MY WIFE'S LABOR LASTED THROUGH THE NIGHT. AROUND 6:00 A.M., I left the hospital and walked down the street to pick up two dozen bagels, a tub of cream cheese, smoked salmon, and whitefish salad for the hospital staff who had been working tirelessly. By 11:30 A.M., Lulu came into the world healthy and screaming. Our baby girl was born on an overcast May morning on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.
Everything was perfect. I felt as hopeful as I was thankful, and I spent nearly the next 24 hours staring at this beautiful human my wife and I had created together. I don't recall sleeping, and I barely remember when day turned to night, but I did doze off for a little while.
When I awoke, it was nearing noon. My daughter was now a day old. She and my wife were resting, so I decided to take a walk. I had mostly forsaken booze over the past nine months out of solidarity with my wife, and I knew exactly where I had to go.
For years, I had a vision of how I'd celebrate a major milestone in my lifethat milestone being the sale of my first novel. The vision goes something like this: It's the afternoon, and I walk into a bar. A mix of blue-collar guys and a couple of businessmen, three or four Manhattans deep before they head back to Westchester to resume their John Cheever existence, occupy the stools. I post up at the bar, slip the bartender a Ben Franklin, and give a grandiose speech about accomplishing my dream. Then I buy everyone a round of drinks. I am sharing an intimate moment with strangers by practicing a lost art: buying a round.
Denne historien er fra September 2024-utgaven av Esquire US.
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Denne historien er fra September 2024-utgaven av Esquire US.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
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