We made it. Two flights and a car ride and there it was, our new apartment filled with boxes and furniture. And there he was, waiting for us at the airport with a big smile on his face. Since the wedding I’ve missed that man more than I can say. Being together and settled (although I use the word settled loosely since I just dislocated my toe on one of a billion boxes) is in a word… happiness.
We took a break from packing to venture into Central Park. That particular little path is currently the only mode of public transportation I feel confident about at this moment. I’m doing a lot of map studying, and realizing my inner sense of direction is about as good as a drunk squirrel trying to climb a tree. Thank goodness for google maps.
Jane thoroughly approves of the subways and the parks. She acts as if she’s lived in this city her entire life, and there’s not an ounce of intimidation in her body. As I watched her march down the street holding our hands, her sparkly dog purse slung across her chest like a blinged out little Indian Jones, I was a little bit in awe. She’s so like me in some ways, but in others, like her bravery? She’s her own person.
And this sweet man is coming to terms with the fact that he now lives with two very girly girls, accompanied by all their stuff. Our apartment is a good size, but considering we’re merging two adult households and one four year old’s belongings (and man, does she have a lot), it’s a work in progress. But I love it so much. I love him. I love being here. I love watching Jane look at the giant buildings, smile and say, “I’m so glad we came to New York.” Because I am too. I’m glad we’ve come to this giant city to live with a wonderful man who treats us so well.
We’re here. We’re happy.