My best friend came over, just like she used to. She brought her baby to hang out with my baby, this part is new.
We sat on my bed as we tend to and talked just like we always do. We propped her 3 month old up just far enough from the reach of my 7 month old so that she couldn’t poke his eyes out with a gesture intended as loving. We planned their destination wedding in 2037. He’ll be wearing sandals and she’ll be hyphenating her name. Save the date.
We listened to mixed tapes made during my most angst-ridden years. The Wallflowers (for when you’re mad at your dad) and the Sundays (for when you feel lonely) and some Lauryn Hill (for when damning the man) with Lisa Loeb (for when you wish you wore glasses).
We read letters aloud that were written during the summer she was forced into exile (or at least that’s how we saw it then) by a mom who was doing some seriously good parenting (that’s how I see it now).
The letters contained names of people we can’t remember but who seemed really important at the time. Who the hell is Kevin and HOW DARE HE!? And what did this Caitlin do to make Jess so angry? She better watch her back.
The letters were full of what I consider to be the language of truckers, not the words of fresh faced country kids. Favorite curse words included ‘bitch’, ‘whore’ and ‘bullshit.’ And after that tirade Jess signed each dispatch ‘God Bless.’ Simultaneously going through the ‘angry and mean’ phase while dabbling in ‘devout and faithful.’