NON-FICTION
I Gave Birth For The First Time This Year, But I Was Already A Mother
romper
After I gave birth to Julian — tiny and pink and breathtaking — I felt both dazed and euphoric. We lay in the hospital bed and I stared at his inexplicably long fingernails and the downy fur along his back. Occasionally we dozed and he tried to latch, and I watched Friends reruns on the monitor beside the bed. I wasn’t allowed any visitors except my husband, Andrew, who alternated between the hospital and visiting our 8-year-old daughter, who was at home nearby. I felt overcome with love and gratitude for our community; friends and family who couldn’t be there and who, because of Covid, wouldn’t even be able to meet Julian in the near future. But they texted and called and exalted all the usual praises and excitement. You did it! He's here! You're a mom!
Full Story
The Time My Grown-Up Novel Was Marketed As Young Adult
Literary Hub
My novel was initially pitched like this: Emma Bloom is a college student who returns home to Westchester during winter break to find that her mother is in the throes of a psychotic episode. Emma spends the next month learning how to navigate her mother’s illness and the impact it has on her life and her relationships. I wanted to explore the toll that mental illness takes on a family, and more generally, what it means to love somebody who is sick. Full story.
The Condition that Shielded My Grandfather from Heartbreak
Long Reads
I sat in the Emergency Room with my grandmother on a cool night last June. Hours earlier, Sadie had stood up from the couch too quickly and fallen. She and my mother had been waiting at the hospital for much of the day. Sadie was bored but wouldn’t complain except to be dismissive of her own pain. This is all so dumb, she’d said when I arrived. I’m really fine, so unnecessary for you to come all the way uptown for this. Full story.
I Hope You Stay Forever
Slate
The night we first kissed, Andrew and I were at a crowded bar in Cambridge, Massachusetts. The walls were painted maroon, and it was filled with college kids drinking craft beer out of stemmed glasses. Andrew had gotten a babysitter for his 3½-year-old daughter, Amaia. It was the first time he’d done so since his wife had died several months earlier. We sat on stools, opposite a tall mahogany table, and leaned toward each other. I had driven from Brooklyn, at his encouragement, so that we could talk in person. Full story.
Alone Online
Emily Books
I’d known Tom* peripherally for years. We’d run into each other at birthday parties, at unbearably crowded bars in the city, once outside of the train station in Greenpoint. But something shifted between us when we saw each other at a barbeque one balmy June night. I liked the slightly goofy lilt in his voice, his glasses – these thick round frames –and the way he seemed to be warmly attentive and making fun of me at the same time. Full story.