A city seen
through his eyes.

I got things wrong, and my son and I have been estranged for five years.

Then, almost by accident, life started leaving a little light on: an email with a restaurant name, a date, an ordinary Tuesday. I see the name of a place and, for a moment, I know he is out in the world — eating, moving, making a life.

It is bittersweet. But it makes me smile. This is not a scorecard. It's simply a love letter to New York's tables, and to the quiet relief of knowing he's okay.