MWF Seeking BFF (13 page)

Also like my first date with Margot, the evening lasts more than three hours. Everyone hits it off, and at the end of the night I can tell Matt enjoyed himself. I love it when he gets all fired up, and he was good and chatty this evening. Matt’s always a people person, but I can tell he is extra well-behaved for my potential best friend. He wants me to find a match nearly as much as I do.

Matt and Daniel may not become independent friends, but that’s fine as long as they get along. Matt and I have plenty of couple-friends where, as a group, we work, but the other wife and I don’t have strong individual relationships. It’s bound to happen. When you meet in the context of the two of us getting along with the two of you, it can be tough to extract a one-on-one friendship.

It would be great, however, if Margot and I could be besties and the four of us could do dinners every now and then. Studies show that couples with couple-friends have happier and longer relationships—spending time in a foursome forces you to talk about issues other than the mundane logistics of your day-to-day life. Happy and long are two adjectives I’d really like to describe my marriage down the road.

Experts say couple-friends are harder to make than the girl-on-girl kind. After all, to become best friends only two
people have to hit it off. To become couple-friends, you need four people on board. As psychologist Judith Sills told
Ladies’ Home Journal
, “Good friendships are a rare phenomena in any case. Good couple friendships are a rare phenomena squared.”

The next morning I get a text from Margot, “We had such a great time. Need to do this again soon.” Swoon.

One good follow-up isn’t enough. This weekend I’m doubling my efforts, though the more aggressive I get about this search, the louder I hear the voices of the detractors in my head. You see, for all the personal positive feedback I got from my essay—the invitations to dinner and notes of “I’ve been there”—there were an equal number of anonymous comments from people who think looking for friends is the exact wrong way to find them. “You can’t go look for a new best friend. Best friends just happen,” one wrote. “This is your classic story of a stalker case,” said another.

The perception is that being proactive about making friends is inauthentic. That you aren’t going to meet your true BFF unless it happens organically. And of course it’s fantastic when a friendship “just happens.” Callie just happened. Sara just happened. I figured that’s what would go down when I moved to Chicago. But it’s also great when romance just happens, and yet there are millions of people online dating, or speed dating, or going to singles mixers because they know what they want and are going after it. You’ve got to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince, right? Or in my case, princess.

I’m continuing, full steam ahead, but can’t help wondering if these girls I’m emailing are reading my propositions of a follow-up brunch or movie or dinner and thinking, “This is your classic story of a stalker case.”

There’s no time to worry about that now. After Friday
night’s double date, I have Sunday morning brunch plans with Hilary. I should be excited, given how much I enjoyed our first meeting, but planning this date has been such a hassle that I’ve lost all enthusiasm. After she declined the movie last week, I suggested grabbing a bite sometime. In response, she wrote, “I would say brunch would work next Saturday, but I have my long run. Sunday would normally work, but I’m trying not to overcommit myself for once and already have a run with a friend visiting from NYC, yoga, and dinner plans.”

I responded that it sounds like she’s swamped on weekends, how about a night next week? To which she told me that if I wanted to try out her yoga studio, she could maybe go with me and maybe get dinner with me.

I decided to give up. It seemed that unless I wanted to run with her, or plan my life around her workout schedule, a two-way friendship wasn’t in our future. The whole situation frustrated me. Who writes “
If
you will try out
my
yoga class, then
maybe
I’ll be able to hang out with you”? I’m happy to make the first, second, third move, but I’m not okay with feeling as if my schedule is irrelevant. And yes, I like to run and do yoga, but the gym is my morning routine—I do it early to get it out of the way—and I’m not the marathon runner that she is. I couldn’t keep up even if I wanted to, and, to be honest, I
don’t
want to.

After I got the last note I was sulking around the apartment, frustrated with this follow-up attempt. “I’m not going to chase her around town,” I told Matt.

“You shouldn’t,” he assured me.

“I’m just going to email her something about how I know training is a priority for her right now, and I’d love to get together when her schedule clears up. Is that okay to say? I’m just not going to suggest a date or a time anymore.”

Matt laughed at me. “You realize you’re planning a breakup speech, right? You’ve only met the girl once.”

Huh. “Sounds like your schedule is too busy for me.” “We have different priorities right now.” Those
are
some classic get-out-of-jail-free lines.

As if on cue, an email popped into my inbox. Hilary changed her Sunday night dinner plans to brunch ones, could I join? I was still soured by the I’ll-meet-you-on-my-own-terms exchange, but agreed nonetheless. I adored her when we met, I reminded myself. Just go eat an omelet.

So Sunday morning, tired and not at all in the friending mood, I drag myself out of bed, pull on my comfy leggings, and meet Hilary at a brunch spot near her apartment. Her friend canceled so it’s just the two of us and nothing’s changed. We still click. Once again, I leave feeling much sweeter on her than I did when I arrived. Maybe she’s one of those friends who is a total pain to make plans with but is awesome when you’re together. Is the work worth the payoff? We shall see.

FRIEND-DATE 14.
My second want-ad response date is with Kaitlin, who in her email explained that while she’s in the same boat as I, her journey to the BFF search was different. “Many of my friends have married or moved away and now I literally have one best friend who is a gay male. While he is great for emotional support, whenever we go out people assume we are together as a couple instead of seeing me as a possible candidate (I am single) and, honestly, there are some days when a female simply needs another female’s company.”

