I asked almost everyone I interviewed for this book about regrets, but they didn’t tell me many. That’s not what they remember of their time here. That’s not what we’ll remember when we have to leave, by choice, force, or casket. The look in a mother’s eyes at her baby’s first word in English, my father’s heaving sobs when I handed him my diploma in Latin from the best fucking school in the world, Leonel’s first steps of freedom outside the church in the autumn cold after four months in hiding, the Mexican chefs behind every great restaurant in New York, the Upper East Side babies who love
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