{"id":7593,"date":"2021-10-12T17:10:53","date_gmt":"2021-10-12T15:10:53","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/prod-2018.frictions.co\/?p=7593"},"modified":"2022-05-13T15:59:28","modified_gmt":"2022-05-13T13:59:28","slug":"nous-voila-adultes","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/prod-2018.frictions.co\/english\/love-better-s2\/we-were-adults\/","title":{"rendered":"We Were Adults"},"content":{"rendered":"

There was the first time \u2014 we met in New York, when you were working as an intern at that men\u2019s magazine. You were going to write about men. Your first assignment was to pick up your boss\u2019s lunch, but you got lost because you didn\u2019t know the city yet. You told me this as we careened through Times Square, bumping elbows, so many elbows, through the throng of people in puffy winter coats. You didn\u2019t have a winter coat, just a denim jacket and two sweatshirts and sideburns long enough to provide some heat. I\u2019d spent my paycheck on a cashmere scarf and sweater. I\u2019d never met someone so joyful, so unprepared. Here was someone I could teach a thing or two. <\/span><\/p>

We slid into a booth at an indistinct wood-paneled bar. I bought you a beer and you kept your ID in your pocket cause you were only 20. \u201cYou\u2019ll grow up,\u201d I said. I was 22 and doing my mother a favor by checking on her neighbor\u2019s son who\u2019d just moved to the city. I was good at doing favors.<\/span><\/p>

 <\/h2>

Or that time we walked through Central Park at night. You\u2019d grown a beard, gotten your first byline. I\u2019d written press release after press release. We ate pasta at a place with flickering candles and cloth napkins, and when a live jazz band started playing I looked across to you with your beard and thought \u201cwe are adults now.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

Later, in the park I thought you might try to take my hand. Might draw me close as we rounded the pond. You didn\u2019t. Instead you rode on the subway with me and walked me to the door of my apartment, telling me how last week you\u2019d seen a woman on the subway carrying a live chicken. When we got to my doorstep, for a moment we just stood there, and I wondered if the woman had the chicken in a cage or just loose in her hands. I wanted to say, \u201cdo you want to come up?\u201d but chickened out. All that talk of chickens. Maybe we weren\u2019t adults yet. <\/span><\/p>

 <\/h2>

Or the time we went through the back entrance of a Five Guys to an upstairs speakeasy and I told you about a marketing assistant job that didn\u2019t value me and you told me about a data analyst who was going to break your heart. You\u2019d shaved the beard and cut the sideburns. You\u2019d written about a famous actor who loved motorcycles. We sat on a leather banquette beneath a TV playing low-budget horror movies, and I\u2019d pretended jealousy was something I couldn\u2019t feel. \u201cGive her some time to show you she cares. She might not be ready yet,\u201d I said. \u201cYou\u2019ll be okay.\u201d I was good at reassurances.<\/span><\/p>

 <\/h2>

Or the time you called me, frantic and spent, drunk on youth and Dos Equis, needing a place to crash for the night. There was a gas leak in your apartment and would I mind? Even when you arrived with puffy eyes and grey skin and a heart broken by a data analyst, you were still handsome. Always handsome. You were researching a book about men\u2019s tennis. Outside my window they were working on the street and you said, \u201cI bet you get whistled at by a lot of construction workers.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

You stretched your long arms out and pulled me into them, my face at your shoulder. \u201cThere\u2019s a comforter on the couch,\u201d I said. I was bad at taking risks.<\/span><\/p>

 <\/h2>

Or the time you sent me a postcard out of the blue after we\u2019d lost touch for a while. You\u2019d moved in with an art consultant, then moved out. Thought about moving to LA, but didn\u2019t. I\u2019d moved up the corporate ladder. I\u2019d tried to date, failed. I\u2019d met a man who did taxes, but nothing else. One who traded stocks, who traded on his looks. They didn\u2019t last. Men said they didn\u2019t know what I was thinking.<\/span><\/p>

You were in London interviewing soccer players. \u201cWish you were here,\u201d the postcard said. \u201cI\u2019m always here,\u201d I wrote back.<\/span><\/p>

 <\/h2>

Or last night when we saw each other in a dark bar. Years had passed, we were adults. You rushed up to hug me and give me a kiss on the cheek, the stubble of your face grazing mine. You\u2019d grown your hair out, published a book, turned 30. \u201cI\u2019m here in the West Village now,\u201d I said. \u201cHaven\u2019t seen any chickens on the subway.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

Your friends crowded in wearing pressed shirts and you put your hand on my back and said, \u201cThis is the girl who\u2019s saved me, a couple of times.\u201d And I caught my reflection in the mirror behind the bartender, my glossy hair and tanned shoulders; wondered if our mothers knew we were both at this bar. And when our hands and hair and hips grazed I thought of the puffy winter coats, and leather banquettes, and you on my doorstep years ago, waiting to be invited up.<\/span><\/p>

 <\/h2>

Or this morning, when you opened your eyes and said, \u201cHi.\u201d<\/span><\/p><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>

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