It’s been fascinating to read how each potential friend found herself in the BFF market. Some, like me, have recently moved—for love, for work, for school. Others have lived in Chicago forever, but their friends have all shipped off to the
suburbs with spouses and babies. One girl travels for work so hasn’t had the opportunity to make more than surface friendships. Another, a new mom—of twins!—is suddenly looking for someone to have exchanges with in a language other than baby talk, but isn’t into the Mommy-and-Me scene. And perhaps the funniest—or saddest?—part of all is that even though my essay clearly states I’m searching for friends, that I plan to take on the world one potential BFF at a time, the women who email still couch their notes in caveats. “This is not something I would normally do.” “I feel weird writing this email.” “I know this sounds cheesy but …” “I’m not psycho!”

Once upon a time—or a few months ago—I, too, felt the need to add a disclaimer to my invitations. The unfortunate truth is that we live in a society that’s not only suspicious of people who declare they’re looking for friends, but thinks friendliness in general must be qualified. We’re worried that an overt show of camaraderie will be taken the wrong way. Fourteen weeks in, I’ve found that friendship advances are generally received positively, but as the asker we worry we’re imposing. The last person we want to be is
that girl.

Remember back in the day, when we’d knock on neighbors’ doors to see if Betsy could come out to play or if Sharon had a moment for a cup of coffee? Those days are long over. Unannounced guests were once considered gracious; today they’re a nuisance. I can’t help but think of
A Streetcar Named Desire
’s Blanche DuBois, how she “always depended on the kindness of strangers,” and wonder how she’d fare in today’s world. Although, I guess that didn’t work out too well for her in 1947, either.

When I arrive at the Asian restaurant Kaitlin has suggested, I’m totally frazzled. I drove to dinner from work and am running late. I couldn’t find parking, so eventually gave up and
settled for a spot in a paid lot, then had to walk a block in the lovely April showers, sans umbrella. When I sit down at the table I’m feeling guilty about being late and spewing out small talk without coming up for air while simultaneously struggling to dry off, catch my breath, order a drink, and take off my coat. This often happens when my timeline gets thrown off, especially when it’s by my own doing. I turn into Grace Adler, TV’s most lovable—or annoying, depending on who you are—neurotic. Though now that I think about it, perhaps that’s not just when I’m late. More than one person has told me I remind them of the kooky redhead.

Kaitlin seems the exact opposite of Grace, other than the gay best friend part, but appears amused enough at my crazy. She has short brown hair with an edgy uneven cut and is wearing big hoop earrings and clogs. She appears unusually calm, not even flinching as I barrel into the restaurant and try to get my bearings. I get the sense that she’s artsy, but not intimidatingly so. When I’m finally settled, white wine in hand, she says, “How many of these meetings have you had?”

I note her choice of words. “You make it sound like an interview,” I say.

Kaitlin shrugs, as if to say, “Well, isn’t it?” Given how this date came about, we’re both acutely aware that we’re sizing each other up, looking to see if there’s a bestfriendship at the end of the rainbow. The same was true of my lunch with Jodie. With the shared emphasis on friendship comes the added pressure of “Are you The One?”

Psychologists say that within ten minutes of meeting a person, you decide what kind of relationship you hope to have. Ten minutes in, I don’t think Kaitlin and I are going to be best friends. This is different than judging. I didn’t know at the outset that we weren’t going to click. There was nothing
to indicate as much in the emails. But with some people there is easy conversation and not enough time in one meal to get out everything you want to tell her—all the things you didn’t know you’d been holding in until you’re suddenly confessing to Facebook-stalking ex-boyfriends and how nerdy you are for coveting the iPad—and with others there is that subtle but heavy weight of constantly trying to think of what you might say next to avoid an uncomfortable silence.

What Kaitlin and I have in common is work. She’s a graphic designer, I’m a writer, and we’ve both just started blogs, so we have an interesting discussion about the intersection of social media and creativity. While I don’t think we’ll be best friends, she might make a good “let’s do artistic things together” friend. People who fill specific roles—a yoga or cooking pal, someone who’ll join me when a fascinating speaker is in town or a documentary about musicals comes out—are important. According to Dunbar, I had twenty friendship openings when I started this project. I am not going to make twenty new BFFs. I probably won’t even make twenty close friends. But remember the tiered friendships? Like the food pyramid, they ascend from acquaintances to casual friends to close ones to lifers. I’m building acquaintances in abundance. Perhaps Kaitlin and I will be casual friends, to be called upon when there’s a blogging workshop in town. Or something.

As we exit the restaurant, there’s that brief moment on the street where it’s unclear what form this farewell will take. So I, always one to make an awkward moment more so, say “I’m going to give you a hug.” Had I hugged her without announcing my intentions, I might cringe less in retelling this story. But I said it. And she said, “Oh okay … we’re doing this.” And there was a hug. A painful one.

The next day I get an email that Kaitlin is “willing to get together again.” Gee, thanks. Maybe she wasn’t so amused by my neuroticism, er, I mean
enthusiasm
, after all.

Keeping in touch with old friends is as important as making new ones, so I recently made plans to get together with an old friend and his boyfriend. Kevin and Patrick live near my office and accompanied me to an opening weekend showing of
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
, but I hardly ever see them due to conflicting schedules. Matt and I were supposed to go to their apartment, eat bruschetta and meat loaf (an unusual combination, yes, but when someone’s cooking for me I don’t complain), and play some Wii tennis. Sounds like an ideal evening. But on the eve of our date I get a Facebook message that Patrick has a tennis match (the real-life, not video-game, kind) and is it cool if we reschedule?

All I could think to say was, “Thank you.”

As I get further along on this journey, I get busier and busier. I’ve taken it upon myself to follow the four steps to lasting friendship—self-disclosure, supportiveness, interaction, and positivity—with the ladies I’m most interested in. I’ve been especially heavy on the interaction. Without it, the others are impossible. So while I’d love to have a casual night with Kevin and Patrick, I feel as if they’ve given me the overscheduled’s equivalent of a gorgeous Balenciaga bag—a night of nothing to do.