Because no one in our family plans anything, I had already told my friend Deirdre that I would go to New York with her for the Mets game with her sisters on Cinco de Mayo before my mom and Morgan decided to visit.
So we compromised our second family day together. Besides, the three Anderson women are at each other’s throats after 10 minutes, so a 3-day visit was pushing it. We left together at around 9am and caught the train to the City. I met up with Deirdre at her sisters’ apartment, while Morgan and my mom toured the City all day since Morgan had never been.
After the Mets game we ventured to a party in Brooklyn hosted by Brazilian hipsters (2 of my favorite things that i never knew could be combined). Not long after arriving, I received a text from Morgan.
Motown: Were taking the 11:42 train from Grand Central, meet us there.
Me: K sounds good thanks.
Unlike the day before, I was genuinely appreciative of my mom and Morgan hanging out in NYC late so I could spend time with my friend. I socialized a bit longer before peacing out to get to Grand Central. I got a cab fairly quickly and immediately alerted my cab driver my predicament.
“I need to get to Grand Central by 11:42 pm, can you get me there by then?”
“We will try!” He seemed oddly enthusiastic, as if he is trying to catch the train with me. For tradition’s sake, I bit my nails and responded to the bombardment of text messages I was getting from Morgan, all curt variations of “Where the hell are you.” No question mark at the end, as she’s not really asking me anything. She knows perfectly well where I am. What she is really saying is “if I have to be here in this dingy train station another hour and a half I am going to kill you.”
It’s 11:40. New York all looks the same to me. Brooklyn, Harlem, Coney Island, I had no idea where we were. I inquire to my cabbie, who was recounting his September 11th experience to me. I bet he has to do this at least 14 times a day depending on the amount of tourists he gets.
“Close,” he said, “but probably not close enough.”
“Oh, it’s okay” I said to him, super chill and sweet voice. Not like he feels bad. He’s thinking, no kidding its not my fault. What nut allows 20 minutes to drive from Brooklyn to Manhattan?
But I soon realized that all the threatening text messages from Morgan had tapered off. I didn’t even get a phone call from my Mom.
I was amazed. It’s like Morgan and Mom had expected me to miss it. In my mental tally, this is the 6th or 7th major transportation departure I have missed, so I guess if anyone is not frenzied by my absence, I guess the two of them would be at the top of the unsurprised list. Despite the fact that the next train will not get us back to New Haven unitl 2:15 am, and we had another 45 minutes to drive to Hartford after that, I haven’t received a single death threat text message.
I knew I had missed the train, but ran through the station anyway, refusing to tap out until I knew I was for sure in a headlock.
Luckily if one has to be stuck somewhere, it may as well be in the city that never sleeps, because there was a Starbucks open right next to the track our train had just left from. I found my mom and sister sitting there, and she ordered me a latte. I sat and chilled with my two favorite female partners-in-crime. Morgan was pissed, but my Mom was somewhat zen about the whole thing. In fact, she used it to tout her young side.
“You know Amanda, not many moms would stay out until 3:15 for you. I mean, this is still pushing it for my nightlife style, but seriously.”
Remembering that Mother’s Day was just 6 days away and that I wouldn’t be seeing her, I avoided my usual sarcasm.
“Thanks Mom, you’re the best.”