MWF Seeking BFF (17 page)

After about twenty minutes, Hilary comes out and I’m led into the fortune-reading “room,” which is actually just the washer-dryer closet.

“Do you want me to tell you whatever I see, whether it is good or bad?”

“Yes, please.” My voice is shaky in the same way it gets when I’m in job interviews. I have no idea why I’m nervous.

She tells me to think of two wishes. I should tell her one of them and keep the other to myself.

“Okay, tell me your wish.”

“Um, I’d like to have two healthy children.”

I tell her the healthy kids line because I figured it’s generic, and I don’t want to give away too much. This is a test. She’s going to need to prove her psychic abilities with as little help from me as possible. The other wish was to succeed in my friend-quest, but she doesn’t need to know about that. Unless she sees it, of course.

After the first round of cards, she begins her assessment. “I see long and healthy life for you. You have good, kind heart. Good person.” Yeah, yeah. Get to the good stuff.

“But, I see … When did you have your loss of relationship?”

“Like, any relationship?” Damn, that was a giveaway.

“Yes.”

“Well, my dad died close to four years ago.” Rationally, I know that everyone’s had some loss of relationship in her life, but still, it seems kind of freaky.

“Yes, I see inner turmoil for you. Something you have not made peace with yet. But you will this year. You must. You must let the past go.”

She flips the next round of cards.

“I see three children.”

“Three?”

“Yes. And I see a financial investment in the next, oh, five to seven years. This will be a good year for you, though. You will make peace with the demons inside you that are keeping you from being totally happy. You need to work on your self-confidence, because it is your inner demons, not any outer ones, that are keeping you from having success even sooner.” What are my inner demons? Insecurity? BFFlessness? As much as I want to call BS on everything she’s saying, I do need to work on my self-confidence. Fear of appearing needy and annoying is the single biggest obstacle I face in this year of friending. I wonder about the internal monsters that are keeping me from total happiness. She very well might use that line on all her clients, but could she be onto something? The inner demons keeping me from pure happiness are probably loneliness. Is this some sort of “become best friends with yourself and best friends will appear” law of attraction nonsense? I’m not so much into the New Age movement, but it’s something to think about.

“Your inner demons can be worked out,” she says. “Also, I
see that you could really benefit from my three-pronged reading next time—palm, tarot, and crystals. It is sixty-five dollars.” Sure it is.

Hilary and I did some real bonding at the fortune-teller’s, but she’s not the only one who’s extended an invitation recently. Jen hosted Alison and me for a TV night. Hannah asked me to dinner. Ellen followed up and we got pizza a week after we met. Margot and I ate sushi. Lacey sent me an Evite to her girlfriend’s house-warming party. I feel like reciprocity is finally kicking in and my boatload of acquaintances are turning into friends. It’s only May, and I’m on track to becoming the most popular girl in the Midwest.

FRIEND-DATE 19.
Last month, a cousin sent me an article from the Jewish United Fund newspaper. The story was called “A Different Kind of Exodus,” about the writer’s best friend who had recently moved. The author, Pam, said she wished she could “recruit for a new best friend in town.” Sounds familiar.

I’d been so encouraged by the response to my own essay that I decided to send this Pam a note. “I really liked your article and have been going through the same thing myself. I was wondering if you might want to grab a drink sometime?”

Pam replied, asking if she could publish my email in the letters to the editor. No response to the request for plans.

I tried again. “I was serious about grabbing a drink … I couldn’t fill Jessica’s size eleven shoe, but I love Cubs games and
This Is It.
” The baseball team and Michael Jackson documentary were both on the short list of Pam’s best friend requirements.

This time, she responded to the matter at hand. “I have a tough time getting asked out by guys but I’m happy that at least a girl asked me out.

We’re meeting at Orange, a brunch spot popular for its frushi—fruit sushi. Or, really, fruit wrapped in sweet rice. I think it’s kind of gross but most Chicagoans love it. I’m interested in seeing if Pam and I hit it off. Her article also called for someone who will join her at Friday Night Shabbat services, which is to say, not me.

I’ve always classified myself as culturally Jewish. Gathering the family for the Passover Seder is important to me, though actually attending temple—even for the high holidays—is not. I had a bat mitzvah and got married under a chuppah. I went to a private high school in New York City and summer camp in Maine, both Meccas for teenage Jews. My sorority was considered “the Jewish one” though we had no actual religious affiliation. I grew up surrounded by Jews, so, until this year, they’re who I flocked to. I didn’t seek them out, but we usually bonded over a common upbringing.

That said, I don’t think I could be less religious. I’d argue that Matt, my atheist husband, is more religious than I—at least he’s interested in it. He reads about religion and ponders over it. He meets with religious leaders and thinkers to debate about God. But not me. I treat my Judaism like the pile of clothes in the back of my closet that needs to be hand-washed. I know it’s there, but I don’t deal with it. I’d rather just push it aside and forget for a while. I pull it out at Passover when the family comes in town for Seder, or when I’m invited to a Yom Kippur break fast (I don’t actually do the fasting part, or even go to temple, so for me it’s more about bringing wine and getting kugel and bagels for dinner). I imagine when it’s time to have kids Matt and I will have to sit down and have a conversation about bar mitzvahs and temple, but we’ve got some time.

