The Titanic of Friendships

We met as teenagers. She was new to our church and my mother insisted I had to be friendly to her. Over time we bonded over our love of Disney World and ice skating. We shared the excitement of getting our driver’s licenses, first jobs, and new apartments, and the tears caused by boyfriends who came and went. She was my companion on countless vacations and a bridesmaid at my wedding.

Suddenly, after 15 years of friendship, something changed. We talked less often and she became always too busy to make plans. Finally, I asked if anything was wrong.

"No," She replied. "I just need to widen out."

There it was, the friendship equivalent of we should see other people. I was too stunned to respond and no further explanation was offered. Our friendship was DOA.

My husband didn’t understand. 

“Talk to her,” He said. “Maybe you can still patch things up.”

“She made her choice,” I replied. “I’m not going to beg her to continue being my friend. Obviously, our friendship didn’t mean as much to her as it did to me.”

He shrugged and left it at that.

My resentment lingered and my assumed reasons for our friendship’s demise piled on. She lost all that weight and decided she was now too good for me. She was jealous I was married and she wasn’t. 

I assaulted her character every chance I got.

“The name Ashley is going to be our generation’s Karen,” I informed my sister, referencing the name of my former best friend. 

My sister smiled knowingly and, like any good sister, willingly played along. “And they will all have the same straight, bleached blonde, shoulder-length haircut,” She said, “As they demand to speak to the manager.”

I smiled, grateful to have at least a built-in friend, even though my sister and I could hardly be more different. The eight-year age difference didn’t help, but as we got older the differences seemed less and less important.

Months continued to pass. When we would see each other, my former best friend and I would greet each other like casual acquaintances. Her father passed away and even writing a cursory text message to express my condolences proved painful.

Finding new friends at 30 wasn’t easy. Everyone wonders why you don’t already have friends and assumes there is something wrong with you. I couldn’t help but wonder the same thing.

“Why don’t you join a book club?” My mother suggested.

“Are those even still a thing?” I asked.

She shrugged and said, “Well, what about a pottery class? Or a cooking class.”

“I haven’t gotten that desperate yet,” I said as I rolled my eyes.

“Maybe your standards are too high.” She pointed out in a disapproving tone. “You know, if you had kids you could join a mommy and me classes.”

“Thank you Mom for that subtle hint.” Though if I was being honest the thought had crossed my mind.

“We’re not having kids so you can make friends,” was my husband's answer when I brought up the idea. “Why do you even need a best friend? You already have me.”

“It’s nice to have another woman to talk to,” I explained as I emptied the dishwasher.

“And when you say talk to, you actually mean complain about me, right?” He asked. “Isn’t that what your mother is for?”

“I never complain about you,” I argued, but as I thought about it, in the past, I did have a tendency to complain about him a bit more than I should have. That couldn’t have been easy for someone to listen to all the time.

He came up behind me, put his arms around my waist, and said gently, “Maybe you can take this time to focus on getting to know yourself.”

His suggestion made me stop and think. As a kid, I didn’t mind being alone. I was perfectly happy to play by myself. I hardly noticed when my brother turned nine and decided he was too cool to play with his little sister anymore. 

When did I start thinking I needed a best friend? I guess it was about the time Ashley appeared in my life. When I was a lonely teenager. She filled a hole and I assumed that hole still existed. But did it? 

I decided to find out. I started shopping alone, going for walks alone, and I even took myself to the movies alone. I discovered I enjoyed not having to worry about where the other person wanted to eat or what they wanted to do. I began to savor my alone time. 

I was sitting enjoying coffee alone at my favorite cafe when she walked in the door. Dressed in a green cardigan set, khaki-colored capris, and a Vera Bradley bag over her shoulder. She ordered a large skinny latte to go. 

I wavered between sinking low in my chair and hiding, or waving to get her attention.

Years earlier, I would’ve been mortified if someone caught me sitting in a cafe all by myself. Now it felt like a power move and I sat up straighter.

The words that ended our friendship played over and over in my mind. The petty part of me noticed she was alone too. Where were all her new fabulous friends?

I sighed at my immaturity and focused my attention back on my book. As she got her coffee and turned to leave, she noticed me but quickly flicked her head back down toward her coffee and kept going. I felt my anger toward her dissipate as she walked out the door. I realized she had been right. We had outgrown each other. We were no longer the teenage girls we once were. She gave me a gift by having the courage to move on. Maybe one day we’d rediscover each other but for now, I was happy. As I sat there in that cafe I thought of all the people I had in my life who made me happy and was surprised to note that I made the list.