Pals in the Pacific Northwest
Reconnecting in Seattle and Portland
When I was nineteen, a lot of magical stuff happened.
I started hosting a podcast. I signed my first lease. I fell childishly, head over heels in love at first sight (it didn’t work out). I also made one of my very best friends, Kevin. We met on a hot summer August afternoon while tabling outside for our college radio station. He struck up a conversation around my New York Rangers cap (appropriate given he was the station’s Sports Director) and I teased him over supporting the Toronto Maple Leaves. As our conversation carried on, we discovered a shared adoration of hockey and movies, as well as the fact that he was already friends with some of my roommates. Soon enough, he was friends with me, too.
Kevin and I spent our undergraduate years exploring New York together: attending ragers in Bushwick with cheap beer and loud music, watching sports in the radio station’s office, and eating tons of Saigon Shack. We cried seeing Lucy Dacus at Webster Hall and laughed at Drunk Shakespeare in Midtown. We attended the Cannes Film Festival in 2017, where Kevin assured we saw more films in five days than I ever thought physically possible. In many ways, our lives during this period were mostly focused on finding ourselves and building toward our dreams. It was, in a word, spectacular.
Post-graduation, we stayed in the city—me for my MFA, Kevin for a job at Vice—and our friendship group grew to include fellow WNYU-alum Allie and Keenan. Everyone gathered for monthly dinner parties at mine, and the three of them cheered me on at readings. Kevin and Keenan even came upstate with me for a summer weekend to help redo my parents’ kitchen. It was wonderful; the closest I’ve ever come to having a sitcom-esque cast of pals.
But like all good television shows, nothing lasts forever. In May 2021, Kevin was accepted to the University of Washington for a PhD program. Allie took a job at the Museum of History and Industry in Seattle a year later. Her and Keenan were engaged at this point so he, too, made the move out west.
I soon found myself strolling East Village streets alone and attending literary events without my support section. New connections were created, of course, but there’s nothing quite like the people who knew you before your brain was fully developed; the people who have seen you throw up off a rooftop following a single sip of peach schnapps and the people you’ve seen spend a weekend crying to Lana Del Ray or feeling lost while splurging on a weeknight Sweetgreen salad. The people who knew you when you thought you could do anything, who know what truly composes your heart and your soul.
As I was planning on heading out to Denver for a bookseller conference, it struck me as a great opportunity to slightly overshoot and make a stop in Seattle; to take advantage of the spare room in Kev’s apartment. Lucky for me, he was in town, and happy to host. Despite a 7:10 AM flight after a night of hosting Wine & Pine—and a snafu with the pilot that had taking off leaving late—my toes buzzed in my boots as I boarded the plane. Upon touchdown, Kevin requested we share our phone’s locations with each other in case I got lost, the same way our group used to do in college if we were heading back from somewhere late to assure everyone arrived home. It was the kind of care and consideration I’d forgotten I’d had for so many years in New York, that I’d forgotten how much I’d missed.
The next few days, Kevin showed me around the city he now calls home. We walked along the shore of Lake Union to get the best view of the Space Needle. We dug into every nook and cranny of Pike Place Market, including leaving my mark on the infamous Gum Wall in Post Alley. Kev’s girlfriend, Sara, even managed to change my mind on Thai food with a trip to Bangrakmarket before a comedy show at High-End.
Mostly, though, we caught up. We talked about folks from the college: those we’ve kept track of and those we really haven’t. Repeatedly, we voiced our excitement and shock over Allie and Keenan buying a house even though this is a pretty normal activity for married couples. We also checked in with how the other’s life was playing out. Four years into a PhD, things look a little differently than Kevin expected they might when he first started the program. He has no idea where he might land as a professor in the future, and that’s both ignorable for the time being while still scary. But he’s happy with where he’s at, or at least happy enough.
As for me, regular readers of Now What. know I'm disenchanted with my sales and marketing day job; that I’m desperate to hold onto my writerly daydreams. My recent promotion only dulls the feelings slightly.
I pondered all of this as I visited Portland, Oregon for a side trip whilst in the Pacific Northwest. I wanted to explore the city, as well as see my friend Katherine Morgan, an icon in the independent bookstore scene. Her romance-focused shop Grand Gesture Books feels like something straight out of my dreams, featuring shelves filled with sweet and smutty love stories plus kick-ass merchandise (the stationery section alone is to die for). I bought myself an inspirational mug plus a Blind Date with a Book bag—featuring not only a great title but a face mask, bath bomb, lip balm, and other self care goodies—then took Katherine to dinner at Jake’s Famous Crawfish.
We talked a little work and a little personal, trying to focus on the good as everybody needs to right now to stay sane. I also shared with Katherine the plot of the romance novel I’ve been working on, not just the elevator pitch but getting into the things I love most about the cast of characters I’m writing. They’re dysfunctional singles who become friends by way of a support group. She was hooked, and convinced I could sell it to a publisher. So much so she offered to host a Portland event in her store once it happens. Flattered doesn’t begin to cover the warmth I felt.
As I travelled back to Seattle, I realized part of what I adore about my current writing project is that it gets me to relive those good ol’ days in New York with Kevin and our buddies. Taking the characters through rowdy trips on the L train or for late night falafel at Mamoun’s mimics the feeling of getting to do it with my friends again. It reminds me of the times I didn’t just hope to be a writer, but believed it was inevitable. It’s the kind of energy I want to channel more of, even if the people that inspire the feeling are far away.
One of the last things I did before taking off for the airport was seek the advice of the Psychic Chicken outside Orange Dracula in Pike Place Market. For fifty cents, it will twirl and cluck and spit out a fortune for you. It sounds crazy, I know, but as the plastic orange and yellow egg fell out and I cracked it open, the words actually felt worth remembering. I think I’ll keep them in the pocket of my purse.
Say farewell to the blues you have been nursing. Get in the habit of looking at the brighter side of life. You have a brilliant mind. You will soon be extremely happy.
Rachel’s Weekly Recs:
Katherine asked me to bring her the most New York gift I could think of. I crowd-sourced the answer to this prompt, and my colleagues answered Rider’s Flaco Tote Bag. It marks the publication of Brooklyn-based publisher Blurring Books book honoring the iconic Eurasian owl who escaped the Central Park Zoo.
The circles under my eyes are darker than a winter’s night thanks to my travel schedule. Something that’s helped is the Soho Skin Eye Cream. I snagged a sample size staying at The Ned in London, but would very much consider dishing out the cash for the results. Instantly gives me the appearance of getting an extra hour or two of sleep.
My heart broke after I lost this adorable teacup bookmark on a plane en route to Denver. It’s handmade from felt, and the perfect companion for a cozy read. Another one is already ordered, and this time, I’ll keep it safe and sound.
Loved it! A heartfelt and heartwarming read. Made me smile, but also brought about a tear or two with memories of events gone by.