MWF Seeking BFF

by Rachel Bertsche

  Matt had to cancel on the trip because he got called to Cleveland at the last minute for work, so I’m anxious to use this weekend as old-friend catch-up time. One of the side effects of spending my life trying to make new friends is that I miss my old ones even more. It’s hard to insert someone new into your life history, so no matter how close Margot or Kim and I become, they’ll never have known me when I was 14.

  I’ve already asked Callie if Nate is going to mind my constant presence.

  “Nate? No, he’s used to it when we see each other,” Callie says. Love that guy.

  It turns out poor Emily chose the coldest, rainiest weekend Miami has ever seen. There was no need to pack my bathing suit. Instead of the pool, I spend all day Saturday at The Cheesecake Factory.

  Over Thai chicken and a Diet Coke, I tell Callie and Jill about the search. “It’s good. I’ve met a lot of girls with potential,” I say. “I don’t have a new best friend, or even a new good friend, but I could eventually. It’s hard because I’m not the most patient person in the world, and apparently making friends takes time. And work.”

  “This is why I’m never leaving New York,” Callie says. “I’ll deal with new friends once everyone moves away and leaves me.” She says this because Jill might relocate to be with her boyfriend, who lives in Pennsylvania, but there’s really no need to worry. Callie grew up in Manhattan and left only for college. She has more friends in New York than I can count. She’s also a best-friend magnet. I’ve always said she’ll have trouble picking a wedding party because she’s one of those people who has a million friends, each of whom considers her their BFF. She’s really good at talking on the phone, too, which makes it easy for her to stay close with many people at a time. (Mental note: Work on phone skills.) So, no, she’ll never find herself on a friend search in New York.

  Throughout the weekend, there are casual references to Callie’s birthday party, or Jill’s new apartment, or that night at that bar where that crazy thing happened.

  “What crazy thing?” I ask.

  “Oh, it wasn’t even that funny,” Callie says. “It was just that … It’s a stupid long story, never mind.”

  Instead of taking comfort in my friends, I feel left out. I’m frustrated with myself for not appreciating the time we have together. I know I’m being childish, but it’s hard not to notice every little thing I’m missing.

  “I swear, you’re really not missing anything,” Callie says while we’re watching MTV in the hotel Sunday morning. “I don’t see everyone as much as you think. I’m in Brooklyn, they’re in Manhattan. Jill’s in Pennsylvania most weekends. Emily’s busy with school. I promise.” Well, now I just feel sillier, because I’m an adult and my best friend is sitting here promising me she doesn’t see her other friends that often. As if it would be cheating. There’s something very wrong with this.

  “No, obviously you should see people,” I say. “It’s not that, I just wish I was there sometimes.” Not having Matt here is making it harder for me to not get jealous. He usually keeps me in check when the crazy-wheels start spinning.

  This is the same thing that happened when Chloe was in town. It seems my moments of friendship insecurity are strongest, strangely enough, when I’m actually with my best friends. Sitting with everyone in Miami, talking about the wild nights I’ve not been around for, that’s when it hits me. Friend envy. Or, as I like to call it, frenvy.

  In their book The Lonely American, psychologists Jacqueline Olds and Richard Schwartz discuss this very feeling. “Seeing the love between others can make someone feel left out, even if he knows that the others love him as well,” they write. “No one has to be left out to feel left out; a person simply has to believe that the bonds between others are more alive or intense or intimate than their connection with him.”

  Jealousy in friendships is usually studied in terms of one friend being envious of the other’s success. She met a great guy, lost five pounds, or landed a great promotion and you smile on the outside but secretly wish it was you. Psychologists say this kind of behavior is what turns a friendship toxic.

  But that’s not the jealousy I’m dealing with when it comes to my specific breed of frenvy. I want my friends to have success, I just want to be there to share in the celebration.

  I’m not living in New York, by my own choosing, so I. Must. Stop. Acting. Insane. I tell Callie not to worry about me and we turn our attention to the matter at hand. MTV Teen Cribs.

  Heading back to Chicago, my plane is delayed three hours. I sit at the gate, and, like a PI in a detective movie, hold my Marie Claire just below eye level while secretly scoping out my fellow passengers. Is my new BFF here? Could I spot her even if she was? How would I approach her? Bitching about the airline is always a good start, and the opportunity arises when the gate agent announces our flight has been moved to an entirely different terminal. There’s a collective groan as a mass of people gather their bags and start streaming down the corridor. We look like the Bitter Parade.

