“So I went to this really cool Spanish restaurant last night,” I told my parents at the dinner table one evening. I scooped some broccoli out of the communal bowl before returning it to the center of the table. “It was named Santiago.”
“Santiago,” my mom repeated, helping herself to some broccoli as well. She turned to my father. “Didn’t your sister Elsa use to work at a restaurant called Santiago?”
He frowned as she passed him the bowl. It took him a few seconds to realize what she was talking about. Her memory was never that good. “Not Santiago. The Santi Supper Club. I worked there too.”
“You did?” She asked, surprised.
My dad cut off a piece of his steak before nodding and replying, “Yeah. It’s because of Mr Santi that I met you.”
“Really?” I asked leaning forward with interest. I’d never heard this story. Apparently, neither had my mother, who joked dryly, “I always figured it was just misfortune.”
My dad wasn’t listening. His eyes lit up with nostalgia as events from 35 years ago found their way back into his consciousness. He began to tell his story, “Elsa was a hostess there and she got me the job as a busboy. There were these two Guatemalan brothers who were dishwashers, and we were friends.”
He paused to take another bite of his steak. “One Friday night, the brothers showed up late, probably by about 10 minutes. They tried to explain to Mr Santi that there was a huge subway delay, but he wouldn’t listen to them. He was a real hot-headed guy. He just said, ‘you’re fired!!'”
“Another Donald Trump,” my mom interjected. She took a sip of her wine.
“Worse. Terrible old man. Then he turned to me and said, ‘you! Go on dish!'” My dad paused for dramatic effect, and more food. “But I said no. I wouldn’t have minded going to dish, I’d work anywhere, but I didn’t think it was right. I didn’t like how he was treating my friends.”
“And you didn’t have a wife or kids to take care of, so you weren’t worried about mouthing off to your boss.” My mom mused. She stood up to grab the bread out of the oven in the adjoining kitchen.
“Yeah, so I said no and Mr Santi told me, ‘if you don’t do dish tonight, don’t bother coming back tomorrow.’ So I told him, ‘if I’m not coming back tomorrow, then I’m not working tonight!'” My dad smiled proudly at his youthful rebellion. I wondered how he would have reacted if I had come home telling that story. I’d sure dreamed of walking out on my job at The Tap Steakhouse, but I never had. I never could. I confirmed, “so you left?”
“Yeah, I left! Elsa begged me not to go, she was worried he’d fire her too, but I just walked out and went home.”
“So what does that have to do with me?” My mom asked. She passed me a slice of buttered bread. “I thought you were going to say you went to the dance club and met me that same night.”
“No, that was the next night,” my dad explained. “But if it hadn’t been for that subway delay that got those guys fired, I wouldn’t have had the Saturday off.”
“So you guys met at a club.” I pieced together. I already knew that part, but it never ceased to sound bizarre to me.
“Well, that same night, I had a dream of dancing with a girl in a red dress, but I couldn’t see her face.” My dad remembered. “So the next night I went to a Latin dance club.”
“I wasn’t wearing a red dress.” My mom argued. She was a true contrarian. “It was more of a burgundy.”
“Whatever,” my dad rolled his eyes. “Then we danced and -”
“No! You didn’t try to dance with me at first, you tried to dance with my friend Cora.” My mom protested, pointing her fork accusingly at him.
“Yeah, maybe I tried to dance with her first,” my dad conceded, using his bread to off clean his plate. “But I was never actually interested in her. She was way too tall, taller than me! It wasn’t about her, she wasn’t the one wearing the red dress. And you and I did dance that night.”
“We did,” my mom agreed. “But I didn’t give you my number that night, remember?”
I watched as my dad remembered. He nodded slowly, “I remember.”
“So how did you guys see each other again?” I wondered, as I finished my salad.
“At a stadium, the next week.” My mom recalled, “I went to go watch a local soccer game and -”
“-and I was playing for one of the teams,” my dad cut in. I wondered momentarily why I wasn’t interested in neither dancing nor soccer, considering this narrative. And my heritage.
“You played on that team?” My mom repeated incredulously. “Then what were you doing in the stands that day?”
“I had played for my part of the game, and when I was on rest, I saw you buying a hot dog. So I went to meet you -”
“- on the stairs.” My mom finished. A smile crept slowly across her lips. “And we talked. And you asked for my number again, and that time I gave it to you.”
And the rest was history.
2018
I really enjoyed that what a great setting. What a great foodie story.
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Thanks for reading! Glad you liked it π
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One of my favorite things is to ask long time couples how they met. The stories never fail to bring smiles to everyones’ faces.
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Yes! That’s what inspired me to write it. The joint narrative, the slightly different memories of the same events, but mostly the smiles and happy ending.
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Thatβs a sweet story. So much better than how I met my husband of 44 years. Sounds like their meeting the second time was serendipitous.
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I think it was too! Now Iβm curious to hear your story π
Thanks for reading!
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We actually met through my roommate when I was in high school. She met my husband and his friend while working as a car hop. She invited them to our apartment once and thatβs the whole story. Not very exciting, is it?
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Thank you for dropping by my blog.
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Likewise π
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I love your writing style, “His eyes lit up with nostalgia as events from 35 years ago made their way back to his consciousness”. Amazing stuff!! β€π
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Thank you so much for your kind words π
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What a great story! Thanks for checking out my subway adventures π
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Thanks for reading my stories! Glad you enjoyed them π
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That’s a really sweet story! Just goes to show, some things are meant to be! This was a very well written post. And your blog is really cool as well! I have made sure to follow your blog to read more!
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Thanks so much π
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You are welcome! Do visit my blog as well and follow if you liked!
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What a delightful tale. I feel like I was sitting right with you listening intently. Bravo.
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That’s what I was going for! Thanks so much for stopping by, I’m glad you liked it π
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Sure did – I’ll be following you!
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Great Job with this cute, interesting story, Alesis. WELL DONE!!!
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Really liked this story. Thanks for dropping by my blog. You have a nice realistsic style that engaged me and kept me reading.
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Thanks for dropping by mine!
Glad you enjoyed it π
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This was a very nice read, I really enjoyed it.
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Great! Iβm glad! Thanks for popping in π
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Love this story. Very smooth and easy to understand.
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Glad you enjoyed it π
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