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MY AUNT USED TO say, if you don’t fit in, fool everyone until you do. She also said to keep your passport renewed, to pair red wines with meats and whites with everything else, to find work that is fulfilling to your heart as well as your head, to never forget to fall in love whenever you can find it because love is nothing if not a matter of timing, and to chase the moon. Always, always chase the moon.
I loved how a book, a story, a set of words in a sentence organized in the exact right order, made you miss places you’ve never visited, and people you’ve never met.
“I got it, I got it, there’s a good girl,” he murmured in a soft, low voice, though I wasn’t sure whether it was to the pigeon or to me.
“You are who you are, and you like what you like,” he replied, and there was no sarcasm in his voice. “You are you, and that’s a lovely person to be.”
“No, no, it’s fine. You asked what makes a meal perfect. It’s this. Food”—he motioned to our almost empty plates—“is a work of art. That’s what a perfect meal is—something that you don’t just eat, but something you enjoy. With friends, and family—maybe even with strangers. It’s an experience. You taste it, you savor it, you feel the story told through the intricate flavors that play out across your tongue … it’s magical. Romantic.”
“New things are scary.” “They don’t have to be.” “How are they not?” “Because some of my favorite things I haven’t even done yet.”
“When was the last time you did something for the first time?”
See, darling? she would say. You can plan everything in your life, and you’ll still be taken by surprise.
there was a gap between early twenties and late twenties that only people existing in bodies in their late twenties understood. You could still fight god, but you’d have to ice your knees afterward.
There was something just so reassuring about books. They had beginnings and middles and ends, and if you didn’t like a part, you could skip to the next chapter. If someone died, you could stop on the last page before, and they’d live on forever. Happy endings were definite, evils defeated, and the good lasted forever.
It eventually made sense that I wanted to work with books—especially travel books. It was easy work because I already loved it all.
A man with an accordion and a drum set at his feet played a jazzy rendition of Billy Joel’s “Piano Man,” and a few feet away, a rat was nibbling on a crust of pizza. God, I loved New York. Even the cliché bits.
THERE WAS SOMETHING MAGNETIC about Manhattan in the summer, the way the sun reflected off every mirrored skyscraper window, bouncing off each other like some ancient mirrorball. It was perfect for afternoons standing in line for Shakespeare in the Park, quiet Saturdays at the Cloisters, nights buzzing with light and food and energy.
“It was good to see you again, Lemon,”
No one else will be more on your side than you.”
Sometimes the people you love don’t leave you with goodbyes—they just leave.
York City felt at night—the glow of possibility, shrugging off the heat of the day to bright, glittery evening—but
You have to try on a lot of shoes until you find some you like walking in. Never apologize for that.
nothing lasts forever. Not the good things, not the bad. So just find what makes you happy, and do it for as long as you can.” I set down my butter knife, and put my napkin over my plate. “And if I can’t find that?” “You might not,” he replied, “but then again, you might. You don’t know what the future holds, sweetheart.” He
That was love, wasn’t it? It wasn’t just a quick drop—it was falling, over and over again, for your person. It was falling as they became new people. It was learning how to exist with every new breath. It was uncertain and it was undeniably hard, and it wasn’t something you could plan for. Love was an invitation into the wild unknown, one step at a time together.
Sometimes the people you loved left you halfway through a story. Sometimes they left you without a goodbye. And, sometimes, they stayed around in little ways. In the memory of a musical. In the smell of their perfume. In the sound of the rain, and the itch for adventure, and the yearning for that liminal space between one airport terminal and the next. I hated her for leaving, and I loved her for staying as long as she could.
“What would you like tonight, Lemon?” I kissed him again. “You.” “For dinner!” He laughed, throwing his head back, and then he said, a bit softer, “Then you can have me.” “You won’t judge me?” “Never.” “I want a PB&J.” He laughed again, bright and golden, and kissed me on the cheek. “Okay.”
Because the things that mattered most never really left. The love stays. The love always stays, and so do we.
