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The Wishing Hill by Holly Robinson7/8/2023 ![]() Over the past three years, our relationship had crossed one commitment threshold after another without stumbling: dating, engagement, then living together, a process that forced us to whittle down our glassware and linens to fit into a single apartment's built-in shelves.Īs Karin saw it, I'd stepped onto a conveyor belt to matrimony, moving along without thinking because it was all so easy, and because I had celebrated my thirtieth birthday in a subdued state of panic three years ago, the month before Peter and I met. As an added plus, he always remembered to pick up the dry cleaning. Should I have stayed with Peter? At the very least, I could count on Peter to come home for dinner on time. Maybe Dad was right and I was on a downward spiral toward a raggedy, husbandless future. Karin's bathroom was wallpapered in tilting blue sailboats, and my face floated like a giant whit buoy among them. I started filling the tub and studied my face in the mirror. ![]() I hoped Cam hadn't left the country again without telling us last year, I received a postcard from India just days after sending a birthday present to his address in Oregon.Īfter dinner, Karin insisted that I take a bath and relax. ![]() ![]() I washed dishes while Karin cooked, taking a break to phone and text my brother. ![]()
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