nightmare, but whatever. She’s only here for the day.
“You need to get it,” Chloe tells me about a gray cotton vest with a shimmery trim.
“Really? It doesn’t make me look like Charlie Chaplin?”
“No! If it doesn’t feel girly enough, pair it with skinny jeans and heels.” I never wear skinny jeans and heels.
“Okay. But if you come back in a year and I’ve never worn it, I’m giving it to you,” I say.
“Deal.”
We go through a few more rounds like this. When we get home, I’ve got a new cable-knit sweater, a plaid button-up shirt, a little black dress, and the vest in question.
“I had so much fun,” Chloe says as she packs her suitcase full of purchases. “I’ll keep you posted about the job.”
“Please do,” I say. We hug goodbye. “Our second bedroom is always ready for you.”
Matt’s in the office, so after Chloe leaves I plop on the couch to check in with my DVR. I think about her visit, about how purely happy I was, and how I don’t have that relationship with any girl in Chicago. The potential for how happy I
could
be, versus how happy I
am
, is clear for the first time. Which is weird because I’ve had friends visit before without these kinds of epiphanies. Only five weeks in and this project has me all hyped up on friendship. It’s worse (er, better?) than crack.
I’m not
un
happy in Chicago, it’s just this idea that I could be so much happier. For the first time in two and a half years, I wonder if Matt and I could have made it work in New York, if he really would have been as miserable as he thought, and what life would have been like to have him and my best friends all in one place. I picture us living in Brooklyn, inviting Callie and Sara over to watch the Golden Globes or eat Thai food. I don’t want to even think it, but I wonder, could we have made a mistake?
It’s a moot point. We’re here, and we love this city. It’s not like I didn’t want to move to Chicago. I was the one who pushed for it because it was the one place we both wanted to be. But still, I wonder.
When I wake up beside Matt the next morning, the questions are lingering. Will I ever find the pure giddiness I felt with Chloe with someone nearby? Will there ever be a time when I feel like nothing is missing? In New York, Matt’s absence left a deep void. Here, the hole that should be filled with friendships is a bit shallower, but it’s there, like a manhole you don’t notice until you’ve fallen and are knee-deep in sewage.
“What are you thinking about?” Matt asks.
“Just Chloe’s visit.”
“What about it?”
“Just that I was so happy, it was so fun, and I never have that here. I was just, you know, wondering, if—even though I know we didn’t—if we maybe made a mistake when we moved here.” The minute the words are out of my mouth I regret them. This will turn into a fight.
“You think we made a mistake?” he asks. “I’m sorry, I thought we were happy. We love Chicago, we love each other, we have an amazing life. Then your friend comes for one day and you think we made a
mistake
?” Oh, no. Now
this
, this was a mistake. “I don’t have that many best friends here either, Rachel. But I don’t let that make me question my entire life here. I have
you.
”
What Matt’s saying is actually quite kind. That I make him happy, that all he needs in life is me. Or something like that.
“Of course I’m happy with you. I was just thinking, I don’t know. That I miss having them …” There’s no easy way for me to articulate my feelings, mostly because I know Matt can’t understand them. A man’s well-being isn’t as dependent on friendships as is a woman’s, and his needs really are different. Psychologists say that women have face-to-face friendships, while the male kind are characterized as side-to-side. Womenlike to engage in conversation, men like to bond over an activity. It’s not that novel a discovery. Anyone who’s seen men sit and watch the
“You need to get it,” Chloe tells me about a gray cotton vest with a shimmery trim.
“Really? It doesn’t make me look like Charlie Chaplin?”
“No! If it doesn’t feel girly enough, pair it with skinny jeans and heels.” I never wear skinny jeans and heels.
“Okay. But if you come back in a year and I’ve never worn it, I’m giving it to you,” I say.
“Deal.”
We go through a few more rounds like this. When we get home, I’ve got a new cable-knit sweater, a plaid button-up shirt, a little black dress, and the vest in question.
“I had so much fun,” Chloe says as she packs her suitcase full of purchases. “I’ll keep you posted about the job.”
“Please do,” I say. We hug goodbye. “Our second bedroom is always ready for you.”
Matt’s in the office, so after Chloe leaves I plop on the couch to check in with my DVR. I think about her visit, about how purely happy I was, and how I don’t have that relationship with any girl in Chicago. The potential for how happy I
could
be, versus how happy I
am
, is clear for the first time. Which is weird because I’ve had friends visit before without these kinds of epiphanies. Only five weeks in and this project has me all hyped up on friendship. It’s worse (er, better?) than crack.
I’m not
un
happy in Chicago, it’s just this idea that I could be so much happier. For the first time in two and a half years, I wonder if Matt and I could have made it work in New York, if he really would have been as miserable as he thought, and what life would have been like to have him and my best friends all in one place. I picture us living in Brooklyn, inviting Callie and Sara over to watch the Golden Globes or eat Thai food. I don’t want to even think it, but I wonder, could we have made a mistake?
It’s a moot point. We’re here, and we love this city. It’s not like I didn’t want to move to Chicago. I was the one who pushed for it because it was the one place we both wanted to be. But still, I wonder.
When I wake up beside Matt the next morning, the questions are lingering. Will I ever find the pure giddiness I felt with Chloe with someone nearby? Will there ever be a time when I feel like nothing is missing? In New York, Matt’s absence left a deep void. Here, the hole that should be filled with friendships is a bit shallower, but it’s there, like a manhole you don’t notice until you’ve fallen and are knee-deep in sewage.
“What are you thinking about?” Matt asks.
“Just Chloe’s visit.”
“What about it?”
“Just that I was so happy, it was so fun, and I never have that here. I was just, you know, wondering, if—even though I know we didn’t—if we maybe made a mistake when we moved here.” The minute the words are out of my mouth I regret them. This will turn into a fight.
“You think we made a mistake?” he asks. “I’m sorry, I thought we were happy. We love Chicago, we love each other, we have an amazing life. Then your friend comes for one day and you think we made a
mistake
?” Oh, no. Now
this
, this was a mistake. “I don’t have that many best friends here either, Rachel. But I don’t let that make me question my entire life here. I have
you.
”
What Matt’s saying is actually quite kind. That I make him happy, that all he needs in life is me. Or something like that.
“Of course I’m happy with you. I was just thinking, I don’t know. That I miss having them …” There’s no easy way for me to articulate my feelings, mostly because I know Matt can’t understand them. A man’s well-being isn’t as dependent on friendships as is a woman’s, and his needs really are different. Psychologists say that women have face-to-face friendships, while the male kind are characterized as side-to-side. Womenlike to engage in conversation, men like to bond over an activity. It’s not that novel a discovery. Anyone who’s seen men sit and watch the
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