The 10-Hour Brunch

Maybe the tires weren’t actually screeching out of the driveway, but they felt that way when I got in the car by myself (what, now?) to make the drive to Brooklyn.

It was just a Saturday brunch, for a few hours maybe. But it was long-planned. And canceled. And rescheduled. And highly anticipated.

It was a 30 mile drive but it was light years away in some respects. With music of my own choosing on the radio. With no questions coming from the back seat. With no diaper bag required.

One inevitable traffic jam and miraculous parallel parking job later, there they were. Surrounded by cheese plates and cappuccinos and mimosas and five million memories, sat three of my oldest friends.

The four of us live within a two-hour radius of each other, but it had been three years since we’d all gotten together. In that time, of course things changed for all of us in some respects. Kids got older. Parents got older. Jobs evolved. There were huge milestones and sad setbacks and then the buzz of busy, everyday life that kept us from gathering in the same room for three years. Calendars and conflicts, big and small.

It should come as no surprise to me, some three decades after meeting these women, that we are always able to pick up exactly where we left off. Exactly in the same rhythm. Deep down, I guess I wondered if it would still be that way on this particular meeting, only because the span had been so long between rounds.

It took about 20 seconds for me to realize it was, indeed, the same. It took another half second to know that it would always, always be the same. In the best possible way.

If you’ve never seen old friends surrounded by cheese plates and cappuccinos and mimosas and memories, let me tell you that it is intense and hilarious and freeing and nostalgic all at once. After a few hours, we moved from one table to another in the apartment, from cheese plates to brunch, glasses happily refilled several times over. Some hours after that, when day had moved to night and the promise of an afternoon meal was quickly evolving to dinner, we happily picked up phones and placed the necessary calls and texts back home to say it wouldn’t be so quick, after all. I can’t say my husband was remotely surprised.

In the cold night air on a Saturday in Brooklyn, there was an energy that comes only from being out with people you’ve known for decades. It’s not the same energy as that of young kids playing at home or stalling their bedtime. It’s distinctly different because it allows you to think back to a very different part of your life that only these people can understand. These are the people who knew who you were before you had kids and drove a minivan and listened to knock-knock jokes. And they let a part of you come out, even for a night, to reminisce and hold dear the reasons why you still know each other.

And so our brunch became a ten-hour visit. Ten hours. And we still didn’t cover everything. We still felt like we needed more time.

As I left my dreamy parking spot and my dreamy afternoon-turned-into-night and drove back home, I knew it would be a while before we saw each other again. We pledged next January and I hope it happens.

These ladies fuel my soul in a way I know most of you understand. I know you have your Jennie, Suzanne and Samantha equivalents. I know they know everything about you. I know you know what it feels like to laugh all day from such a place of familiarity and shared history. And I know you miss them and wish those meet-ups could be more often. If you have these girlfriends, put your next get-together on the calendar and move your everyday mountains to be there.

I’m so glad I did.



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  1. Whitney says:

    OMG…..look at the four of you. amazing, so glad you had your day…..

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