Love

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From Love 2.0: Finding Happiness and Health in Moments of Connection (2013)

  Love is also deeply personal. It unfurls within and throughout your mind and body like a wave, cresting with each new micro-moment of connection—that smile, that laugh, or that knowing and appreciative glance that you share with another. Yet even as these micro-moments are deeply personal and fleeting, they’ve also been targets of increasing scientific scrutiny. So now, for the first time, you can know and appreciate love not only through a personal, subjective lens but also through a scientific, objective lens. Through this scientific lens, you can better see and appreciate how your body and brain were made for love, and made to benefit from loving. Learn to seek love out more frequently and it can elevate you, your community, and our world far beyond what you and I can today envision. Opportunities for love abound. It’s up to you to nourish yourself with them. Acknowledgments The ideas about love that you’ll encounter here have been gestating in my mind and heart for years. Fittingly, they first arose through my connections with others. Some of these connections have been fleeting, others long-standing. Some have been mutual connections, with ideas forged through rich conversations and collaborations, others have been more one-sided, as I’ve privately mulled over and expanded on the words of other scholars. For the foundational idea that love is best seen as any positive emotion shared within a safe, interpersonal connection, I thank Carroll Izard. His 1977 book described love as moments of shared joy and shared interest, and convinced me that any accounting of the positive emotions should not omit love. What little I wrote about love in my first presentation of the broaden-and-build theory owed a great deal to Izard’s influence on my thinking. A deeper shaping of my views on love comes from the pioneering work on high-quality connections by my friend and University of Michigan colleague, Jane Dutton. I’ve long been inspired by her ways of seeing and describing the connective tissue that binds and energizes people in long-standing relationships and one-time encounters alike. Apart from her inspiring theoretical work, Jane is also an inspiring person, and I am thankful that our friendship has withstood the strain of my move from Ann Arbor. Other scholars whose work has deeply influenced my thinking about love and related ideas include Lisa Feldman Barrett, Kent Berridge, John Cacioppo, Laura Carstensen, Sy-Miin Chow, Steve Cole, Michael D. Cohen, Mike Csikszentmihalyi, Richie Davidson, Paul Ekman, Ruth Feldman, Shelly Gable, Eric Garland, Karen Grewen, Melissa Gross, Uri Hasson, Julianne Holt-Lunstad, David Johnson, Danny Kahneman, Dacher Keltner, Corey Keyes, Ann Kring, Bob Levenson, Kathleen Light, Marcial Losada, Batja Mesquita, Paula Niedenthal, Susan Nolen-Hoeksema, Keith Payne, David Penn, Chris Peterson, Bob Quinn, Cliff Saron, Oliver Schultheiss, Leslie Sekerka, Marty Seligman, Erika Rosenberg, Robert Vallerand, George Vaillant, and David Sloan Wilson. Although these people span the spectrum from my dearest friends to those I’ve yet to meet, the theoretical and empirical contributions of each have inspired me to build upon them.

• From Love 2.0: Finding Happiness and Health in Moments of Connection (2013)

