Recipe Index

PART 1 I have been to a lot of gay clubs. Not because I sought them out, not because I had any particular connection to them, but because my friend group has a gravitational pull in that direction and I have, for the better part of two years, followed that pull without much complaint. I’m…

PART 1 I want to start by saying something that shouldn’t need to be said but apparently does: women bleed. Every month, reliably, whether or not it’s convenient, whether or not we’re staying at our mother-in-law’s house for six simultaneous family birthdays, whether or not we packed correctly for a trip that was supposed to…

PART 1 We moved in with the optimism that most people bring to a new home. Fresh start, good walls, a front garden that needed work but had potential. Our neighbor — I’ll call her Donna — came out to introduce herself the day we arrived, and she seemed fine. Friendly enough, a young single…

PART 1 I learned what a sperm donor was before I learned what a stepfamily was. My mother explained it to me when I was old enough to ask and young enough to accept the answer without drama: she had wanted a child, had known a man willing to help her have one, and had…

PART 1 My grandmother owned a house for sixty-three years. She bought it when the suburb was still considered distant from the city, back when the land was affordable and the neighbors were sparse and nobody was predicting what would happen to property values over the following six decades. She maintained it and paid it…

PART 1 I have been out at work in the way that doesn’t require an announcement. My boss knows I have a girlfriend. It came up naturally, the way these things do when you work closely with someone for long enough — a mention here, a pronoun there, nothing dramatic. Beyond that, I hadn’t had…

PART 1 I want to start with the room, because the room is where everything began. It’s not a large room. It never was — I’ve lived in it my entire life, which means I’ve watched it go from the room with the rocket ship wallpaper to the room I repainted myself at seventeen to…

PART 1 There is a particular freedom that comes from ending a marriage well. Not easily — I want to be clear about that distinction, because nothing about thirteen years and two children and the slow, honest reckoning of two people admitting they wanted different things is easy. But well. With enough care and enough…

PART 1 I have been planning this since I was twenty-two years old. Not in the vague, aspirational way people plan things they never actually do — not as a fantasy or a mood board or a someday-when. I mean it in the specific, documented, lived-below-my-means, said-no-to-things-I-wanted way that turns a goal into a reality….