No matter how little my interest in religion, however, I
can’t ignore it as it relates to my current quest. One of the most popular suggestions I hear from people when I mention my best friend search is to join a religious group. A friend of my mother-in-law told me she made all her closest friends when she first moved to Boston by joining a temple. My co-worker Ashley said her Chicago BFFs are the ones she met in Bible study after college graduation. Commenters on my online essay said women’s church groups were their go-to meeting spot.

Harvard psychiatrist George Vaillant once gave a speech in which he discussed the duration of different organizations. “Today, the average lifespan of a Fortune 500 company is forty years,” he said. “There are very few dynasties, and actually very few nations, that are more than three hundred years old. All of the world’s greatest religions share two things in common: They’ve all endured for at least fourteen hundred years and, unlike dynasties and corporations, they’re all based on love and compassion.” Of course, this is only one way to look at religion. Because while, yes, it has been the most enduring uniter in human history, some would argue it’s also been the greatest divider.

While religion isn’t going anywhere, there are an increasing number of young people who, like me, aren’t so into it. A 2007 survey of Protestants aged 18–30 found that 25 percent of them had dropped out of the church entirely. Another survey found that respondents cite places like bars and Starbucks as better meeting places than church. I’m confident that I’d get to know people if I joined a women’s or young adult group at a nearby temple, but I feel like it would be under false pretenses. I’d be implying that I have certain values that I don’t, which feels a bit sneaky.

I figure I can feel it out at lunch. Pam’s the managing editor of the
JUF News
, so she’s probably pretty knowledgeable about the local community.

When I arrive, Pam is already seated. She has wavy, shoulder-length reddish-brown hair, silver dangly earrings, and is flipping through a self-help book.

“I’m on a self-improvement kick,” she says immediately, as if to make excuses for the reading material.

After talk about work and Northwestern (she graduated four years ahead of me), Pam mentions that if I’m really eager to meet new people, the JUF has lots of social events for young Jews in the city.

“There’s a program called LEADS, where groups in different neighborhoods get together once a week to discuss Jewish issues. Then you all meet at a bar afterward for happy hour.”

“I’m not really that religious, though. Do you think that would be weird? I wouldn’t have much to discuss in the way of Jewishness.”

“Oh, that’s fine. Most people are there for the happy hour,” she says. I’m still a bit skeptical—there are plenty of happy hours they could attend without having to do the discussion group first, or pay the sixty dollars, but I’ll probably try it out. If one of the ultimate goals of religion is to bring people together, and my whole year is dedicated to connecting, I have to at least give it a whirl. LEADS doesn’t start until October, so I have some time to get used to the idea.

Pam’s a real sweetheart. She’s a nurturer, I can tell, and is extremely interested in suggesting the perfect place for me to meet my new best friend, if not so interested in becoming the BFF herself. I think her essay was more an ode to Jessica than it was actually an attempt to find her replacement.

As my dates continue to rack up, it’s getting increasingly difficult to plan follow-ups less than two weeks out. At the end of our dinner a few weeks ago, Lacey and I sat with our calendars trying to figure out a night for our two couples to try the new pasta place in my neighborhood. We came up empty. It wasn’t just my schedule that was difficult—her girlfriend works for the Cubs and has to attend all of the night games—but it was a good reminder that it’s going to be hard to turn these women into my best friends if they think I’m as hard to make plans with as I thought Hilary was. Part of the problem is that I’m doing all the follow-ups one-on-one. It’s time to make this more efficient. Why not invite a few new friends over for a dinner party? Or take some ladies out for girls’ night drinks? The women who responded to my essay are all looking to meet people, so they’d probably be interested. And I’ve definitely had moments on these dates where I’ve envisioned friend setups.
I bet Kaitlin would really like Amanda. Lacey and Ellen would be a great fit.
I could be the connector, rather than the connectee.

The tables are turning.

I’m up against the first test of my search’s success. It’s Friday night and Matt is in Boston for the weekend helping his mother move. When all this started, I said I was looking for a friend to call on a weekend when I’m alone and want a partner in crime. Well, it’s the weekend, I’m alone, and I surely need a Thelma to my Louise. I scroll through my mental rolodex of new friends. Hilary. Hannah. Alison. Margot. Kim. Jillian. I get out my phone and dial.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Can I come over tonight? I need someone to hang out with, Matt’s away.”

My mother is thrilled. She loves nothing more than to eat dinner and watch TV with me. “I have
Survivor
and
Private Practice
on the DVR,” she assures me.

“Awesome. Nothing like raging on a Friday night with mom.” I’m feeling sorry for myself—wallowing in the self-pity of someone who’s been on nearly twenty girl-dates with apparently nothing to show for it—but my mother doesn’t offend easily.

“Why don’t you call one of your new friends? See what they’re doing?”

“I just don’t think I’m there yet with any of them.”

“Hilary?”

“She’s out of town.”

“Hannah?”

“She has so many friends, I’m sure she has plans. We don’t do last-minute calls. And I have lunch plans with Jillian tomorrow, so it would be a bit aggressive to call her tonight, too. I’ve got a million supposed new friends, and still no one to call.” Then it hits me. “I don’t even have their numbers!”