  Through eye contact and close attention to all manner of smiles—and the embodied simulations such visual intake triggers—your gut instincts about whom to trust and whom not to trust become more reliable. Rather than avoid all new people out of fear and suspicion, oxytocin helps you pick up on cues that signal another person’s goodwill and guides you to approach them with your own. Because all people need social connections, not just to reproduce, but to survive and thrive in this world, oxytocin has been dubbed “the great facilitator of life.” It, too, can jump the gap between people such that someone else’s oxytocin flow can trigger your own. A biochemical synchrony can then emerge that supports mutual engagement, care, and responsiveness. The clearest evidence that oxytocin rises and falls in synchrony between people comes from studies of infants and their parents. When an infant and a parent—either mom or dad—interact, sometimes they are truly captivated by each other, and other times not. When an infant and parent do click, their coordinated motions and emotions show lots of mutual positive engagement. Picture moms or dads showering their baby with kisses, tickling their baby’s tiny fingers and toes, smiling at their baby, and speaking to him or her in that high-pitched, singsong tone that scientists call motherese . These parents are superattentive. As they tickle and coo they’re also closely tracking their baby’s face for signs that their delight is mutual. In step with their parent’s affectionate antics, these attentive babies babble, coo, smile, and giggle. Positivity resonates back and forth between them. Micro-moments of love blossom. Of course, not every infant-parent interaction is so rosy. Some pairs show little mutual engagement. Some moms and dads rarely make eye contact with their infants and emit precious little positivity, either verbally or nonverbally. These pairs are simply less attuned to each other, less connected. And in those rare moments when they are engaged, the vibe that joins them is distinctly more negative. They connect over mutual distress or indifference, rather than over mutual affection. It turns out that positive behavioral synchrony—the degree to which an infant and a parent (through eye contact and affectionate touch) laugh, smile, and coo together—goes hand in hand with oxytocin synchrony. Researchers have measured oxytocin levels in the saliva of dads, moms, and infants both before and after a videotaped, face-to-face parent-infant interaction. For infant-parent pairs who show mutual positive engagement, oxytocin levels also come into sync. Without such engagement, however, no oxytocin synchrony emerges.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Durante diecinueve años, siempre fue él. Sacrificándome para construir mi negocio para poder darle un buen hogar y educación, y tener miedo de las relaciones después de lo que pasé con Lindsay o perder las relaciones, porque otras mujeres no querían tener que lidiar con la madre de mi niño por el resto de nuestras vidas. Mi vida giraba en torno a él, pero sin importar lo que hiciera todo se fue a la mierda. Ella lo retorció y lo usó en mi contra, y él no sabe en quién confiar. Ser feliz con una mujer no está mal, pero que esa mujer sea Jordan es lo que podría romper la fe que le queda en sus padres. ¿Por qué no puedo detenerme? ¿Por qué me duele tanto el corazón cada vez que sonríe? ¿O se muerde la uña del pulgar o se pone de puntillas para alcanzar algo en la cocina o parpadear, por el amor de Dios? Entro en la cocina y sirvo café en mi taza de viaje. Aprieto la tapa y saco mi almuerzo del refrigerador, arrojando algunas papas extra, ya que no tengo tiempo para el desayuno. De repente suena el timbre, y me vuelvo, frunciendo el ceño. ¿Quién aparece a esta hora de la mañana? Dejando todo en el mostrador, camino hacia la puerta principal y me inclino, mirando por la ventana delantera. Y hablando del diablo... Mi ex está parada en pantalones de nylon y una camiseta sin mangas a juego. Su cabello está recogido en un moño marrón desordenado, pero tiene el rostro lleno de maquillaje. Es la única persona que conozco que se maquilla para ir al gimnasio. Por supuesto, probablemente solo va a conocer chicos. Abro la puerta, tratando de estar en silencio, para que Jordan no se despierte. —¿Qué es lo que quieres? —le digo, abriendo la puerta. —Bueno, qué amable —se burla, manteniendo los brazos cruzados sobre su pecho—. Siempre eres tan imbécil, ¿eh? Y sin esperar una invitación, entra, empujando más allá de mi brazo. —Si te presentas en mi puerta a las cinco de la mañana, no puede ser amable —le digo, cerrando la puerta—. ¿Estás borracha? Entra a la cocina, arrojando sus llaves en mi mostrador y da media vuelta, mirándome. —¿Por qué mi hijo está viviendo en la casa de alguna chica y no contigo? Lucho contra el impulso de poner los ojos en blanco ante su falsa preocupación, que es solo una excusa para ser invasiva. —Es bienvenido a volver a casa en cualquier momento —le explico, dirigiéndome al taburete y agarrando mi camiseta—. Él es quien se fue. —Porque estás permitiendo que Jordan se quede. ¿Por qué? Me paso la prenda por la cabeza. —Si quieres saber qué está pasando con Cole, pregúntale a él. En cuanto a quién le alquilo una habitación, no es asunto tuyo.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Mi pecho se sacude con una risa, porque es tan mentirosa. Este asunto de dormir durante las tormentas nunca ha sido un problema en nuestra cama. Duerme como una muerta a mi lado, y me enorgullezco mucho por ese hecho. De repente quiero ver su rostro, así que alcanzo las cerillas con mi mano libre, prendiendo una y encendiendo la vela sobre la mesita de noche. Apagando la cerilla, la habitación brilla con una luz suave, y bajo la mirada a su rostro, todavía en sombras pero un poco más visible ahora. Sus largas pestañas y hermosa piel. Sus labios rosas que he besado miles de veces durante miles de horas. Su cuerpo que he amado durante diez años y en un millón diferente de maneras. Pensarías que estaría acostumbrado a ella ahora, pero mi polla empieza a endurecerse ante el solo pensamiento de ella sobre mí de nuevo. Su cabeza se alza y mira alrededor, sobresaltada. —Oh, la ropa —suelta. —Ya me ocupé —le digo, palmeando su pierna para calmarla—. No te preocupes. Se relaja, asintiendo y bostezando al mismo tiempo. —¿Los niños están bien? —pregunta, poniendo su cabeza de nuevo en mi pecho. —Síp. Durmiendo como troncos. Froto su espalda, intentando calmarla para dormir y siento su pierna cubrir la mía. Aprieto mis dientes, la calidez entre sus muslos filtrándose a los míos ahora. Mi ingle pulsa. —¿Estás nerviosa? —susurro. —Un poco. Hará una presentación en la apertura de los jardines botánicos que diseñó para el nuevo museo en Rockford, mañana. Después de la universidad, trabajó para una firma durante varios años, pero decidió empezar su propio negocio el año pasado. El museo fue su primer y gran proyecto en solitario, y los clientes no solo están extremadamente complacidos con su trabajo, sino que esto ha traído varios proyectos ya. Es una artista. Pero una que odia hablar en público, así que estoy pensando que será doloroso pero breve mañana. —Solo recuerda. —Beso su cabello—. Subimos al auto y nos ponemos en camino después. Sus brazos se aprietan a mi alrededor. —No puedo esperar. Después de la presentación, vamos a Minnesota donde alquilamos una casa del lago durante dos semanas. Su hermana Cam y el último de una lista de novios ricos, también alquilaron una casa cerca, así que van a llevar a su hijo, y tendremos compañía cuando nos apetezca. Y alguien para llevarse a los niños por una noche cuando no lo hagamos. Sus dedos trazan mi pecho y arrastra sus uñas ligeramente por mi estómago. Mi cuerpo empieza a volver a la vida bajo mi piel, y no creo que pueda dormir hasta que lo saque de mi sistema. —Entonces, ¿estás despierta ahora? —me burlo. Asiente. —¿Tú? —Es difícil dormir cuando haces eso. Se ríe y se alza, deslizando una pierna sobre mi cuerpo y montándome a horcajadas. —Oh, qué bien. Se quita su camiseta y de inmediato toco su estómago, sintiendo el duro y pequeño bulto donde mi hijo o hija está.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  —Sí. —Beso su frente, poniendo las sábanas sobre nosotros—. Vuelve a dormir. Gran día mañana. —Sabes que no puedo dormir durante las tormentas. Mi pecho se sacude con una risa, porque es tan mentirosa. Este asunto de dormir durante las tormentas nunca ha sido un problema en nuestra cama. Duerme como una muerta a mi lado, y me enorgullezco mucho por ese hecho. De repente quiero ver su rostro, así que alcanzo las cerillas con mi mano libre, prendiendo una y encendiendo la vela sobre la mesita de noche. Apagando la cerilla, la habitación brilla con una luz suave, y bajo la mirada a su rostro, todavía en sombras pero un poco más visible ahora. Sus largas pestañas y hermosa piel. Sus labios rosas que he besado miles de veces durante miles de horas. Su cuerpo que he amado durante diez años y en un millón diferente de maneras. Pensarías que estaría acostumbrado a ella ahora, pero mi polla empieza a endurecerse ante el solo pensamiento de ella sobre mí de nuevo. Su cabeza se alza y mira alrededor, sobresaltada. —Oh, la ropa —suelta. —Ya me ocupé —le digo, palmeando su pierna para calmarla—. No te preocupes. Se relaja, asintiendo y bostezando al mismo tiempo. —¿Los niños están bien? —pregunta, poniendo su cabeza de nuevo en mi pecho. —Síp. Durmiendo como troncos. Froto su espalda, intentando calmarla para dormir y siento su pierna cubrir la mía. Aprieto mis dientes, la calidez entre sus muslos filtrándose a los míos ahora. Mi ingle pulsa. —¿Estás nerviosa? —susurro. —Un poco. Hará una presentación en la apertura de los jardines botánicos que diseñó para el nuevo museo en Rockford, mañana. Después de la universidad, trabajó para una firma durante varios años, pero decidió empezar su propio negocio el año pasado. El museo fue su primer y gran proyecto en solitario, y los clientes no solo están extremadamente complacidos con su trabajo, sino que esto ha traído varios proyectos ya. Es una artista. Pero una que odia hablar en público, así que estoy pensando que será doloroso pero breve mañana.

