She was brilliant, beautiful, and very funny she could also be very mean. This was a decent literary career, truly more than I could ever have hoped for, but it did not bring in a lot of income when Emily and I met, I was living with two roommates in a grand but cockroach-infested apartment on Eastern Parkway in Brooklyn.Īt the time, Emily was a writer for Gawker, a media-gossip Web site. Eventually, I started a left-wing literary magazine with some friends, published a novel, and travelled as much as possible to Russia to write about it. I also started translating things-stories, an oral history, poems-from Russian. To see my name in print, I started doing journalism. After college, I moved to New York and worked odd jobs and wrote short stories, which I sent to literary magazines, which never wrote me back. I grew up in a suburb outside of Boston and dreamed of leaving to become a writer. with my parents and older sibling when I was six. I was born in Moscow and came to the U.S. Then I thought: We need to get some very cheap wedding rings at Macy’s. All around us on 34th Street people were shopping and hurrying and driving and honking. I had a fellowship at the time at the New York Public Library, in midtown, and I must have Googled “wedding rings near me.” Macy’s it was. Our wedding was a few weeks away and, true to form, I had put off shopping for it to the last minute.
In short, though not young, I was stupid.Įmily told me she was pregnant when we were walking down 34th Street, in Manhattan, on the way to Macy’s to shop for wedding rings. I had always assumed that I’d have kids, but I had spent zero minutes thinking about them. I was thirty-nine years old, didn’t have a job, and lived in one of the most expensive cities on the planet. I was not prepared to be a father-this much I knew.
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