Eighteen days since R and I parted ways, she moving in with her boyfriend and me striking out on my own in homeownership. With dueling schedules, I don't know that we've seen each other since. She invited me - or, I invited myself, I'm not sure - over for dinner tonight, breaking up the week in the most lovely way.
R, for all her virtues, wouldn't consider herself a cook. But tonight she really shone, delivering a delicious dinner of steamed asparagus, corn, and a pasta dish with tomatoes, goat cheese, and basil. Her POSSLQ, I must add, who is also my friend, kicked off the dinner with a spicy recipe of steamed shrimp with a homemade more-than-just-cocktail sauce. The meal was delicious, but more so, I was excited to spend time catching up.
Before I moved back to Baltimore, I'd lived on my own since I left college. We had a rough start living together, but our friendship, started as sophomore year roommates in the dormer in college, really morphed into a sisterly bond. I'm very happy in my new place, and there are lot of things going on to keep me completely distracted. But I really miss the intimacy that comes out of living with another woman, sharing a bathroom and getting dressed together and judging each other's outfits and understanding each other's moods. As I move into my 28th year, I bet that won't be an experience I ever share again. Luckily, I have the fondest memories to go on.
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