• From Love 2.0: Finding Happiness and Health in Moments of Connection (2013)

  Love is not simply something you stumble or fall into. While love can certainly catch you by surprise, like a sudden rain, unlike the weather, you can also seed and cultivate the conditions for love all on your own. All it takes is that you develop an eye and a feel for love and for the contexts in which you might seed it. Slow down and prepare your own heart and mind to be truly open to others. Reflect on moments of connection, actively seek these moments out, or condition your heart with the time-tested good wishes of loving-kindness meditation. Try these practices and watch what then unfolds between you and others, using your own body as your tuning fork to spot love’s presence. With any of the practices that I offer in this chapter, you take steps toward shifting your attention away from yourself and toward others, a shift that in itself opens countless opportunities for love. Notice how this shift feels inside your body. Notice how energized you get in a bona fide moment of positivity resonance. Conversations become deeper and more meaningful, connections stronger. You’ll begin to see each new interaction as an opportunity, not as an obligation or obstacle. Your more open stance will be amply reinforced by the positive feelings that you share in the brightened moments spent with others. Aware now of the ingredients and potency of positivity resonance, you have new lenses through which to view each and every encounter you have with others. True, you are unlikely to elevate all of your interpersonal encounters into moments of positivity resonance. After all, you can only reshape your side of each interpersonal interchange. So don’t judge yourself against unrealistically high standards. Do notice, however, whether you’ve been able to upgrade one, two, or even three ordinary interchanges each day into acts of love. These are the small changes that can add up to big improvements in your health and happiness. CHAPTER 6 Loving Self I EXIST AS I AM, THAT IS ENOUGH. IF NO OTHER IN THE WORLD BE AWARE I SIT CONTENT. AND IF EACH AND ALL BE AWARE I SIT CONTENT. —Walt Whitman The old saying tells us that we can’t love others unless we first love ourselves. It’s true. Even though love is defined throughout this book as moments of positivity shared between and among people, the positivity shared between knower and known—between I and me—provides a vital foundation for all other forms of love. We first need to accept ourselves fully, as worthy partners in positivity, before we can freely enjoy the many other fruits of positivity resonance that we can share with others.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  —Mi hermana tiene un cambio de ropa en su auto —responde, todavía sonando impaciente conmigo—. Estoy bien, y estaré en casa más tarde, ¿de acuerdo? Llega al Mustang blanco de Cam en el atestado estacionamiento y va al lado del conductor. —Detente. —Acercándome por detrás, pongo mi mano en la puerta frente a ella—. Solo déjame explicarte. Se gira, con una mirada comprensiva en su rostro. —Oh, estoy segura que tienes una excusa. Una muy buena. No te preocupes. Se da la vuelta y busca el mango, pero necesito que escuche. Sólo por un segundo. —Detente. Por favor. —Respiro con fuerza, mirando la parte posterior de su cabeza—. Jordan, yo... Trago saliva, solo quiero que se gire y me mire con su dulce sonrisa y sus dulces ojos otra vez. Dejo caer mi voz a apenas un susurro. —No puedo perderlo —le digo. Se congela, y lo único que puedo escuchar es su respiración. ¿Se arrepintió cuando se despertó esta mañana? Finalmente se da vuelta y me mira, asintiendo con calma. —Lo sé —dice en voz baja—. Entonces tienes que perderme, lo entiendo. Tampoco quiero lastimarlo. Gira nuevamente para abrir la puerta, pero mi cabeza cae hacia su cuello y mis ojos se cierran. Es como el agua que se desliza entre mis dedos, y me estoy muriendo aquí. —Me estoy enamorando de ti —le susurro. Se da la vuelta lentamente otra vez, y no sé si debí haberle dicho eso, pero alzo mis ojos cansados, observando su expresión tranquila. Sus ojos se ven igualmente derrotados y algo atrapado entre el deseo y la lucha por contenerse. —Sabía que estabas ahí en algún lado —le digo, esbozando una sonrisa triste— . Las novias, mujeres con las que salí, la madre de Cole... Nunca quise casarme con nadie, porque no eran lo que estaba buscando. Comencé a pensar que mis expectativas eran demasiado altas, y tú no existías. —Le aprieto la nuca y deslizo los pulgares por su garganta—. Resulta que la chica de mis sueños pertenece a la única persona que me mataría lastimar.