  “What gate did he say?” A girl who looks about my age is talking to me.

  “I think E Six? I figure if we follow the crowd we’ll end up in the right place.” This is where I would usually stop talking, look down, and pick up the pace so we aren’t awkwardly walking next to each other.

  But I continue the conversation. She looks like friend material. “Do you live in Chicago? Or just visiting?”

  “No, I live in Miami. But I go to school at Notre Dame, so I’m driving once I get to O’Hare.”

  “Oh, what year are you?” Please say graduate school.

  “Freshman.”

  Huh. That means she’s 18. I thought maybe 28. I would make a horrible bouncer.

  At the new gate, she pulls out a magazine and we part ways. I don’t think an 18-year-old student in Indiana is what I’m looking for. Still, it’s clear I’m getting friendlier. She’s the second person I’ve chatted with in a situation where I would normally give a terse response and run. The first was at the gym, when a 20-something girl in the locker room asked me what I paid for my membership. Turned out she was on the family payment plan with her boyfriend, who recently broke up with her, and she was trying to figure out if she could afford to still belong.

  “We bought our condo together, too,” she said. “We were so young and stupid. I was twenty-one and he was twenty-four. Now my credit is shot, and my parents had to co-sign my new lease and they’re totally freaking out.” This is more information than I would usually want from a stranger, especially at 7 A.M. My workout has always been me-time. But instead of cutting the conversation short (“Well, good luck! Gotta grab a treadmill!”) I told her about my apartment-buying hassles. I’ve developed the “you never know where your best friend will come from” mind-set. Nothing came of it, but I was flexing the talk-to-strangers muscle. It’s a vital exercise in its own right.

  After seeing what I’m missing in New York, I’m even more determined to turn one of my dates from potential-friend to friend. So when I get an email Monday about a film screening that Wednesday, I stop myself before calling my mom. She’s my go-to for romantic comedies since Matt’s not the rom-com type. She’ll always say yes to a last-minute movie. But that’s how I got into this predicament. Now, with a handful of almost-friends, I figure it’s a perfect follow-up date. I email Hannah, but she already has plans. I try Hilary. She has a training run. Margot, who’s in school part-time, has a test the next day. Kim has work.

  Wow. People are really booked. I guess when they have workouts, job, errands, and school to attend to, going to a weekday movie with a friend seems a bit luxurious. It doesn’t feel productive.

  Teenagers spend nearly 33 percent of their time with friends, but that number drops to less than 10 percent for adults. When we do have time for friends, most people would rather spend it with already-established BFFs than having to be “on” with a possible new one. Because when we’re not busy, we’re tired. And even though 85 percent of adults feel less stressed and more
energized after they’ve spent time with friends, the couch is still much more inviting after a hard day’s work. In his book Bowling Alone, Robert Putnam wrote, “Visits with friends are now on the social capital endangered species list.” Sad.

  Even though I’m dedicating my year to making a new best friend, the potential BFFs aren’t. I respond to all the declines to my offer with a counteroffer. Want to have brunch this weekend? Drinks next week? Go to another cooking class or yoga Sunday night? Making the second round of plans takes another exchange of back-and-forth emails, but I get a dinner with Margot—plus our men!—on the books, and a potential brunch plan with Hilary. The ball is rolling.

  I end up bringing Becca, the friend of a friend who was just … nice … to the movie. First dates can be uncomfortable, and we have two friends in common, so maybe we were merely out of sync last time. During pre-movie chatter, she asks if I have anyone to set her up with, so I throw out my friend David, the same guy I mentioned to Hannah weeks ago. Becca’s intrigued. I promise to investigate his relationship status.

  After the girl talk, we fall silent. We’re both looking around the theater quite purposefully, as if the reason we’re not speaking isn’t because we have nothing to say, but because we absolutely need to catch the eye of the cute guy in the third row or the texting girl two seats back. Finally, the lights start to dim. Thank God.

  Later, as we part, there’s an awkward hug and a “We should do this again sometime” that clearly means we probably won’t.

  Two days later I get a text. “Did you find out about David?” I did, and even though I gave him a glowing description—Becca may not be right for me but she’s very much his type—and Matt verified her good looks, he’s not interested.

  “I looked her up on Facebook,” he emails me. “I’ve dated too many of her friends.”

