Chapter 17 Part 1: Mi Buenos Aires Querida
Buenos Aires had welcomed us with rain, and now at 1 AM on our first night, we found ourselves hopping over wet cobblestones, juggling a shared paraguaya, giggles escaping as we slipped and slid toward what we hoped was dinner.
Just weeks ago, I'd watched Colette struggle to walk across a museum parking lot in Palm Springs. Now here she was, navigating the uneven streets of Buenos Aires with joy and determination, her recovery feeling like nothing short of a miracle.
When we finally ducked through the restaurant doors, the lively atmosphere inside was a stark contrast to the quiet, rainy streets. The warmth and chatter enveloped us, but what took us by surprise was the realization that we'd just walked into Parrilla Don Julio, one of the city's most coveted dining spots.
With her impeccable Spanish and undeniable charm, Colette approached the suave maitre d', his hair slicked back, revealing an assured grin. Before we knew it, another dapper gentleman escorted us to a table made for two.
"Only we would accidentally walk into the best restaurant in Buenos Aires," Colette said, as we settled in.
"At one in the morning," I added. "In the rain."
"Perfect start to our honeymoon," she said, and my heart did a small flip at the word.
Don Julio felt like stepping into Buenos Aires itself. Wine bottles lined every wall, the open parrilla crackled with late-night energy, and intricate tiles beneath our feet told stories of countless meals shared by porteños who understood that 1 AM was a perfectly reasonable dinner hour.
After a rapid-fire conversation between Colette and our waiter, we soon had a bottle of Malbec set before us, its velvety richness matching the midnight beyond the windows. Our dishes arrived moments later: entraña, tender and flavorful, melting on our tongues; and provoleta, grilled cheese bubbling golden brown, deliciously fragrant and utterly indulgent.
The wine warmed our bodies, the food anchored us after hours of travel, yet my mind quietly drifted to how improbable this moment had seemed.
"Where did you go, Katerina?" Colette gently interrupted my thoughts, reading me effortlessly.
I smiled sheepishly, caught in reflection. "I was remembering Solare, the first time I asked you to join me here."
"You looked absolutely terrified the second you said it," she teased, eyes sparkling with the memory. "Like you couldn't quite believe your own audacity."
"I couldn't," I laughed softly. "But look at us now."
"We'd known each other for exactly three minutes," she continued, shaking her head with amused disbelief. "You threw it out there without any real expectation. And I didn't even give you a proper answer."
"You checked your calendar," I reminded her gently. "That alone felt like hope."
"It was hope," Colette agreed softly, raising her wine glass to mine. "And look where it brought us."
P.S. A photo taken just before our flight to BA.