• From Delta of Venus (1977)

  After a moment he said, “Until I knew you, I was a Don Juan, Elena. I never wanted to really know a woman. I never wanted to stay with one. My feeling was always that a woman used her charms not for the sake of a passionate relationship but to win from a man some durable relationship—marriage, for instance, or at least companionship—to win, finally, some kind of peace, possession. It was this that frightened me—the sense that behind the grande amoureuse lay concealed a little bourgeoise who wanted security in love. What attracts me to you is that you have remained the mistress. You maintain the fervor and the intensity. When you feel unequal to the great battle of love, you stay away. Another thing, it is not the pleasure I can give you which attaches you to me. You repudiate it when you are not emotionally satisfied. But you are capable of all things, of anything. I feel that. You are open to life. I opened you. For the first time I regret my power to open women to life, to love. How I love you when you refuse to communicate with the body, seeking other means to reach into the entire being. You did everything to break down my resistance to pleasure. Yes, at first, I could not bear this power you had to withdraw. It seemed to me that I was losing my power.” This talk again inspired in Elena a sense of the unstable in Pierre. She never rang his bell without wondering if he might be gone. In an old closet he had discovered a pile of erotic books concealed under blankets by the former occupants of the place. Now he met her every day with a story to make her laugh. He saw that he had saddened her. He did not know that when the erotic and the tender are mixed in a woman, they form a powerful bond, almost a fixation. She could think only of erotic images in connection with him, his body. If she saw a penny movie on the boulevards that stirred her, she brought her curiosity or a new experiment to their next meeting. She began to whisper certain wishes in his ear.

• From Between Us

  When I teach about cultural differences in emotions, my students often think that love should be more pronounced in collectivist contexts. If the ties between people are strong in collectivist contexts, then wouldn’t this be because individuals feel lots of love for each other? Wouldn’t interdependence between people be achieved by individuals consistently seeking intimacy? The answer to both questions is a resounding “no”; in fact, nothing could be further from the truth. In truly collective cultures, relationships are either a given or chosen in close consultation with the group (the latter being the case in arranged marriages). In these cultures, relationships are not so much organized around admiration or attraction (love), but rather around the needs of others (empathy/compassion). The “right” emotions in many cultures are not about idealization and choice, but rather about need and the unavoidable connection between people. Take the Japanese emotion of amae. Like love, this is an emotion that centers on caring and dependence, but it is very different from love. The prototype of an amae relationship is that between mother and child. As we have seen in chapter 3, Japanese mothers accept and indulge the childish behavior of their toddlers and kindergartners. They do not curtail this behavior, and show empathy and understanding. In the case of the preschoolers Nao and Maki (also introduced in chapter 3), Nao clung to her mother’s leg, and in so doing, she was acting younger than her age. She did not take control in the situation, and waited till someone else did. Maki became the nurturing partner, and in so doing accepted an amae relationship. She approached Nao and convinced her to play with her. Maki thus accepted Nao’s inappropriate demeanor and offered what Nao needed. Amae not only presupposes, but also—importantly—created an interdependent relationship between the girls. Therefore, amae, a central emotion in Japanese close relationships, achieves interdependence, rather than mutual admiration, attraction, and longing. Amae is certainly not restricted to childhood. You grant your close friends or your romantic partners what they need even, or especially, if it is unreasonable. Amae is based on need and indulgence, rather than idealization or elevation of the partner. In her book Unnatural Emotions, anthropologist Catherine Lutz describes a central Ifaluk emotion of closeness and dependence: fago. One of the translations of fago is “love.” However, unlike U.S. American love, which shares features with joy, fago shares features with sadness and compassion. Fago is “right” in Ifaluk society. It is a mature person’s response to the suffering of others: the readiness to take care of other people in need. Fago is typically felt for someone who is sick, dying, or without family, but it also occurs in a more pleasant context, as is apparent from an example involving Tamalekar. A young man from another island came to visit him by ship. The visit was appropriate, because the young man shared a clan affiliation with Tamalekar.

