When you're reuniting with childhood friends or meeting “eligible” men, there is always the underlying question: What is WRONG with you?
Without washing the tears off my face, I rushed back down to the street and jumped in a cab. I needn’t have bothered with the erotic lingerie. It came off too quickly for him to notice. Xavier and I drank Champagne and ate moo shu pork naked in bed. I looked at the clock. It was 2 a.m. Thank God. Valentine’s Day was over.
Jim likes to joke that we never had a first date. I think we had something better. After all, how many ambitious career women in the 1980s get rescued by a bona fide knight in shining armor?
Ron Serrano was certainly not what my father had in mind when he thought about my marrying. I was a conventional middle-class Jewish girl, Ron the brown-skinned son of Mexican immigrants, raised Catholic.
Richard’s math class was the hour before mine; we shared the same room as well as the same instructor. One Valentine’s Day I found a note in my locker directing me to look out the window of the math class, where I would find my Valentine gift.
I always suspected that Fred’s father thought we were too young and too serious, since we had made plans to marry and depart for Africa as missionaries as soon as we grew up.