Somewhere back there, I was left behind. It happened at my book club. When the group started, we were seven women who craved cheap wine more than Jhumpa Lahiri’s The Namesake.
The text was just an excuse to air our grievances: My mom and I are fighting; my boss hates me and I hate her; the new dog is too big for the old apartment; I ran into my ex; you’ll never believe what happened last night.
We drained our glasses and edited each other’s problems. Everything seemed more manageable with corrections. When it came time for Allison* to vent, the responses were different. She was married, her life doubled.She might as well have been sending a postcard from a foreign land. The journey was difficult but I’ve finally arrived. Determined to conquer the language barrier. Kisses! We had to squint to decipher her handwriting.
So when, within six months, four members of my book club got engaged, I was confused. I mean, I knew what to say. Congratulations! I’m so happy for you!
But all I could think was: I thought we had a deal. It wasn’t that I objected to the journey, but I hadn’t packed yet. I am 25. I travel light. Were we really doing this? Read more …
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