• From Summer Sisters (1998)

  He can’t believe his luck, how she came into his life out of nowhere, when he least expected it. And this one’s a keeper. It’s not just the sex. Everything about her makes him happy. She’s so bright, so sweet. The kids are going to be crazy about her. He can’t believe he’s thinking this way. Thinking about a future with this woman. But he is. [image file=Image00006.jpg] EVERY DAY LAMB SANG in the outdoor shower. “All You Need Is Love,” “Come Together,” “We Can Work It Out.” He was happy. He was in love. The happier he was over Abby, the unhappier Caitlin grew. And he didn’t seem to notice. One day Vix overheard Daniel telling Abby, “This place is a dump. They don’t even have a TV or a dishwasher.” You didn’t have to be a genius to see that Lamb had as hard a time making do as her parents. All you had to do was look around at the shabby furniture, the beat-up cars, the clothes they wore. They even ate poor. No meat, not even hamburgers. “I’d like you to remember you’re a guest in this house,” Abby told Daniel. “And I expect you to behave in a way that doesn’t embarrass any of us.” “I don’t see why you had to drag me here,” Daniel said. “This is supposed to be my vacation.” “You’ve been at camp all summer,” Abby told him. “You’ve had plenty of vacation, but I’ve got just these two weeks.” “Dad says your whole life is a vacation.” “Don’t start, Daniel …” “If you’d let Gus come I’d get off your back.” Abby sighed. “We’ve already been through this. Two weeks without a friend won’t kill you.” “It might,” Daniel said. Vix was embarrassed for eavesdropping. She decided not to tell Caitlin what she’d overheard. It was too … personal. That night they played mini golf. Daniel held his club like a pro, one hand over the other, thumbs locked. He checked his feet to make sure they were lined up properly. He took two practice swings on each shot. Caitlin and Vix hooted. Daniel told them to shut up. He was trying to concentrate. He took the game seriously. His father played. His father had an eight handicap, whatever that meant. They’d played mini golf to celebrate Vix’s twelfth birthday, on the last day of July. Sharkey had shot a hole in one that night, winning them a free game. Nobody won a free game this time. After, over ice cream at Mad Martha’s, Daniel started in on Abby about inviting a friend. Abby said no as if she meant it, but Daniel didn’t give up. He campaigned all the way home. Finally, Lamb said, “It’s okay with me if he wants to invite somebody.” “All right,” Abby said. “All right!” He’d finally broken her down. “You can call Gus when we get back.” Two days later Gus Kline arrived, shaggy-haired, open-faced, loud, and slovenly.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  I adored my legs - my legs which, while they had had skirts about them, I had scarcely had a thought for; but which were, I discovered, rather long and lean and shapely. I sound vain. I was not - then - and could never have been, while Kitty existed as the wider object of my self-love. The act, I knew, was still all hers. When we sang, it was really she who sang, while I provided a light, easy second. When we danced, it was she who did the tricky steps: I only strolled or shuffled at her side. I was her foil, her echo; I was the shadow which, in all her brilliance, she cast across the stage. But, like a shadow, I lent her the edge, the depth, the crucial definition, that she had lacked before. It was very far from vanity, then, my satisfaction. It was only love; and the better the act became, I thought, the more perfect that love grew. After all, the two things - the act, our love - were not so very different. They had been born together - or, as I liked to think, the one had been born of the other, and was merely its public shape. When Kitty and I had first become sweethearts, I had made her a promise. ‘I will be careful,’ I had said - and I had said it very lightly, because I thought it would be easy. I had kept my promise: I never kissed her, touched her, said a loving thing, when there was anyone to glimpse or overhear us. But it was not easy, nor did it become easier as the months passed by; it became only a dreary kind of habit. How could it be easy to stand cool and distant from her in the day, when we had spent all night with our naked limbs pressed hot and close together? How could it be easy to veil my glances when others watched, bite my tongue because others listened, when I passed all our private hours gazing at her till my eyes ached of it, calling her every kind of sweet name until my throat was dry? Sitting beside her at supper at Mrs Dendy’s, standing near her in the green-room of a theatre, walking with her through the city streets, I felt as though I was bound and fettered with iron bands, chained and muzzled and blinkered. Kitty had given me leave to love her; the world, she said, would never let me be anything to her except her friend. Her friend - and her partner on the stage.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Supongo que significa después de sus primeros seis meses en el mar. La vela grabada en mi piel se siente como si estuviera realmente encendida, el humo de la mecha sube por mi brazo hasta mi codo. Desde la primera vez que Cole mencionó los tatuajes hace dos meses, supe que algo que representara a Jordan sería la única cosa que querría en mí por el resto de mi vida. La cumpleañera y sus deseos. Siempre sería una parte de mí. Inhalo profundamente, y a pesar que he lavado las sábanas muchas veces desde que se fue, todavía puedo sentir el aroma de su cabello en la almohada. Y si me concentro lo suficiente y dejo mis ojos cerrados, ella está junto a mí. Muevo un brazo alrededor de su cuerpo, y la atraigo hacia mí, clavando mi nariz en su frío cabello. —¿Estaba roncando? —susurra. Sonrió, tratando de no reír. —No. Se siente tan cohibida, y es adorable. La abrazo, sintiéndome tan lleno, porque todo lo que necesito es ella en mis brazos ahora. Sus curvas encajan perfectamente conmigo, y estoy lleno. Mi pecho se llena de algo que es prácticamente demasiado para poder contener. Ella respira calmadamente, y deslizo mi mano sobre su estómago desnudo, mi cuerpo vuelve a la vida por ella. Tan fácilmente, como siempre lo hace. De pronto, su pequeña voz interrumpe una vez más el silencioso cuarto. —Me embarazaste —susurra. No me muevo. ¿Qué dijo? No, eso no puede ser verdad. Hemos tenido cuidado. Cuando no digo nada, gira para mirarme. —No tuve mi período la semana pasada —dice tímidamente—. Me hice unas pruebas en la mañana. Mi mejor suposición es que tengo un mes. Cierro los ojos. Dios mío. ¿Un bebé? Mi bebé. —Espero que tenga mis ojos —dice. Abro los míos. —¿Tus ojos? —Bueno, ella será una mezcla de ambos después de todo —explica—, y quiero que tenga tu sonrisa. Eso lo pone parejo, ¿verdad?

