It’s hard to pinpoint what, if anything, Chantale thinks of Corinne and me dating. She nominally approves, I guess, in the sense that she hasn’t had me disposed of in the middle of the night or locked Corinne in a tower just yet, but it’s different when I pick up Palm Tree now, as if she’s making sure I’m not sniffing around her daughter’s underwear drawer. After telling her we were dating, Corinne reported that her mother’s only reaction was: I see no reason to actively disapprove at the moment. Direct quote. How utterly terrifying is that?

“And remember!” Corinne shouts as she steps into the car. “The moment you hear anything!”

Chantale gives us—me—one last look before pulling away.

“That woman is scary,” Ming notes, trying to soothe Palm Tree as we stand on the sidewalk, watching them go. “But, like, in an elegant way that would make a striking sculpture, y’know?”

“Yup. Now, try dating her daughter.”

Three days into spring break and I officially, aggressively miss my girlfriend. It’s a surprising turn of events, all things considered. My schedule, which used to be packed from six a.m. to midnight, now feels luxurious and pointless, with huge chunks of time to wander around the city and think about what Corinne is doing across the ocean and six hours in the future.

After walking my dogs in the morning, I find myself listening to designer podcasts, refreshing my Columbia application, followed by my McGill application—albeit that one is more out of a weird curiosity more than a compulsion.

Corinne’s email updates are consistent, but she’s busy and probably doesn’t have time for lengthy exchanges, so I offer only short replies with maybe too much punctuation. That’s so cool!! That looks delicious!! LOL. I make sure to send her photos of Palm Tree in various states of adorableness. Palm Tree on the street, Palm Tree climbing up the stairs, Palm Tree snoring in my lap.

As it turns out, texting with your girlfriend is nothing like the mindless group chat memes with various people around school, which I’ve now mostly muted. (There are only so many times you can see SpongeBob SquarePants cluck like a chicken before it loses its luster.)

Ming does his best to make good on his promise to Corinne to look after me, but most of his free time is unexpectedly monopolized. Somewhere along the way, his mother realized that this was her baby boy’s last spring break in New York City—nay, America!—and booked the entire family for every exclusive cultural event she could find this week, from The Shed down in Hudson Yards to Symphony Space on the Upper West Side. Tonight, I believe it’s an annual John Lennon Tribute with Music Without Borders.