Georgetown With Mum

We arrived in Georgetown to the Airbnb—a brownstone with bookcases covering every wall—located about four blocks from the Potomac River. After getting settled, we set out to walk along the river and main streets. We passed all kinds of shops, specialty stores selling men’s suits, cafes, restaurants, etc., and walked over a dried canal to reach the Potomac. Being so hot, we decided to buy water bottles from a local food stand. The vendor didn’t accept credit cards, but he did accept Venmo. “What is Venmo?” cried my mom. I laughed along with the two guys behind the stand, and then proceeded to explain that money can now be transferred through a phone app.

We continued down the length of the river and eventually turned onto M Street, the main street where most shops and cafes are located. The area was filled with college students. After about 20 minutes, we reached 1789, a rustic, high-end restaurant erected from 18th-century townhouses. The dining room was filled with colonial era pictures and artifacts. We were out of place with our dress and the food was served practically raw—apparently a staple of high-class dining. It was awful. We requested our food be cooked longer, provoking contemptuous stares from the waiter. Well, I’d rather he hates me than eat raw beef, I thought.

After dinner, we walked a few blocks over to Georgetown University and sat on a bench in front of the main cathedral-esque building. We were just chatting and watching the students pass, the vibe reminiscent of my alma mater. After a few minutes, we heard a Methodist preacher start boasting a sermon to a crowd on the front lawn. Interspersed with the sermon were various songs and prayers from a chorus.

With the sun going down, we decided to start the journey home and grab some coffee along the way. Mom was getting tired and suspicious of my directions. “Are you sure you know where we’re going?” she asked after each intersection. “Mom, do you trust me?” “No.”

We finally reached a coffeehouse near the Airbnb. Mom sat outside while I bought coffees and shortbread. We must’ve sat on that bench for an hour, talking about all sorts of topics. At one point, a group of girls walked out of the bar next door. “Hey ma,” I whispered, “Can you be my wingman?” “What does that mean?” she asked. “It means you help me get their attention.” “How do I do that? You don’t stand much of a chance.” We both started cracking up just as the girls walked past on the sidewalk. What strange people they must’ve thought.

Walking home, mom turned to me and said that this was one of the best nights that she’d had in a long time. “Then it was all worth it,” I said.