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  —Solo recuerda. —Beso su cabello—. Subimos al auto y nos ponemos en camino después. Sus brazos se aprietan a mi alrededor. —No puedo esperar. Después de la presentación, vamos a Minnesota donde alquilamos una casa del lago durante dos semanas. Su hermana Cam y el último de una lista de novios ricos, también alquilaron una casa cerca, así que van a llevar a su hijo, y tendremos compañía cuando nos apetezca. Y alguien para llevarse a los niños por una noche cuando no lo hagamos. Sus dedos trazan mi pecho y arrastra sus uñas ligeramente por mi estómago. Mi cuerpo empieza a volver a la vida bajo mi piel, y no creo que pueda dormir hasta que lo saque de mi sistema. —Entonces, ¿estás despierta ahora? —me burlo. Asiente. —¿Tú? —Es difícil dormir cuando haces eso. Se ríe y se alza, deslizando una pierna sobre mi cuerpo y montándome a horcajadas. —Oh, qué bien. Se quita su camiseta y de inmediato toco su estómago, sintiendo el duro y pequeño bulto donde mi hijo o hija está. Me sonríe, inclina su cabeza juguetonamente, y todavía veo a esa chica arrastrándose por el suelo del cine cada vez que la miro. Me tenía incluso entonces. —Te amo —digo. Bajando, se cierne sobre mí, mirándome a los ojos mientras mi mano va a su pecho. —Oh, espera. —Se incorpora y se inclina para apagar la vela. —No, déjala encendida —gimo, rodando mis caderas contra ella—. Quiero verte. Baja la mirada hacia mí. —¿Bloqueaste la puerta? Hago una mueca. —Mierda. ¿Por qué olvidé eso? Solo he tenido hijos durante la mitad de mi vida. —No podemos dejar que echen un vistazo, ¿no es así? —regaña, pero me sonríe. Inclinándose de nuevo, cierra los ojos, hace una pausa momentánea, pensando, y luego los abre de nuevo, soplando la vela suavemente. La habitación se oscurece excepto por la luz de luna atravesando la lluvia brillando en la pared de nuestro dormitorio, y veo su contorno bajar de nuevo sobre mí. Aprieto sus caderas, sintiéndola frotarse contra mí. —¿Alguna vez vas a decirme lo que deseas? —pregunto. Me besa, susurrando contra mis labios: —Trae mala suerte decirlo. Se mueve a mi cuello, arqueo mi cabeza y cierro los ojos, dejándola entrar. —Pero lo diré —continúa, mordisqueando mi mandíbula—. Siempre deseo la misma cosa, y cada día se vuelve realidad.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  She gave again a nervous laugh, and tilted her face against her pillow. ‘Oh Nan,’ she said, ‘I think I shall die if you don’t!’ Tentatively, then, I raised my hand, and dipped my fingers into her hair. I touched her face - her brow, that curved; her cheek, that was freckled; her lip, her chin, her throat, her collar-bone, her shoulder ... Here, shy again, I let my hand linger - until, with her face still tilted from my own and her eyes hard shut, she took my wrist and gently led my fingers to her breasts. When I touched her here she sighed, and turned; and after a minute or two she seized my wrist again, and moved it lower. Here she was wet, and smooth as velvet. I had never, of course, touched anyone like this before - except, sometimes, myself; but it was as if I touched myself now, for the slippery hand which stroked her seemed to stroke me: I felt my drawers grow damp and warm, my own hips jerk as hers did. Soon I ceased my gentle strokings and began to rub her, rather hard. ‘Oh!’ she said very softly; then, as I rubbed faster, she said ‘Oh!’ again. Then, ‘Oh, oh, oh!’: a volley of ‘Oh!’s, low and fast and breathy. She bucked, and the bed gave an answering creak; her own hands began to chafe distractedly at the flesh of my shoulders. There seemed no motion, no rhythm, in all the world, but that which I had set up, between her legs, with one wet fingertip. At last she gasped, and stiffened, then plucked my hand away and fell back, heavy and slack. I pressed her to me, and for a moment we lay together quite still. I felt her heart beating wildly in her breast; and when it had calmed a little she stirred, and sighed, and put a hand to her cheek. ‘You’ve made me weep,’ she murmured. I sat up. ‘Not really, Kitty?’ ‘Yes, really.’ She gave a twitch that was half laughter, half a sob, then rubbed at her eyes again, and when I took her fingers from her face I could feel the tears upon them. I pressed her hand, suddenly uncertain: ‘Did I hurt you? What did I do that was bad? Did I hurt you, Kitty?’ She shook her head, and sniffed, and laughed more freely. ‘Hurt me? Oh no. It was only - so very sweet.’ She smiled. ‘And you are - so very good. And I -’ She sniffed again, then placed her face against my breast and hid her eyes from me. ‘And I - oh, Nan, I do so love you, so very, very much!’

