take my hand

January 2026

Last month in New York, I spent a day with one of my closest friends from high school. Looking back, here’s what that day felt like from my perspective:

Hudson Yards Mall

We met up in the afternoon for lunch at Mercado Little Spain, where we shared chicken paella and a bottle of wine. We spent a couple of hours talking, laughing, and catching up on life.

At one point, he asked me, “How are you doing with everything?” I knew exactly what he meant—I had just lost my grandfather. It’s hard to talk about, so I looked away and softly said, “I’m going through a lot right now.”

He placed his left arm upright on the table, inviting me to rest my hand in his. I loved that. It was such a gentle way of showing he was there for me. We held hands as I shared what had been going on and how grief has been affecting my health and overall well-being.

After lunch, we wandered around the mall, poking fun at all the bougie stores, and stopped for Van Leeuwen ice cream. I’m not usually a matcha girlie, but I tried their strawberry matcha latte flavor—and it was a 10/10. Not long after, we left the mall and walked the High Line over to Little Island.

On The Way To Little Island

One of the things I love about our friendship is that whenever we spend time together, one or both of us ends up trying something new. It was actually his first time walking the High Line—I’m not sure why I assumed he’d been on it before. The walk flew by, or at least it felt that way, probably because we talked about so much—what we learned in 2025, what we’re hoping for in 2026. Before we knew it, we were heading down the stairs and walking a couple of blocks toward Little Island.

The red hand lit up on the crosswalk signal—it wasn’t our turn to cross—but we both glanced side to side to see if the street was clear. We started walking anyway. I kept looking left to make sure no cars were coming, then straight ahead to watch where I was going. The signal felt like it was taking forever to switch to the white walking figure. It wasn’t until we were halfway across the street that I realized his hand was in mine.

When did that even happen? Were we holding hands before we stepped off the curb? Did I reach for him—or did he reach for me? Or did we somehow reach for each other at the same time? Honestly, I don’t know. lol

The first thing that came to mind was how much it felt like we were kids—childhood friends looking out for each other. It might sound silly, but it felt like a movie scene: one kid reaching out and saying, “Take my hand. We’ve got this,” and the other trusting they’d be okay simply because they were together. My inner child felt safe with him, and I felt that he could be safe with me too.

As we reached the next block, we let go of each other and kept walking toward Little Island. Neither of us said a word about it, which somehow felt perfectly fine. I don’t think we’d ever held hands just to cross a street before, but it didn’t feel like a big deal.

We didn’t stay long at Little Island since it was getting darker and colder, but we admired the skyline and kept the conversation going. Eventually, we decided to make one last stop for dinner at Chelsea Market and walked a few blocks to get there. And no, for the record, we did not hold hands again while crossing the streets. (Yes, I noticed. lol)

Chelsea Market

At Chelsea Market, we grabbed Los Tacos No. 1 and had a drink at the bar next to it. Once again, we talked about everything. I really appreciate that as our friendship grows—and as we grow older—it feels easy and calm to have deeper conversations about our lived experiences and what we want out of life. There’s a quiet peace in just being together.

Somehow, the topic of kids came up. I hadn’t said anything about children in my future, so I was a little caught off guard when he said something like, “I’d be surprised if one day you told me you met someone and wanted to have a kid with them.” I jokingly replied, “Can you imagine if I surprised you one day with a picture of my sonogram?” His eyes widened slightly, his head tilted back, and without missing a beat, he said, “Oh, I’d be ready for you to ask me to be the godfather.”

That moment stayed with me. I’d never really thought about who I’d ask to be a godparent if I ever had a child. I was touched by how naturally he offered to take on that role. lol

Jokes aside, I think it’s pretty special that my best friend wants to do this thing called life alongside me. We’re like two carefree kids holding hands in a playground—only now, as adults, that gesture carries a different meaning: creating safety and peace for one another in the middle of all the chaos. I’m happy to do life with him, too.