Title Page

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Dedication

For my parents, Eva and Stephen

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am deeply grateful for the love and support of so many people. Thank you to my agent extraordinaire, Leigh Feldman, and to Ilana Masad for futuristic guidance on these stories. Thank you to Caroline Zancan for making this collection sing and to the entire team at Henry Holt for ushering Universal Love into existence. Deep thanks to Phong Nguyen, Robert James Russell, and Stephen Weinstein for integral edits to early versions of these stories. To Howie Sanders, thank you for your intrepid championing. Deep thanks to Tony and Caroline Grant and the Sustainable Arts Foundation for everything you do to support parent-writers. Thank you to Siena Heights University for the gift of time which made this book possible. To Carol, Mark, Tina, and Laura for the LHSP/RC home. International love to Pablo Llambías, Rúnar Helgi Vignisson, Mads Bunch, and Lárus Jón Guðmundsson. Endless gratitude to the writers at the Martha’s Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing for building a community with magic and love every summer. To my friends, who’ve surrounded me with the warmth of your hearts during the writing of this book—Nicholas, Brodie and Carter, Frank and Larissa, Hosef (edible insect love), Milagros and Curtis (proofing love), Craig Holt (coffee love), David and Priscilla, Jill, Jayne, Clay, the A2, Geneseo, and MV crew, and so many others. Wopila to Harold Thompson, Iam and Laura, Stef and Kathy, and the Ypsilanti lodge community. For Mason, Ashton, Blake, and the Higginses and Brotjes—your love means the world to me. Universal love across the sea to my Danish and English family. To my parents for a lifetime of love and guidance. To Rachel, love of my life, for this lifetime and infinite more. To my son, Peter, light of my life and first listener to these stories. And to all of you, thank you for making this world a better place with your love.

THE YEAR OF NOSTALGIA

I.

Nin found Dad frozen in the backyard. He wasn’t trimming the hedges, just standing with his clippers in hand, staring at the bushes, she told me. Who knew how long he’d been like that, his body shivering. She’d put her hand on his back and guided him inside, where she made him a cup of tea.

“You need to come home, Leah,” she said. So I asked for another week off, got a reluctant yes, and headed back to Ohio.