• From Summer Sisters (1998)

  Another night Lamb took them to the movies to see Annie Hall , and after, when Caitlin begged for just one ride on the Flying Horses, Lamb said, “Okay, but just one.” He and Sharkey headed up Circuit Avenue to get a slice at Papa John’s. But Von wasn’t on the carousel that night. Instead, Caitlin swore she saw him with some girl in the dark alley next to the Flying Horses, with his hands inside her shirt and her hand on his—Vix couldn’t say it. She couldn’t say dick or pecker or even penis —not when it came to Von. So Caitlin gave it a new name. The Package . She said this girl’s hand was wrapped around Von’s Package . That night they came up with a new game. Vixen and Cassandra Meet Von. When they played they took turns pretending to be Von, lying on top of one another, rubbing The Power against the other’s Power until the electrical current buzzed through their bodies. They vowed never to tell anyone about Vixen and Cassandra. Caitlin said they weren’t necessarily lesbos because they always pretended to be doing it with a boy. On the other hand, they might be. LambHE SWEARS , on the night she was born, when they put her in his arms, she looked directly into his eyes and smiled. He touched the tiny rosebud mouth and fell head over heels in love. His daughter. His little girl. He never imagined he’d lose her. And he hasn’t, he keeps telling himself. She’s never missed a summer, never asks to spend the holidays with anyone but him. He and Phoebe were fools, thinking it would be easy. Sure, they’d divorced without rancor. He can’t even remember if it was Phoebe’s idea or his. All that open marriage business. Someone was bound to get hurt. But separating the kids just to be fair? A girl for you, a boy for me … How was he supposed to know Phoebe would take Caitlin to live halfway across the country? Regrets? Sure, he has regrets. He watches her on the Flying Horses. He can’t believe she won’t always be this young, this innocent. 4IT’S HARD TO REMAIN in awe of someone you’re as tight with as Vix was with Caitlin that summer, someone with dirty feet, feet that smelled like the muck on the bottom of the pond, someone who spread her legs and rubbed her Power against yours. “God, I love that feeling!” Caitlin said. “You’re turning out to be a lot different than I thought.” “What’d you think?” Caitlin picked up two small, red flannel squares and began to toss them from hand to hand. Maybe she was going to ignore Vix’s question. She did that when someone asked her something she didn’t want to answer. She’d just act as if she hadn’t heard a word.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  She ran her hand once, very lightly, over my buttons, until I began to shake with the wanting of her. Then she drew the suit from me entirely and we lay together, naked as shadows beneath the counterpane; and then she touched me again. We lay until the front door slammed, and we heard Mrs Dendy’s cough, and Tootsie laughing on the stair. Then Kitty said we should rise, and dress, or the others might wonder; and for the second time that day I lay and watched her wash, and pull on stockings and a skirt, through lazy eyes. As I did so, I put a hand to my breast. There was a dull movement there, a kind of pulling or folding, or melting, exactly as if my chest were the hot, soft wall of a candle, falling in upon a burning wick. I gave a sigh. Kitty heard, and saw my stricken face, and came to me; then she moved my hand away and placed her lips, very softly, over my heart. I was eighteen, and knew nothing. I thought, at that moment, that I would die of love for her. We did not see Walter, and there was no more talk about his plan to put me on the stage at Kitty’s side, until two evenings later, when he arrived at Mrs Dendy’s with a parcel, marked Nan Astley. It was the last night of the year: he had come to supper, and to stay to hear the chimes of midnight with us. When at last they came - struck out upon the bells of Brixton church - he raised his glass. ‘To Kitty and Nan!’ he cried. He gazed at me, and then - more lingeringly - at Kitty. ‘To their new partnership, that will bring fame and fortune to us all in 1889, and ever after!’ We were at the parlour-table with Ma Dendy and the Professor, and now we joined our voices with his, and took up his toast; but Kitty and I exchanged one swift, secret glance, and I thought - with a little thrill of pleasure and triumph that I couldn’t quite suppress — poor man! how could he know what we were really celebrating? Only now did Walter present me with his package, and smile to see me open it. But I knew already what it would hold: a suit, a stage suit of serge and velvet, cut to my size to the pattern of one of Kitty’s - but blue to match my eyes, where hers was brown. I held it up against me, and Walter nodded. ‘Now that,’ he said, ‘will make all the difference. Just you trot upstairs and slip that on, and then we’ll see what Mrs Dendy has to say about it.’ I did as he asked; then paused for a moment to study myself in the glass.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Lágrimas inundan sus ojos, y la atraigo, mis labios encontrándose con su frente. —No quiero asustarte —continúo—. Pero me asustas un poco, porque te deseo como si necesitara aire, y... Asiente. —Y complicaciones. —Termina por mí. Alejándose, mira hacia otro lado y ninguno de nosotros está seguro de qué hacer a continuación. El problema está allí para quedarse. —Necesitaba tiempo para pensar esta noche —le explico—. Lamento haberte plantado. —¿Y qué descubriste? —Baja los ojos, tirando de mi maldito corazón—. ¿Con toda tu reflexión? No vacilo, porque sé que no puedo parar. —Que puedo dejar de sentirme culpable hasta mañana. Tomo sus labios y la beso con fuerza, sintiéndola derretirse lentamente en mí y presionando su cuerpo contra el mío. El calor me inunda y me pongo duro, moviendo mis manos alrededor de su espalda, agarrando su culo y levantando su pierna por la parte posterior de su rodilla. Dejo un rastro de besos sobre su mejilla y su cuello, y deja caer su cabeza hacia atrás, dándome rienda suelta mientras la presiono contra el auto y le mordisqueo la garganta y la clavícula. —Pike, alguien nos verá —suplica. Pero estoy tan hambriento de esto. La correa de su camisa cae por su brazo, le saco la copa del pecho y me sumerjo, tomando un bocado de su carne, pezón y todo, en mi boca. Jadea. —Pike. Oh, Dios... Gime mientras la beso y la chupo, mordisqueando la endurecida piel de su pezón. —Jesús, tenemos que llegar a casa —gimo—. O te voy a follar aquí mismo. —Hola, Pike —dice alguien. Salto, Jordan grita, y la abrazo mientras se mete en mi pecho, tratando de ocultar su cuerpo apenas vestido.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  But Kitty could have worn anything - a string of bottle-tops about her neck - and still, I thought, look like a queen. Helping Kitty with her buttons made me slow with my own dressing; I said that she should go on down without me. When she had done so I pulled on the lovely gown that she had given me, then stepped to the glass to study myself - and to frown at what I saw. The dress was so transforming it was practically a disguise. In the half-light it was dark as midnight; my eyes appeared bluer above it than they really were, and my hair paler, and the long skirt, and the sash, made me seem taller and thinner than ever. I did not look at all like Kitty had, in her pink frock; I looked more like a boy who had donned his sister’s ball-gown for a lark. I loosened my plait of hair, then brushed it - then, because I had no time to tie and loop it, twisted it into a knot at the back of my head, and stuck a comb in it. The chignon, I thought, brought out the hard lines of my jaw and cheek-bones, made my wide shoulders wider still. I frowned again, and looked away. It would have to do - and would have the merit, I supposed, of making Kitty look all the daintier at my side. I went downstairs to join her. When I pushed at the parlour door I found her chatting with the others; they were all still at supper. Tootsie saw me first - and must have nudged Percy, beside her, for he glanced up from his plate and, catching sight of me, gave a whistle. Sims turned my way, then, and looked at me as if he had never seen me before, a forkful of food suspended on its journey to his open mouth. Mrs Dendy followed his gaze, then gave a tremendous cough. ‘Well, Nancy!’ she said, ‘and look at you! You have become quite the handsome young lady - and right beneath our noses!’

