During the second week of our empty-nesting, Susan and I take the train up to New York. She is accepting an award from SELF magazine as a “woman doing good.”
I hang out at the hotel drafting a brief while she does publicity and makeup things at SELF. Then we head over to Riverpark, a restaurant on the East River, for the awards dinner and ceremony.
Years ago, when my wife began as a summer associate at a big firm in D.C., I stood in the corner at a lot of cocktail parties. The other husbands and I got to be pretty good friends. Last night I felt a lot like I had that summer, standing on the sidelines as my wife walked the red carpet and schmoozed with the celebrities.
Jennifer Beals presents the award to Susan. She also sits next to us at dinner. Unless you are a certain age, you will be forgiven for not knowing who Beals is. I conclude that she has not changed a bit in the 30 years since Flashdance.
The highlight for both Susan and me is in being joined by our second child – our oldest son – who is now living in Manhattan. He texts us from Morgan Stanley to let us know that he is running late, and we keep one eye on the person we are talking with and the other eye on the door so that we do not miss his arrival. Then he is there, standing tall like Telemachus in the doorway of the shepherd’s hut.