cherry blossoms in the spring

shopping and serendipitous nostalgia

Don’t you love reading the work, and reading the mind of a Gemini? One day she wants Rome, the next day she wants Toronto. One day she wants OFM to evaporate, the next she is envisioning a life in High Park with a man who is the most inconsistent character these newsletters have ever seen. Actually, maybe MFB took the cake on that one. The switch up (or 2-week trial period) was really…something.

On Tuesday evening, I decided to text the Man at the Front back after a few weeks. At the beginning of April, he messaged to tell me they don’t have the usual customers anymore, and wanted to know how I was.

“I’m good. Sorry for the late reply.”

“It’s been 20 days. I thought something had happened.”

“LOL. I’m thinking of coming back for bit.”

I miss my routine. Franco’s pizza all tonno. The white wine that never gave me a hangover. The ungodly Roman heat. The wooden tables. The sunshine and suppli. Eating fried food in 45 degree weather.

I miss my walk up to the bar. Seeing the 6’5 frame of the MATF standing in front of the door. I miss my usual spot beside him. I miss the lectures I’d get about PN. I miss him telling me how he was protective over me. I miss how he meant it.

“Really? When?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Let me know when you’re back.”

“I will. We’ll get a coffee.”

I make my favourite chicken lettuce wraps for dinner, take my melatonin gummies, and fall fast asleep.

Yesterday, I wake up bright and early at 6 AM. I have plans to hang out with my good friend at her place today. I know I wrote about this already - but the pro of these melatonin gummies is that they knock me out for a good 6 - 7 hours, so I’m bright eyed and bushy tailed first thing.

I wait a few hours before texting her. I’ll make my morning coffee, then have the leftovers of my second one from the day before (I purposely order a large at the cafe I go to, so I can save half in the fridge and drink it the next day as an iced) - then I’ll send out my newsletter.

At 9, she messages me.

“What’s your route to mine? Can you pick me up a sandwich on your way?”

“Sure.”

The weather is unusually (but not really - the Toronto weather is ridiculous) cold for the end of April. It calls for my green bomber from Milan (my fave), vintage Levi’s, my favourite black cashmere, olive green Ganni boots and a little vintage suede bag that is so Chloé-esque (shout out Rewind Kingston). It is my standard “leaving the house/still comfortable/still presentable” look.

I go to the Italian bakery. I order her a sandwich. I’ve made eggs on sourdough, so I’m not hungry yet. “Stracciatella and arugula on focaccia. And an Americano for me.” It’s my third coffee of the morning - but my first cup was so small I can’t count it.

The cashier speaks Italian to a customer beside me. My heart feels warm and I smile to myself. These little bits of home.

This bakery does give a bit more of a Roman vibe. It’s a tad more chaotic than most in Toronto, there’s not a lot of seating so people will stand with their coffees, which I like. They have one of my favourite sandwiches ever - focaccia barese with thinly sliced mortadella. I used to get it every Saturday morning, before I moved to Rome.

I walk through the park, and am happily reminded that it’s cherry blossom season. I’ve always wanted to go see the ones in High Park, but just was too lazy to do the west-end trek. There’s a pop up giving out free bouquets underneath them. And I know they’re free, but I refuse to wait in any line for any thing. I’d rather spend the $6.99 at the market for tulips and be in and out in less than 3 minutes.

I love the side streets of the city. I love the homes owned by old Nonni - and I’m laughing at how recognizable the Italian houses are. They always have the lion statues in front. I wonder if the Nonni know they are now living in properties worth 3.5 million dollars. Lol.

I love their gardens. I love daffodil season. I walk by the church my best friend got married at and feel sentimental. I came back for her wedding in the summer of 2022, just two months after living in Rome. Then, I joined her and her husband back in Rome for the first two days of their honeymoon (lol). She met PN for the first time. And I’ll never forget how nervous he was and how nervous I was and how I dropped a shot all over the bar. And how she told me, “I really don’t think this is casual”, and us realizing we might have read the entire situation of me being “just another girl he is sleeping with” all wrong. Lol. Anyways. Memories.

I get to my friend’s house. It always smells like vanilla in here. The way she’s decorated it is gorgeous. It’s clean and modern, but still warm.

“For you.” She pulls out a gorgeous eyeshadow palette and a Future Self journal.

“Are you sure?” I love free things when they match my aesthetic and I don’t have to wait in line for them.

“I won’t use either.”

I squeal and flip through the journal and stare at the gorgeous colours in this palette while she eats her sandwich. I saw her last Thursday but there’s always something, or someone to talk about.

“Maybe you need a new bar.” She pours me a glass of cucumber and mint water. “There’s a new one up the street. Italian, wine bar. The guy is super friendly.”

I roll my eyes. “I can’t with bartenders anymore. Like. I can but I can’t, you know?”

“You’re right. Maybe it’s an industry thing.”

“And it’s not even like I seek them out. They’re just charming and friendly and always there.”

We start laughing. Girl time never gets old. Sober girl time, especially. It’s who you can do absolutely nothing with, and still feel one hundred percent yourself.

“I’m going to pick up lunch for myself, I haven’t eaten yet.”

“Bring it back here. I don’t have any calls for a few more hours.”

