A chicken salad tartine, with fruit and care on the side

In the summer of 2024, I was struggling to make sense of my life as a new mother. Every day was filled with uneasy wonder: How did I get here? What wa...

In the summer of 2024, I was struggling to make sense of my life as a new mother. Every day was filled with uneasy wonder: How did I get here? What was I doing, and why did this new facet of my life, this ancient human experience, seem impossible?

One day, I remember putting my son in his crib for a nap and feeling so grateful that I could now, finally, lie down in bed and stare at the ceiling. I cried with relief, then guilt, then sadness. Eventually, I wiped away the tears, and, because I knew it might make me feel better, I opened a food delivery app and started to order lunch.

Moments later, there was a knock at the door. When I opened it, I found a blue-and-white paper plate holding an open-faced chicken salad sandwich with mango on the side.

My dear neighbor, a mother of three, had made me lunch. The mango seemed to glow in the dim hallway light, its fragrance mingling with the smell of the pungent, herb-flecked dressing on the chicken. I brought the food back to bed and ate it in blissful silence. Then, I cried again. This time it was out of deep gratitude and love.

I rummaged around for my phone to send my neighbor a thank-you note. She had texted: "Chicken salad with lots of red onion - because I like it that way, and because when you eat a lot of raw onion people leave you the hell alone!!! Love you!”