a girl's lunch

Carol was my first female friend when I moved to New York in 1985.  I was attracted to her intelligence, humor, and charm.  She has a girlishness about her that is truly endearing, and that has not diminished over time. During my first summer here, we shared a house together with about ten others on Dune Road in Westhampton.

In 1986, Carol was working for a big bank; she was transferred to London.  I visited her there in December of that year.

We even went to Paris to welcome in the new year.

When Carol returned from London, she bought a spectacular apartment on Gramercy Park, key and all.  Soon after, she reconnected with Michael, a friend of hers from Penn.  They fall in love, married in 1989, had three kids, and moved to Westchester.  Of note is the fact that Carol never spent even one night in her magazine-worthy Gramercy Park apartment.

I last saw Carol when we had lunch together.  It was March of 2012.  We promised to get together soon, and somehow life got in the way.  Today, almost two years later, we are meeting for lunch again.  Ellen, a good friend of Carol’s, and someone I haven’t seen in over ten years, is also joining us.  We meet at Cinema Café, a little restaurant near Grand Central.

Carol and Ellen look unchanged from when I first met them.  If anything, they look better.  Still wrinkle-free and fit.  We all order the same thing — cobb salads — and barely notice the food.

Two hours fly by, while so much gets discussed.  Kids. Work. Futures and pasts.  People we know in common. New endeavors.  All we’ve learned, all we don’t know, and experiences we still seek to have.

It is the perfect afternoon.