Tiny Love Stories: ‘I saw him kissing someone new’
Half full or half empty?
I called him “Cup Guy” because he was holding a cup in every photo on his dating profile. Last Pride month our relationship hit the rocks. Five months later, I saw him kissing someone new in “our” bar in the West Village. During the kiss, Cup Guy’s eyes were on mine. I couldn’t look away. Later I saw him order two vodka colas, probably for himself and his date. Surprise: He sauntered over to my table. “Take it,” he said with a grin, pushing a drink toward him before abruptly leaving. I stared at this cup, wondering if it was a peace offering or an invitation. — Dillon Fernando
A kind of second sight
Before my divorce, I took a lot of selfies and posted them on Facebook. I eagerly read the comments: “Beautiful family”, “looking good.” We must be okay, I reassured myself, if people see us like this. What a surprise to fall in love again at fifty. I didn’t know intimacy could be as easy as untying shoelaces you didn’t know were too tight. On our first vacation together, I photographed our long shadows in the desert, holding hands. But I didn’t post it. I didn’t need it. Being watched, I’ve realized, is not the same as being seen. — Sarah Gundel
The big son of the biggest guy
There is a woman I am so in love with and we have been together for 18 months. She broke up with me last week. When I drove my 10-year-old son, Max, to a pool party near Mulholland Drive, he asked me how I felt about it. I told him I was sad and he said he was sad too. But then he said something so beautiful. He said, ‘Dad, she’s missing out on the best man. You’re wonderful.” And I slowed the car to a stop and cried. Steven Dworman
A meeting of mine
Imagine sitting at a table with past versions of yourself. I think it would be something like the scene in ‘The Nutty Professor’ where Eddy Murphy plays all of his relatives. I would be sitting at a dinner table: my current, 20-year-old self, sitting between the 18-year-old self with her hopeful look, my 12-year-old self who is too insecure to look up, and my 10-year-old self whose confidence is immeasurable is. The star of the show would be baby me with my hair, thick and combed, like a ’70s bachatero, smelling like sweet hospital soap, sleeping peacefully. — Niomi Nunez