I took myself to Maggiano’s Little Italy on my solo birthday trip in Boston. It was my dinner on the last day. I walked in and asked for a table for one. The hostess sat me at a large red booth all to myself. I did a little boot scoot and boogie to sit in the middle of the table. The waiter gave me a strange look as he came over and cleared three of the four place settings. I asked for a Bud Light, and as I went to grab my ID, he told me that he believed me. Boston has been the only place I’ve visited where I tried to show my ID, and no one ever wanted to see it.
I looked over the menu a million times, even though everything was exactly how I remembered it from my childhood. I forgot to mention that this is the restaurant my mom took me and my brother to every year to celebrate our birthdays. I haven’t been to one in years, but as soon as I saw it as a food recommendation in Boston, I knew I had to go. I ordered fried zucchini as my appetizer and shoveled down bread and olive oil the moment it landed on the table. My phone was lying face down next to me. I just wanted to sit there and enjoy a memory I thought I had lost.
I watched the families around me as they bantered back and forth… wondering if that was once what my family looked like. I know it sounds depressing to go somewhere and sit alone, especially in a place that was so special to me growing up, but something about doing it alone heals a part of me. It reminds me that I can do it alone. It reminds me what it feels like to breathe. I don’t know how to explain it, but it just makes sense to me. The whole time I was sitting there slurping up my linguine with mussels, my whole body was just calm, like I was able to reclaim something that felt like it was taken from me.
At the end of my meal, I asked my waiter if they did anything special for birthdays. He looked puzzled and asked me if it was my birthday. I told him it was, and he seemed disheartened that I was there alone. He brought me out some lemon cookies and a strawberry with two candles. I watched as the wax melted and then closed my eyes and made a wish. Everyone disappeared, and it was just me and my wish. I wished with my whole body on those two candles. I finally wished for something I truly wanted.
I always tried to make all my wishes well-rounded, like, “I wish I have an amazing year” or “I wish to have the happiest year.” I try to make my wishes very broad so that I can’t be sad when they don’t come true. This time, I decided to be selfish and wished to fall in love. It’s hard to admit, but the little girl in me so desperately wants to love someone and, even more so, be loved back. Only time will tell if my wish comes true.