I found myself at a friend’s home for a monthly literary gathering, enjoying a lovely evening. The weather had been dreary and rainy for days, so the calmness of the air amidst the lively streets of Manhattan was a refreshing change. My partner, Alex, had been attending an event in the city that night and was set to pick me up. He was in Midtown while I was on the Upper West Side. We both assumed he would finish first, but there was a lengthy delay in retrieving his car from the parking garage. So, I decided to start walking.
“I’ll begin heading south on Amsterdam, and you can drive north when you get the car. We should meet around 72nd and Broadway,” I texted him.
“Sounds good,” he replied.
Wearing fairly comfortable wedges, I strolled through these familiar streets, reflecting on how much had changed—and how much had stayed the same—since we moved to the suburbs eight years ago. The memorial chapel where I attended the funeral of my childhood best friend’s grandfather was still there, as was the restaurant across the street where I had one of my worst first dates. A new yogurt shop had opened, and a nail salon I used to frequent was still in business, though it had changed names.
“I’m in the car heading up 8th. Where are you?” he asked.
“Low 70s on Broadway,” I responded.
“Stop wherever you are, and I’ll come get you,” he texted back.
I made my way toward the corner, making it easier to pinpoint my location and get a better view of his car approaching. As the neon sign drew nearer, I couldn’t help but smile. “I’m here,” I thought. Of course, I’d end up here. I snapped a picture of the diner on the corner and sent it to him.
“I’m here!”
“Be right there.”
It was the West Side Restaurant at 69th and Broadway—our place. The setting of our first unofficial date, which felt like a scene from a romantic comedy starring the likes of Tom Hanks or Julia Roberts.
It wasn’t intended to be a date—I know this because I had thrown on my old pajamas and taken off my makeup. It was pouring rain at 4 a.m. when we found ourselves laughing as a mutual friend held an umbrella over my head while I grimaced at stepping into murky puddles in my flip-flops.
We settled into a booth by the window, and I paid no mind to my messy bun as we talked through the dark hours into dawn. I enjoyed pancakes drenched in syrup while he had scrambled eggs and fries. The rain eventually ceased, and the sun began to rise.
We won’t claim it was love at first sight, but we both felt a spark—an undeniable chemistry that set this encounter apart from anything we had experienced before. We spent three hours in that early morning booth on Labor Day in 2002. From there, we dated, got engaged, married, bought a house, and welcomed two children. It was both incredibly easy and the most challenging experience of our lives. Our hearts soared and broke, sometimes at the hands of others, fate, or even each other. Romance can fade when you focus on parenting, work, and the realities of life.
You sometimes worry he has forgotten the magic of it all, especially if he’s not the romantic type. Then you turn 35 and hope he’ll surprise you with something grand, even though you know that’s not his style. But you can’t help but dream. When he suggests “nice” for attire, you feel frustrated—what does that even mean? You share your uncertainty with friends and feel silly for building it up in your mind, but you do it anyway. After all, that’s just who you are.
He insists it’s a surprise, and as you get into the car thinking of Michelin-starred meals and multiple courses, you feel that flutter of anticipation. You’re running late because the kids took longer to say goodbye, but he reassures you it’ll be fine, still keeping the destination a secret. As you walk together, the click of your heels echoes on the uneven sidewalk.
Then you turn a corner and realize where he’s taking you. A wave of emotion hits when you see it’s not the fancy place you envisioned, but the diner where it all began. You’re a little overdressed, but it feels perfect. He remembers. He remembers you. Though there are no reservations at this cozy spot, he called ahead to save our booth. I indulged in pancakes drenched in syrup, and he had his usual scrambled eggs with fries. The total? Just $26 (including tip).
In that moment, I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else. Just as I wouldn’t want to be anywhere but across from him in that booth, in that car, or any other night together.
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Summary:
This article reminisces about the author’s journey through romance, from an unexpected first date at a diner to navigating the challenges of marriage and parenting. The poignant moments highlight the beauty of remembering love amidst life’s chaos, underscoring the importance of connection and shared experiences in a relationship.