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My relationship with Sam is as old as my relationship with New York City. Somewhere on my phone there exists a photo of us posing on the stoop of our old Harlem apartment on 113th and Lenox. That place was our first anchor in a city that boasted endless possibility and dreams. It was our landing pad, far flung from the rural Midwestern upbringing that marked our respective girlhoods. It was a space where we laughed, cried, cooked, ate, drank, dreamt, and worked. There was the creaking floor, the laundromat down the block, the Masjid next door, Central Park North and...

I’ll never forget the first time I met Rachel. It was the Spring of 2017 and we both were accompanying our respective partners, members of the tight knit agave spirits world, to Candelaria Yegole, a remote village nestled in the Oaxacan countryside that also happened to be the home of the late Don Aquilino, a renowned mezcal maestro.  After meeting in the center of town, the four of us crammed into the Jeep of Rachel’s partner. I gripped my seatbelt as he expertly hugged the rugged roads through each and every hairpin turn on the side of the mountain. When...