NEVER SAW IT COMING

No one ever thinks bad things happen on warm, sunny days. It’s like we all figure bad things happen only on gloomy days, complete with appropriate music.

And so, I didn’t see anything bad on a glorious fall day, on a weekend getaway to the Hudson Highlands, in a tiny town called Cold Spring, with a man I adored. 

We walked down Main St, admiring its cute shops, oohing and ahhing over the trees, ablaze in vibrant reds and golds. 

I felt like I had traveled back to simpler times, where people said hello and no one rushed anywhere. I mean, I hadn't checked my phone once in the last hour. 

He stops and fumbles in his pocket for a minute, then drops to his knee, in the middle of the sidewalk and asks me to marry him, holding a stunning ring in his hand. Passersby pause. He looks expectantly at me. Shrieks, hugs, kisses, and cheering. 

Bad things don't happen on nice days.

Giddy with this new development in our life and intoxicated by the smell of fall, we both muse out loud, just how nice it is here, and how different it is from the city.  

“Nothing wrong with looking,” we tell ourselves, as we glance at the properties featured in the realtor's window, that just happened to be next door to the little cafe with the fresh baked croissants. When the door swings open we look at each other and smile in that it’s meant to be way. And wouldn’t you know there was an open house that afternoon.

Was it the brain fog induced by the carbs, from those fabulous croissants, that made me say, “Yeah, we’ll see you in a few hours.”

Or the snug and warm embrace of our bright, shiny, future against the backdrop of space, new appliances, and a view of the lake, that before I know what was happening, my fiancé - I like the sound of that- was saying, “We think we’d like to make an offer.” 

And so, a few months later, I found myself standing on the side of a road, cutting off the chit chat of the snow plough driver as I tried to figure out where the hell our goddamn driveway was so that he could clear it, so that I could go to the bathroom, in my own house.

Turns out the snow plough driver was the realtor's dad, who was doing her a favor, and didn’t appreciate being yelled at. So he did some yelling of his own, which I thought was rather rude, after all he’s not even a real New Yorker! Apparently he had a lot of opinions about us like, “Why don’t you people just stay in the city anyways?” And, “Maybe if you listened for a minute, you would’ve heard me say I know exactly where to plough. I know this house like the back of my hand, because my best friend lived here when I was a kid.”

Ryan, my fiancé, pulls up in our U-Haul.  

“Jack, thanks for coming out. Man this is some snow!”

Hours later, our stuff unpacked and mostly put away, we sit in our living room with giant mugs of coffee. 

My too-large couch in my apartment is now lost in our new living room. “Is there such a thing as too much space?” 

Our first weekend not in Manhattan. Our friends text to see if we're getting together. "Hang on," I say, "Let me chat with Ryan." Turns out he's had a busy week between moving and work and can we rain check. Ryan suggests we think about a second vehicle. Like an SUV. Winter and all. Wait what? The guy that used to crack on me for owning a car in New York City?

Later that night several wows and thumbs up later, over fabulous dinner pics, wine selfies, and finally the queue to a much loved bar, I call it a night. Ryan is already asleep. Is that stubble on his face? 

Sunday. 

The day of lazing, debate the headlines, coffee, and brunch the afternoon away. 

At least it used to be.

I check his face. Wait, that’s not even stubble, more like a full on five o’clock shadow. “Hey so are you going to shave today? And what do you think about meeting everyone for brunch?”

“I thought I’d try something different,” he says as he rubs at his jaw. “And do you mind if I pass on brunch? Tom, down at the hardware store, says a group of guys are going deer hunting. I thought it might be fun.”

My jaw dropped.

“Not the hunting part, the hanging out,” he added hastily.

I continued to stare at him. 

“Look I’m just trying to make some connections, meet some people.” 

But I couldn’t hear him anymore, I was in my head. “I’m in charge of our social circle. That's the rule. I’m not adding anyone who hunts. Are you insane?” 

“Yeah, for sure. I”m going to walk down to the bookstore, maybe grab a coffee or something,” I replied. 

“Walk? Have you looked outside?” 

“I’m a New Yorker. We walk! Everywhere. Wow man, what is happening to you?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “Well we're not in the city anymore and it’s snowing. That’s all.”

“I’m good. Enjoy your hunting. Hanging out. Man time. Whatever.”

This was the first time, in a long time, we hadn’t hung out together on a weekend.  

I decided to bundle up a little more than I normally would. 

Wow, it was really coming down. Hmm and the sidewalks are pretty nasty. Well it’s a short walk. I mean I’ve hoofed it all over Manhattan in the dead of winter. Wait, why is this car pulling up? What? No, I don't need a ride, thanks. No, thanks, really. 

One more offer of a ride later, which I took, I made it to the bookstore. Which was closed, on account of the weather.  

Bad things happen on bad weather days.

Over the next few days Ryan raved about Tom, the guys; backcountry camping, and loving our new life together in this great little town. Me? “Yeah for sure, love you too babe”. 

So you can imagine how surprised I was at his pushback on Thursday, when I presented our pretty epic, if I do say so myself, plans for the week-end baby! 

I suddenly felt like I was doing battle with Cold Spring. I was trying to keep Ryan plugged into the city and Cold Spring just kept trying to unplug him. 

In the end we compromised - head into the city Friday, catch up over drinks and dinner, and then home. He’d leave early Saturday morning to go camping. 

Massive hugs accompanied the, “Seriously a beard?” and “No way, you guys got a truck?” We were the toast of our friends, having actually done what all of us, at one point or another had threatened, which was to get the hell out of the city. But when the congratulations and envy shifted to the mundanity of city life, from complaints about the creepy Uber driver to a new art installation, I felt like my nose was pressed up to the window, looking in at what used to be my life. I had nothing to add to the conversation. What was I going to say? Complain about my commute into the city? Talk about my mortgage? The fact that strangers stop and give rides to people walking down the street, if the weather was bad? It was then I realized, I was no longer a New Yorker, I was just another tourist.

It was starting to cloud over. 

The dead of winter set in. So much so, you couldn’t even imagine spring. 

Ryan had a good circle of friends, some had girl friends and wives but no one I was really interested in getting to know, so eventually he stopped asking me to hang out. Which was good because I found myself with little to say, preferring to fade into the background, earning myself a reputation as standoffish. I couldn’t sleep at night. Too quiet. It was like the volume turned down after 8:30.  

Maybe that saying of don't make your hobby into your day job should extend to don’t make your weekend getaway, your home.

It is the most perfect of winter days. Brilliant sunshine. Bitterly cold. Not a cloud in the sky. 

Dear Ryan.