Page 131 of Notes About Vodka

And then there’s Peggy. Arpeggio, technically, but we call her Peggy. She’s a silver and white miniature schnauzer with a wiry coat and a personality ten times her size. Her fur is a mix of shimmering silver and soft white, giving her an almost regal look, but her playful nature quickly takes away any notion of her being anything other than a goofball.

We adopted her just a few days after we settled in, and now it feels like she’s always been with us. She follows Val around the condo, her little paws pattering after him while he experiments with drink infusions for his new job.

I think she’s in love with him, the way she stares at him whenever he’s making something in the kitchen. Sometimes, I catch her trying to sneak bites of whatever Val’s chopping, and I can’t help but laugh at the two of them together.

Val will pretend to scold her, wagging his finger and telling her, “No, Peggy, this is not for you,” but his stern face always melts into a grin, and Peggy just wags her tail, knowing she’s got him wrapped around her little paw.

Life isn’t easy, but we’re making it work. Val’s juggling his classes at NYU, trying to finish his degree online and traveling to New York only when he absolutely has to. It’s stressful, trying to balance work and school, but he says there’s something rewarding about pushing himself to do both. I can tell it wears on him sometimes—those late nights when he comes home exhausted—but he’s determined to make it work, and that determination makes me love him even more.

The time apart isn’t ideal, but we’ve learned to adapt.

He’s also started working at a new restaurant here in Chi-town, managing the bar and learning the ropes of ordering,inventory, and creating new infusions. He comes home late some nights, his clothes smelling faintly of citrus and herbs, and he’ll tell me about the newest concoction he came up with.

I love seeing his eyes light up when he talks about it, that spark of creativity that makes him who he is. He’ll describe the flavors in detail, his hands moving animatedly as he explains the process, and even though I’m exhausted from my own day, I can’t help but be pulled into his excitement. I love that he’s found something that brings him joy.

I’m busy too—more than busy. I’m working on my master’s degree for medical school, spending my days buried in textbooks and my nights hunched over my laptop, writing papers, planning for what comes next.

The program is intense, but it’s everything I wanted. It’s challenging, frustrating at times, but the kind of work that makes me feel alive. I know that this is the path I’m meant to be on, even if it means less sleep and more stress.

Val understands. He’s always been my biggest supporter, even when I’m too tired to speak in full sentences, just mumbling about microbiology and public health until I fall asleep.

On those nights, he’ll tuck a blanket around me, kiss my forehead, and whisper that he’s proud of me. It’s those small moments that remind me why we’re doing all of this—why all the sacrifices are worth it.

We’ve started this new, yet very old habit lately—passing notes back and forth, just like we used to do atPianissimowhen we first got to know each other. It makes me feel connected to Val, even when our schedules are packed, and we barely get a chance to sit down together. Those little notes are like tiny love letters, reminders that we’re still thinking about each other, that we still care. In the middle of all the chaos, they’re a way for us to say, 'I see you, I love you, and I’mhere.'

Now, we’re leaving them in unexpected places around the condo. A sticky note on the bathroom mirror that says, “You’re amazing,” or a scrap of paper tucked into the fridge, “Save me some coffee, please,” or a message on the nightstand that simply says, “I love you.”

It’s the little things that keep us connected, the reminders that even though we’re busy, even though life is chaotic, we’re still here for each other. Sometimes, when Val gets home late and I’m already asleep, I’ll find a note on my pillow in the morning, something sweet or funny that makes me smile and starts my day off right.

Sometimes, it’s just a smiley face drawn on the edge of my notebook, or a doodle of Peggy with her scruffy ears. I’ll be in the middle of studying, and I’ll come across one of Val’s notes, and it’s like everything pauses for just a moment. It makes me think of the beginning, the way we wrote on napkins to communicate when we couldn’t speak freely, how those little notes meant everything back then. And they still do. They’re like small promises to each other, little reminders that no matter how hectic life gets, we’re in this together. I find his notes tucked in my textbooks, sometimes with a silly joke or an encouraging message, and it always makes me feel less alone, even when I’m drowning in assignments.

The future isn’t perfect, and it’s definitely not all planned out.

We still don’t know how Val’s work schedule will adapt to my residency once I start med school, or how we’ll handle it if I need to move for a rotation. There are so many uncertainties, and sometimes it feels like we’re just figuring it out as we go. There are moments when it feels like we’re just trying to hold everything together with duct tape and hope. There are days when the stress of school and work weighs on both of us, whenwe snap at each other over small things, like who forgot to take Peggy out or who didn’t do the dishes.

But there are also moments—the three of us on the balcony, Peggy snoozing at our feet, Val’s arm around my shoulders, the city lights twinkling in the distance—when it all feels right. When I know we’re exactly where we’re meant to be. We’re building something together, even if it’s messy and imperfect. And in those quiet moments, with Val’s warmth next to me and Peggy softly snoring, I feel a sense of peace that I never thought I’d find.

Chicago is different, yes, but it’s ours now. And I’m learning that home isn’t a city or a building. Home is Val. Home is Peggy curled up at the foot of our bed. Home is the notes we leave for each other, the laughter we share, the dreams we’re still chasing. I wouldn’t have it any other way. We’re learning to navigate this new life, to balance our individual goals with our life together, and while it’s not always easy, it’s always worth it.

I think about where we started, how uncertain everything felt back then, and I’m amazed at how far we’ve come. We’ve built something real, something strong, and I know that whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.

One evening, after a particularly long day, Val and I decide to take a walk. The sun is setting, casting the sky in shades of pink and orange, and the air is cool but comfortable. Peggy trots ahead of us, her little tail wagging as she sniffs at everything she can find. Val takes my hand, and we walk in comfortable silence for a while, just enjoying the moment.

The city is alive around us—cars passing by, people chatting as they walk their dogs, the distant hum of music from a nearby bar. It’s different from New York, but it’s still full of life, and it feels like a place where we can make a home.

Val squeezes my hand, breaking the silence. “You know,”he says, his voice thoughtful, “I think Peggy might love Chicago more than we do.”

I laugh, watching as Peggy tries to chase a squirrel that darts up a tree. “I think you’re right. She’s definitely settled in faster than we have.”

He smiles, looking down at me. “But we’re getting there, right?”

I nod, leaning into him. “Yeah. We’re getting there.”

We continue walking, the sky growing darker, the first stars starting to appear. We talk about our plans for the weekend—maybe a visit to one of the museums, or a lazy day at home with a movie marathon. We talk about our dreams, the things we still want to do, the places we still want to see—like visiting St. Petersburg together, wandering through the Hermitage, or taking a road trip along the Amalfi Coast.

We make plans, big and small, and it makes me excited for all the adventures that still lie ahead.

Val tells me about a new drink he’s been working on, something with elderflower and lavender, and I listen, fascinated by the passion in his voice. It’s moments like this that make all the challenges worth it—the simple, everyday moments that remind me why I fell in love with him in the first place.

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