Soul Sista

Sometimes, even though we live far away, I'll send her a message and ask her to come over. I imagine we have wine in the afternoon or a nap in the sun or watch a movie in our pajamas. She is the first friend I ever loved. Sometimes when we talk about our babies or new recipes or the housing market, I forget how long I've known her. I forget that we would walk to the convenience store in our flip flops and tank tops to buy Clearly Canadians and Red Hot Dollars with her Dad's money. We thought we were very cool and grown up, even though we were just kids. But mostly we just loved being together and laughing our heads off. She is beautiful like a movie star. But most days I forget how pretty she is because I love her in so many other ways that all I can see is her radiant insides.

One night, more than a dozen years ago, we meet at her apartment in the city on a Friday night over spring break. We are nineteen years old. I cannot bear to tell her over the phone that I am pregnant. I don't know it at the time, but she has planned a night out for us with some of her college friends. First we have dinner alone. Over her feast, I tell her. She stops suddenly and looks deep into my eyes for several seconds. It is silent. Lifetimes pass between us. We had plans. We had wild days and dreams ahead. Her eyes fill with tears, so do mine. I look away because I cannot stand to witness what she is realizing about all the ways our friendship and my future will change. She lunges across the table and throws her arms around me. She says something kind about her two favorite people making a beautiful baby. Sweat drips down my back in relief. We laugh at the idea of her plans to play beer pong later. We sit on the couch for the rest of the night. The way good friends do. These are the ways life is made real.

Our husbands are brothers and our children are now cousins and I think that is just the greatest twist of fate in all of time. And when I see her it's among family and holidays and chaos. But sometimes we find ourselves in a corner of the room roaring with laughter like teenagers about a joke that no one else understands. Tears flow and my stomach aches because she makes me remember that dumb things are the funniest and that being yourself is easy.

Sometimes when we talk, I say the "F" word for no reason and she doesn't even notice. And we don't need to prove how smart we are or who breastfed the longest or who read the most about current events. Because just showing up and being together is enough. Because we loved each other first, before anything else mattered.

Life is serious now and the responsibilities pile miles high. But it's hard to pay attention to all that when she's around. Because we really just want to eat oversized meatball subs and Boston Cream donuts and binge drink on cheap beer. But we don't, because we're all grown up. But not really.