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  —No sé cuán de acuerdo estoy con todo esto, pero... —asiente—. Sé que me amas. Estoy sin palabras. Es un poco desgarrador ver a tu hijo y preguntarte si tuviste algo que ver en lo bueno que resultó ser. No puedo creer que esté sentado justo aquí cuando no estaba seguro de sí volvería a verme. —¿Todavía la amas? —pregunta. Dudo por un momento, buscando las palabras. Sí, todavía la amo, pero... —Ella está mejor sin mí —le digo. Lo deja, sin presionar más. —Tengo que regresar mañana en la noche. ¿Está bien si me quedo la noche? —Por supuesto. Se levanta, llevando su cerveza con él a la sala. —Los Twins jugarán contra los Cubs esta noche —dice—. ¿Quieres verlo? Inhalo profundamente y lo suelto, sintiendo cómo mi cuerpo se relaja por primera vez en meses. —Suena bien. Ordenaré la pizza. —Queso —especifica. Me río. —Sí, lo recuerdo. Saco el teléfono de mi bolsillo y comienzo a marcar, pero luego escucho su voz. —Y papá —dice. Levanto la cabeza. —Te amo —me dice—. Pero nadie está mejor sin ti. **** Esa noche, despierto por un relámpago a la distancia. No abro los ojos, el peso de muchos largos días de trabajo pesan en mis párpados. Giro a mi costado, sabiendo que volveré a dormir si espero un minuto. La parte interna de mi brazo derecho quema con el tatuaje que me hice más temprano esta noche. Cole y yo decidimos ir al Rockford después de la pizza y hacernos esos tatuajes que había mencionado. Él eligió un ancla a la mitad de su espalda, acompañado por una brújula y un nudo de pescador con la frase “Forjado por el Mar” a su alrededor. Aunque todo solo tiene las líneas. Dice que le daría color después que se lo gane.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Pero no estoy completamente segura de que no haría lo mismo si estuviera en sus zapatos. Cole, Lindsay, Shel, mi hermana, Dutch, todo el vecindario... ellos hablarán. Algunos lo juzgarán por esto. Su temor es justificado. Pero ellos no saben. No saben lo afortunados que somos y lo bueno que es esto. Lo amo. Me aparto y limpio mis lágrimas en su camiseta. —Y no coloqué los marcos en el lugar incorrecto —le digo—. Ahí es donde siempre pertenecían. Se ríe, secando las lágrimas de mi rostro, y acercándome para besarme. Todo regresa a mi memoria —su boca, suave pero fuerte, y su sabor—, y le devuelvo el beso, levantándome de puntillas para profundizarlo. —¿Necesitan una habitación? —interrumpe alguien—. Vinieron al lugar correcto. Me vuelvo a apartar, y Pike se aclara la garganta mientras Danni entra y se sienta en su banco. —Pike, esta es Danni —digo—. Danni, Pike. —Encantada de conocerte —contesta. —Sí, igualmente. —Levanta su mano y la sacuden. —Entonces, ¿quieren una habitación? —pregunta nuevamente—. ¿La casa invita? Saca la última llave del cubículo y la levanta. Pike se mueve hacia adelante, tomándola. —Gracias. De verdad. Eso sería genial. Ella desvía su mirada a mí, y puedo ver que está buscando confirmación de que todo está bien. Asiento, tranquilizándola. —Bueno, tengan una buena noche —nos dice—. Los veré en la mañana. Pike toma mi mano, y caminamos afuera. El húmedo aire de agosto comienza a humedecer mis brazos. Él me toma como si fuera a perderme mientras caminamos a su camioneta y toma su bolsa y un pequeño paquete. Me río, viendo todavía lodo en la puerta y llantas. Caminado a la habitación, paso las cinco que asigné para “Tyler” y sus chicas, y puedo escuchar música, charla, y risas en el interior de varias. Pasamos otra habitación con las cortinas cerradas, pero la luz de la televisión atraviesa la tela.