Soooo, last we left off, it was March 2010, Town and Country had texted me, after yelling at me over text three months ago, over an Obama hat. I stomped home from work and then deleted his text … now we pick back up.
I slide on my shoes and a light jacket. While no one moves to New York for the weather, I am enjoying it today. The sun is out, shiny and bright. There is NO snow. This is huge for me since I used to live in a state (Minnesota) where March is THE SNOWIEST month.
My mom’s flight is landing in 90 minutes so I am dashing to the subway station so I can catch the M60 in Harlem. I love Mom; she is so cool and so fabu. So normal for someone who went from monsoon summers to saris in the snow. But my apartment is small, REALLY small, and I don’t know how two of us are going to manage in this 312 square foot apartment. And, I guess it is what it is.
Yes, the subway to bus mode of transport is kinda long, BUT it is cheap and this is how Mom and I will come back home. I get to the terminal with time to spare and wait. I debate getting a coffee, but decide against it the unnecessary $4+ latte. When Mom comes out, she looks tired and exhausted. This kinda of worries me since she just sat on a plane for 3 hours.
“Hey Mom,” I say. I’ll be honest, it is always weird to see my family in New York. It takes time to adjust to seeing them, being around them. I have been single so long and in New York, I have been single and alone in my small living space that I have to get used to being alone. Which sometimes worries me, I wonder if after too long of being alone, I won't be able to funtion in a unit. “How was the flight?”
“Good,” she says. I take her little suitcase and we go back to the bus stop. We chat a little but the bus gets loud so we sit quietly. At 125th Street we go down two flights of steps and Mom does okay. But now I am worried because at 86th Street she has to go up a lot of steps. And then at my building, she has 4 flights of steps to tackle.
I was correct to be worried. At 86th Street, she looks at the stairs, nods and begins to climb. Once we are out from the subway station. She is really short of breath and I am kinda worried. But after a few minutes she is okay to walk to my apartment building. I leave her in the lobby and carry the suitcase up four flights of steps, toss it in the apartment and meet her.
“Are you hungry?” I ask. “Not, yet,” she replies. “Great, let’s shop. I need capri pants. Spring is coming.” I need $40 pants to take my mind off of the Mom's health.