I visited my friend’s apartment this week for the first time, her first place on her own. I had accumulated these little gifts to give her, including an extra pair of shoes I’d been sent, for free, (Soul sisters and sole sisters; we’re the same size), and a Matisse cutout that had hung in my old apartment in Wiliamsburg, where we both lived prior, before she moved West and I realized, in a cold, hard NYC winter, that felt like a really good idea, too, to live in LA. I followed six months later.
When I saw the Matisse print in my closet it automatically felt like hers, and I remembered I hadn’t yet been to her place, so I invited myself over. She received the invite and was happy to have me and offered to cook dinner; it was salmon and Japanese sweet potatoes and salad and perfect, and I brought a bottle of wine to toast with because, while neither of us drink much (California sober. as they say), it felt right and special for that Tuesday night, like a ritual. She asked me about life and listened, and the way she listens feels like such a gift, to be received that way, she is always present and patient, sharing insight and responses in the right way at the right moments.). She shared that she’d received a raise, and she hadn’t even asked for it, and we celebrated that. Close friendship is like that, all of that.