I feel alternately like a kid and grown up—old enough to split the rent on a house in the Hamptons, but young enough to spend the whole time drinking and competing loudly. The adulthood wins out as the cigarette smokers have gradually gone down in numbers, and the quality of the food and drink has grown exponentially.
Most of that has to do with Emily, who is a master in the kitchen. I’m constantly impressed by her grace as she floats around the room, dressed in her tennis whites, plus apron, a large smile stretched across her face. A few hours later she delivers a beautiful meal for 12. Crab crusted cod, ribs and pulled pork sandwiches are a few of the highlights. Each and every meal ravaged by the group.
The last night we play poker. I’m doing well for a while and make it down to the last four at the table. Then, I go all in on a silly hand and lose.
In this moment I feel so lucky to be sitting with old friends, sipping a refreshing gin and tonic, having just enjoyed an amazing meal that I don’t even mind this dilapidated mansion.