14 Months Later, We Finally Visited an Old Friend: Our Pre-Pandemic Routine

Rainy ferry rides, being served in a restaurant with friends, the kids playing on the escalator—we will never, ever take you for granted again.

New York City, how we’ve missed you.

Courtesy Mita Mallick

“We are doing what?!” My 8-year-old son shouted. “It’s coronavirus! We can’t go into New York!”

For 14 months, we have been hunkered down in our home in Jersey City, New Jersey. Right outside of our window, the yellow ferry had been sitting quietly, absolutely still. No longer busily taking passengers back and forth across the water into Manhattan. Once upon a time, our family had hopped onto that yellow ferry to embark on weekend adventures, including, but not limited to, visiting the Museum of Natural History, taking a horse-drawn carriage ride through Central Park, watching a children’s play in Brookfield Place, discovering new slides and swings on our aimless walks, and, of course, indulging in Sprinkles Cupcakes with vanilla frosting and lots of rainbow sprinkles.

Now, as our lives seemed to be slowly starting up again, the yellow ferry also happily began making trips across the water again. My daughter peered through the window, shouting, “MOM! The boat is moving! It’s MOVING!”

Like many, my husband and I had waited patiently for our moment to get vaccinated in New Jersey. And now that we were fully vaccinated, we decided it was time to venture out. We planned to meet one of my husband’s best friends who had traveled with his wife and 4-year-old twins to the Tri-state area for dinner.

We assured our kids it was safe to meet our friends. I carried a large tote bag as if I was going away for the weekend, filled with hand sanitizer, coloring and puzzle books, crayons and markers, granola bars and fruit snacks, ready for any unexpected tantrum we might occur on our first time venturing back into the city. It was the fastest I had ever seen my kids get ready to go anywhere.

My kids dashed to the yellow boat, raced ahead and piled into the seats. My son couldn’t decide where to sit, and was pointing at the Statue of Liberty and other landmarks he remembered; my daughter was nervous as she watched waves crash outside the boat, holding on tightly to her dad’s arm. I looked out the window as the city got closer and closer, until we finally found ourselves back in NYC.

On a rainy Friday, the yellow ferry introduced us once again to the streets of Lower Manhattan, which were much emptier than anticipated. I held my breath as I looked around and marveled at the tall buildings and yellow taxi cabs whizzing around. My daughter squeezed my hand as we smelled hot dogs grilling on a nearby truck, waiting to cross the street. I unexpectedly found myself a tourist in a place I had not so long ago navigated like it was my second home.

As we waited for our friends, my kids rediscovered the escalator. They had once loved going up and down and up and down escalators on a Sunday afternoon. My daughter was mesmerized and overwhelmed—she had forgotten how to use an escalator. She was scared to put her feet on the moving stairs. My son didn’t want to touch the railing; he reminded me that I should’ve brought disposable gloves. I noticed that for most of the trip, he kept his hands hidden in his rain jacket.

We walked into Del Frisco’s. I felt tense as I saw flashbacks of pre-pandemic crowds and people waiting to be seated. Instead, I was met with mostly quiet: a voice murmuring from the TV screen, glasses clinking at the bar, and a friendly hostess gathering menus as she looked up our reservation. We walked over to a long table and sat down to the luxuries I had once taken for granted: a table already set and clean, our glasses being filled with water, and, for once, someone asking me what I wanted to eat.

“May I please have chicken fingers, fries, and an order of lemonade? Thank you so much,” my son said to the waitress. He was gripping the menu like he had just won a golden ticket from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. It was the first meal we had been in a restaurant in 14 months as a family.

The kids were quiet at first, reluctantly taking off their masks as their lemonade arrived, wide-eyed as others enjoyed their meals in nearby booths. Ten minutes in, they were sharing their favorite jokes: What’s a witch’s favorite subject? Spelling, of course. They were miraculously sharing fries, getting a lemonade refill, and telling our friends how old their dog was in human years.

For once, I was the one being served at a table, not worrying about where I would store the leftovers, concerned if the kids ate enough carrots, and hoping there was another box of dishwasher detergent tablets under the sink. We almost went the entire meal with just jokes and giggles, listening and sharing stories. And at the end, we relented to the screens so the adults could enjoy a last Moscow mule and a cappuccino.

And in all that excitement, my kids didn’t even ask for dessert.

As we said goodbye to our friends, my kids rediscovered revolving doors. They couldn’t remember which way to push, got stuck at one point, pushed too fast and then pushed too slow. They annoyed a number of patrons waiting to try to get into the restaurant. At some point, my husband had to intervene. Some things even a pandemic couldn’t change.

We all were exhausted as we headed home, again boarding the yellow ferry. From spending time with other human beings, other than ourselves. From eating too many french fries. From reuniting with a city we had been thinking about, we had been worried about, and we had been waiting to get a glimpse of again.

“Can’t wait to see you again soon, New York City,” my daughter said as she crawled into her bed.

New York City, we can’t wait to see you again soon. We will try to be back again next weekend, and probably the weekend after that, masks and hand sanitizer in tow. Like any relationship we want to rebuild, we will take it step by step and slowly get reacquainted over time. We have missed you, old friend. See you again real soon.

Mita Mallick is the Head of Inclusion, Equity and Impact at Carta and loves living in Jersey City with her husband and two young kiddos.