at a cafe, I text: “all black, striped bag, blond head.” Maren embraces me with ease. We talk for hours, but I’m so aware of our age gap that I never make a move. As I travel through Europe, her texts keep coming — sweet, intimate, funny. Finally, she sends a map with arrows pointing back to Berlin. I send an arrow pointing to Amsterdam, my final stop before returning to California. Two beautiful Dutch days have led to two deeply romantic years. — Abigail Severance
Visions of My Father
Rounding the snack aisle at Trader Joe’s, I see them examining scones: a woman around my age, mid-50s, and her father, in his 80s. Stooped yet still tall, with surfer-blond hair, he resembles my dad, gone a quarter of a century. It’s only through others that I can imagine what he’d be like now. “Those cranberry orange scones are the best,” I say. They thank me for the tip. Later in the parking lot, I watch as she gently guides him into the car. I let my tears fall, grateful for a glimpse of another daughter’s love. — Joelle Fraser