Zibby Mag

By Darcey Gohring

There were tons of people we couldn’t wait to reconnect with, but first we had to reconnect with each other.

Let me start by saying, I love to cook. At least I did until a few months ago. Living under Covid restrictions, dinner had become a finely orchestrated event in our house, and I was the director of activities. Each night, I labored under the pressure to make one part of the day special enough that it would break up the otherwise monotonous hours.

Some nights I did the job well. Part line cook and part maître d’, I would prepare and then present the night’s menu: “Tonight, we are having Buddha bowls with purple cauliflower, sweet potatoes, and quinoa,” or “chicken kebobs with a Greek dipping sauce.” Other nights, I gave up. Those were the pasta with jarred sauce kind of nights, which were usually met with the dreaded reaction of, “Oh, that again?”

Then there was the ritual of dinner itself. It used to be a time for my husband and our two kids to catch up. But it began to feel like a mandated hour of forced conversation. And let’s face it, what did we have to talk about? Between working from home and remote school, we were together all the time now. We knew how each other’s days went. In fact, we already talked about it in the kitchen at lunch.

By January 2021, cooking dinner started to get under my skin. By March, I pretty much loathed it. Not just the meal itself but that vexing daily question: What’s for dinner? As if it was the most exciting part of everyone’s day. As if they would have cared that much about the answer a year ago.

And then came April. For the first time in twelve months, and at this point fully vaccinated, I left for an outdoor dinner at a nearby restaurant with two girlfriends. Bottle of wine in hand, I practically skipped out the door. I was off duty and going to eat with different people!

Positively gleeful, I arrived at the table decked out in a cute top, strappy sandals, actual jeans (not leggings!), and even jewelry. Jewelry! When was the last time I wore that? What a joy it was to feel, if only for a few hours, life was the way it used to be.

The dinner was, in a word, sublime. There wasn’t enough time to talk. We shared stories about our kids, bonded over the mutual frustrations of life, and replayed funny anecdotes from the past. Every bite of food felt indulgent — especially given the fact that I didn’t make any of it. Oh, how I had missed this.

What did we have to talk about? Between working from home and remote school, we were together all the time now. We knew how each other’s days went. In fact, we already talked about it in the kitchen at lunch.

It wasn’t until I was on my way back home that something else occurred to me. When was the last time my husband and I had had dinner alone? When was the last time I had eaten dinner with him in anything else but my Covid uniform of leggings and a sweatshirt? Before coronavirus, we’d go out every few weeks, but I honestly couldn’t remember the last time we had an actual date night.

The next morning, as I searched for a reservation, I felt a little nervous at the prospect of asking him, as if it was a first date and I’d be hurt if he didn’t respond with the enthusiasm I hoped he would. Was it silly? We have seen one another more this year than ever. Shouldn’t we be going out with all the people we hadn’t seen instead?

And then there was the nagging Mom guilt. If we both went out, the kids would have to eat alone or more likely with the company of their iPhones. Covid has been hard enough. Even if our dinner conversations were stale, at least they would put their screens down for an hour.

Still, when my husband came down to get his second cup of coffee, I decided to test the waters. “Um, I was thinking…it’s so nice out today, and I was looking at outdoor restaurants…”

His face lit up. “You and me? Dinner?”

I nodded.

“I’m in. Wherever you want to go. Book it!”

I felt a little nervous at the prospect of asking him, as if it was a first date and I’d be hurt if he didn’t respond with the enthusiasm I hoped he would.

As much as we love our kids, there is something inherently different about being together without them. I had forgotten how that feels. How it changes the way you relate to one another. It lets you take off your mom and dad hats for a bit and just be yourselves. That feeling had never been so distinct, as when we sat at a sidewalk table under the warmth of a heat lamp at our local restaurant.

Together, we pondered which appetizers to try, laughed at inside jokes, chatted with the waitress about her intricate arm tattoo, and happily ordered a second round of drinks. In other words, we did something we haven’t done together in a long time — relaxed.

I knew immediately that this was a “normal” we needed back, too. Although there were tons of people we hadn’t seen in a year, and couldn’t wait to reconnect with — first, we had to reconnect with each other.

The time had come. Date night was officially back!

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Darcey Gohring is a freelance writer based outside New York City. She specializes in human interest, home, and lifestyle content. She is a contributing author to the anthology book, Corona City: Voices From an Epicenter, and recently completed her first novel entitled The Road Home.

Connect with Darcey on Instagram or Twitter to learn more about her work.