Like everyone else, I’ve spent the past few weeks tipping my face to the window and searching for signs of spring. February has always been my least favorite month, and this one has been a particular bear. My client attendance has been way down because of the terrible weather, and between bitter cold temperatures and stubborn mounds of ice on the sidewalk that refused to budge, there have been a series of incidents, ranging from annoying to expensive, that have given me and Vinny reason to pause and ask ourselves if the universe is trying to test our patience.
Over the past few weeks our television has died, the pipes in our apartment sprung a major leak and needed to all be replaced, a rat went scurrying around the living room, the overhead light in our kitchen broke and last Sunday, we had to have our car towed off the highway because the engine started smoking and eventually met its death in the garage of a Goodyear tire center in Commack, Long Island.
As we wait for the floor in our apartment to be replaced following the water damage, we continue to store all the workers’ paint and tools. How they’ve made due without them for the past two weeks, I have no idea, but this place is a mess and it’s driving me a little nuts. The car has since been towed back to its rightful birthplace of Queens, and is lingering in an automotive shop until the new engine arrives from Florida. We’ve been sending our girl notes and flowers as she eagerly waits for her transplant. It was touch-and-go there for a minute, but we think she’s gonna make it.
The energy in our home has been off, and we’ve both been a little cranky. We’ve been waiting for February to end since it began, and last night–finally–it did.
I set the table properly, with pretty plates and real presentation, and cooked up an indulgent dinner of steak with caramelized shallots and loaded baked potatoes. He brought home tulips, one of my favorite signs of spring.
After dinner we nuzzled on our old, lumpy couch, the one whose cushions look like they just went ten rounds in a losing battle. We chatted about our days without the interruption of our TV while my head assumed its rightful position in the crook of his arm.
“I think we’re lucky,” I say, and kiss the bridge of his nose.