Member-only story
When Relationships Get Lost in Translation
“I guess I’d say acts of service,” Jazmine says, her fingers tapping lightly against the stem of her martini glass before she takes a sip of her lemon drop.
“That tracks,” Marika chimes in with a knowing smile. She rests her chin in her hand, her gold bangles clinking softly. “You’re always looking out for ways to help everyone around you. You never just show up — you do something.”
The four of us are huddled around a small bistro table at happy hour, the hum of clinking glasses and low chatter filling the space. Our conversation has settled on relationships — specifically, our spouses and the ever-fascinating topic of love languages. Though , I think we’re all some combination of the five, I still find it revealing to see how people self-identify. Like peeling back a layer of who they are and how they hope to be loved.
Kristin, who’s been quiet most of the night, swirls her chardonnay in slow, meditative circles. Her frown deepens as she finally speaks. “I always thought mine was physical touch. But now?” She hesitates, glancing down at her wine. “I’m not so sure. Lately, Luke’s touch has just felt…different.” There’s pain in her eyes when she looks up at us. “It’s like, instead of making me feel loved, it makes me feel…” She hesitates, searching for the word. “Used.”
