It’s been about three months since I’ve had the fortune to hang out with my friend Kira, which is not the longest we’ve gone by any stretch. We didn’t see each other for over ten years when I moved to Chicago with an ex-boyfriend and she moved to Florida with an ex-husband. Once the exes were out of our lives, we found our way back to each other in Boston, even if I didn’t live there full-time anymore. Since then we have occasionally gone months without hanging out, and that has never strained the bonds of our friendship. There are certain friends who are like that, and certain friendships that are not bothered or rested by time apart. We fall right back in perfect stride with them when we are lucky enough to meet again. That doesn’t mean I don’t miss Kira, especially during these difficult times, and so I’m going to recall some of our typical weekends together.
It begins with the drive. If I time it just right – and leave precisely between 12:30 and 1 pm – I can get into town just in time to snag one of the South End Visitor parking spots at the end of most of the side streets near the condo. Arriving by three o’clock lands me at the sweet spot for parking – because then I’m good for the weekend. If all else fails and there are no spots, I’ll bite the bullet and park in a garage. If snow is predicted I may do that as a precaution too. (I do not scrape snow off a car.) After unloading whatever I’ve brought from Albany (it’s so much easier to bring bulk staples like paper towels, toilet paper, and cleaning supplies from upstate New York than taking the T and spending city prices for that stuff) I have a few hours before Kira gets out of work, in which I’ll do some shopping, often for dinner provisions.
For a number of years we’d head out on that Friday night for a late-dinner after 9 PM – sometimes in the South End, many times in Chinatown – and then a nightcap somewhere to celebrate the arrival of the weekend. In the last few months we’ve eschewed going out on that first Friday, opting to stay in and have dinner at the condo. It’s nice to cook for Kira after she’s spent a full week at work – a couple of weeks ago I’d assembled a big charcuterie platter and sent her a photo of it before she was done for the day and she said it was the happiest thing she’d seen in a long time.
By the time she arrives, two or three ridiculously-stuffed and oversized Vera Bradley bags hanging off her shoulders, dinner is ready to be served. Maybe Billie Holiday is playing in the background, or Shirley Horn, or Celia Cruz – something for the evening that could be mellow and soothing or exhilarating in anticipatory delight. I’ll sip on a mocktail and once in a while I can convince her to sip on a glass of wine (she can nurse the same bottle for a couple of months since she barely drinks, even if that’s against the advice and practice of just about everyone who drinks wine). Lately we’ve both been doing the mocktail scene and it hasn’t changed much in our interactions. I’ve always felt safe and comforted in Kira’s presence; we take care of each other. That kind of safety and assurance is rare, and one of the many reasons I cherish our friendship.
It’s also fun. As I catch her scrolling through cleaning supplies on Amazon (who does that?) I gently poke fun at what she’s doing. “Oh, I get it!” I exclaim. “Cleaning supplies are like porn for you. Mr. Clean is your ultimate porn star!” She shakes her head at my nonsense, and I take a silly selfie before she’s ready and her earring is in.
Amid the soft glow of a few candles, we sit at the dining table and share a meal, looking out at Boston twinkling in the night. We will catch up on what the previous weeks or months have been like for each of us, and as disparate and different as our adventures may have been, we somehow intermingle our tales, and the roots of our friendship grow deeper. Dinner done, I’ll take a quick spa shower while Kira works on the dishes – her contribution since I cooked – and then we’ll switch, as she takes a spa shower and I finish the clean-up.
There – right there – is often the jewel of a moment that marks the happiest moment of the weekend. It’s a brief glint of promise and potential, a flash of quiet and contentment as I turn down the lights, blow out the candles and feel the ease of a full Saturday inch open in the midnight hour…