I leave her house and walk down the street to another bakery. This one is one of my favourites, and it’s French. They have the best breakfast sandwiches in the city. It’s arugula and a fried egg on a potato bun with some delicious tomato mixture that I have no idea what exactly is in it - but it’s incredible.

The bakery looks empty, to which I’m so grateful. There’s a guy taking photos of the display case. He turns around and we just stare at each other for a few seconds.

“Oh my god.”

It’s a very, very, very old friend that I’ve known since high school.

“Where have you been?!” He hugs me for a long time. But it’s so appreciated.

Home.

“I literally moved to Rome. I came back in September.”

We catch up on everything. His friend group is still the same (I used to have a thing with one of his friends, re: The Story of The Football Star - this newsletter is good for a giggle.) He tells me he has a girlfriend and shows me photos.

“She’s beautiful. I’m so happy for you.”

And I am. He looks great, he’s doing what he loves. And he even found romance, too.

“Have you been dating anyone? You haven’t been back for that long.”

He’s right. Technically I haven’t. But how am I supposed to explain that I reconnected with an ex of 2018, who I’m pretty sure was some karmic twin flame. Which imploded, then exploded. Then I went on a date with some guy who I met on the street, which was a bit of the crux of the 2018 karmic-ex implosion which made that ex decide - “Well, if Emily’s moving on, now’s a great time to probably have the best sex with her that I’ve ever had in my entire life, not pull out, even though we had discussions prior to - that we should probably be more responsible, but I’ll get her plan B, but she’s on natural SSRI’s which makes oral contraceptive not effective, causing her to believe she is probably pregnant for 3 weeks because this is what happens when you fuck around with the universe.”

“It really would have been his ultimate move. Trapping you with a baby and have you never step foot near an airport again.” My best friend’s theory. And mine too, tbh.

Oh, and then I’d have to explain that I went on a date with an older man that I met at a bar which I’m a regular at, which causes the bartender that I’ve had a slight crush on, and who I also suspected had a slight crush on me - to freak out and to take me to the bar’s bathroom and tell me not to speak to this older man anymore, then, that same night, I’ll go out for drinks with this said bartender and fall a little bit and then have a cute Lana Del Ray listening - wine - drinking -cigarette - smoking night and also probably some of the best sex I’ve ever had (scorpio) and he will tell me he’s not looking for anything serious but still wants to hang out and I say the cursed: “I’m down to be friends” - and now he treats me like a leper.

“Nothing really.” I smile through my teeth and feel a slight twitch. “Just little flings here and there.”

He raises his eyebrows, probably doesn’t believe me, but thankfully changes the subject.

I take their last roast beef sandwich, tell him that I hope I run into him again, give him a hug, and go back to sitting on my friend’s sofa.

“There’s a skincare store around the corner you should check out.”

“God. Don’t tempt me. You know me. I have 0 strength.”

“Just force yourself not to buy anything.”

I make my way over. The sun is shining. The store is gorgeous. It has that natural skincare smell. There really is something refreshing about being in an entirely new area.

“Need help with anything?” The older woman with incredible skin and dark rimmed glasses asks me.

I tell her how my skin is slightly congested. She shows me two masks - one is charcoal, one is manuka honey. “How about I make you a sample of each?”

Free face masks. Does life get any better than this?

I leave the store with my two free mask samples. But with a mental note to book a facial there ASAP. My friend would be proud.

I walk through the park. Underneath the cherry blossoms. The sun is shining, the air is crisp. I wrap my bomber tightly around my body and turn up the volume of Suki. It’s a Wednesday afternoon, and the energy in my world just feels like it’s shifting.

“What do you think the main difference between Emily in Rome and Emily in Toronto is?” One of my friends asks me the other day over a few patio spritzes. I pause before answering her. I’m really not sure, to be honest.

Bartender drama: check. Aimless strolls: check. Finding beauty, cultivating joy: check. Becoming a regular: check. Skincare stores: check. Solo wine dates: check. check. check.

I hop into one of my favourite boutiques before heading back home. She’s curated everything so well, and has the most gorgeous and unique brands from all over. The overall style of the store is very clean - great necklines, classic, a bit edgy. That effortlessly cool vibe where you’re wearing something that’s a touch different than everyone else. And it’s enough of a difference to have people compliment you and ask you where you got that item from.

“I’m obsessed with butter yellow.” I tell her.

“I have the perfect top for you.” She pulls out the softest, backless butter yellow tank top with the most gorgeous scoop neckline.

I try it on. “No it’s just…so good. With jeans. With a white skirt. Everything.”

“Ugh. I’m so happy. I knew it’d look so good.”

I buy the butter yellow, chat with her a bit about masks from the skincare store, and make my way home.

For dinner, I slice tomatoes. I drizzle olive oil on sourdough bread. I text my friend to tell her what a perfect day it was. I open the final few chapters of Magnolia Parks. This is my plan for the evening. Reading, and eating tomatoes.

Nothing more, nothing less.

I don’t worry about making a mess of tomato juice on myself. I don’t think about Rome, and I don’t think about anyone, or anything else for that matter. In this moment, my Gemini mind breathes. It relaxes.

And my Gemini mind feels right at home.

I love you,

Emily