I went to a wedding in Northampton, Mass. this weekend. The Greek was supposed to be there, but he didn’t show. My former coach who got married said that’s par for the course for him, and that was fine by me.
But — and this is crazy to me, it’s such a small world — as I entered the Episcopal church next to Smith College and walked to the groom’s side of the aisle, who did I see peer at me from a pew, and do a double take with wide eyes? N., whom I dated earlier this year (and must note whom I randomly met at a party — he is otherwise not connected to anyone else I know). He was there as a date of a friend who lives in Portland. She was friends with the bride, but knew no one else. I was there for the groom and only knew a few other people, including two college soccer teammates who were freshmen when I was a senior.
I sat next to N. and his friend, who was very cool, during the ceremony. We all hung out until the reception. Later that night at the Hotel Northampton, I danced so hard with my former teammates my calves were sore the next day from the jumping.
N. and his friend had driven up from D.C. that day, stayed at a mansion nearby and drove back on Sunday.
I enjoyed my Sunday morning alone at a quiet minimalist coffee shop that had white walls, high wooden tables and purple orchids scattered everywhere. I read the Sunday Times, drank a latte and nibbled on brioche lathered with homemade strawberry jam. And then I drove the beautiful drive to Keene, N.H. blasting “Band of Horses” to have a late brunch at a classic diner with City Mouse Country (see blogs to the right) who moved away last year.
Aside from the 8 hours spent stressed out in the Logan airport later that evening, unsure if I would make it back to D.C. Sunday because weather had cancelled multiple flights, I had a fun-filled weekend and felt totally at ease and independent.
And right now I wouldn’t have it any other way.