  Oy. This is why I don’t set people up. I text her that it appears he’s dating someone—that seems a better excuse—but will keep her posted if anything changes. It’s clear her new-relationship energy is dedicated to the romantic kind. Totally understandable. But given that she has a plethora of childhood friends in Chicago and I’m saving the third follow-up for the most promising contenders, I doubt I’ll reach out again and I don’t expect to hear from her. Oh well.

  FRIEND-DATE 12. On Thursday I have a blind friend-date that Callie set up. My mystery woman is named Muffy, and all I’ve been told is that she’s really pretty and went to Yale. Given the name and background, I’m picturing someone with Upper East Side glamour. Pearl earrings, Tory Burch flats, straight-leg ankle-length pants. When I arrive at the bistro she suggested, I tell the host I’m meeting someone.

  “Who?”

  “Um, Muffy?” I feel silly saying her name aloud.

  “Oh, sure, Muffy’s here all the time.” Wow, this is going to be even more Gossip Girl-y than I thought. She’s a regular! The whole thing feels very un-Midwestern. He seats me at the bar, and when Muffy arrives, she’s as glamorous as I imagined. She’s approximately eight feet tall, with short bobbed hair, and is wearing some sort of fur stole. I’m feeling very plain.

  “Should we get a table?” I ask.

  “I don’t think they let you sit at tables if you’re only getting drinks.” Oh. I guess we’re only getting drinks. I try sending Matt telepathic messages to not eat dinner without me.

  Another date, another nice time. We have a drink—I get a white wine, she gets her “usual,” a dirty martini with blue-cheese-stuffed olives—and dish our backstories. She’s from Little Rock, but her husband is from Chicago so they moved here six months ago. She lived in New York after college, then in London for a year working for Burberry. Now that she’s in Chicago, she’s trying to figure out what the next career move will be. In the meantime she bides her time serving on women’s auxiliary boards all over Chicago.

  Callie tells me later that Muffy wore a huge sun hat to her wedding. Of course she did.

  Twelve dates in, I still haven’t put my finger on exactly what makes one date click and not another. Joseph Epstein wrote that friendship is “affection, variously based on common interests, a common past, common values, and, alas, sometimes common enemies.” I’ve read that each common interest between potential friends boosts the chances of a lasting relationship, and also increases an individual’s life satisfaction by 2 percent. Commonalities certainly seem important, but I can find something in common with everyone I’ve met. A common upbringing or religion, a shared love of books, similar politics, a mutual friend. There’s got to be a reason why I never noticed the time during my three-and-a-half-hour dinner with Margot, but checked my watch with Muffy, despite having a nice enough evening. Certainly the ease of conversation is a big factor, as is synergy. John Cacioppo told me that “the relationships that seem to fuel people are synergistic, they produce more than the sum of the parts. You’re investing in a way that you’re getting more returns than you’re putting in. As soon as you see it that way, you focus a little bit differently on who’s a friend, because it’s not about you getting what you want. It’s about both getting more than you’re putting in.” That is to say, the friendships I’ll gravitate toward aren’t just the ones that have a lot to offer me, but those where I bring something to the table as well.

  It’s nearing the end of March. Almost a quarter of the way through the year, it’s time for a temperature check. Do I have a BFF? Clearly not. I don’t even know if I’d go so far as to say I have new friends (Merriam-Webster defines a friend as “one attached to another by affection or esteem,” and none of these relationships involve attachment just yet). But I have new acquaintances, plenty of whom, over time, I’m confident will become friends, and—fingers crossed—maybe even best ones. I have high hopes for Hannah, Hilary, Margot, Kim, and Jen-Alison (they’re a twofer). Given Hannah’s wide network, and Jen-Alison’s tight-knit group, I’m not sure we’ll ever reach that “I’m calling just because I need someone to vent to” level, (they have their own friends for that, so we may never get the synergy right) but I do think that real friendships are possible. As for my coworkers, they certainly are friends, but as long as we work together I think our friendships will remain mostly 9-to-5, with off-hours activities generally five strong. I’m fine with that. Having good friends within earshot five days a week is pretty amazing.

  I do feel like I’ve mastered the art of the first date. No longer is the should-I-hug-or-handshake dilemma. There’s no right answer really, though I tend toward the hug. Certainly a hug on departure.

  I’ve fine-tuned the email to a long-lost friend: “We talked about getting together and I’d love to make it happen,” yes. “I’ve lived here two years and am still looking for friends,” no.

  As for setups, I opt for the mutual friend introduction. When Callie fixed me up with Muffy, she sent one email to us both: “Rachel, meet Muffy. Muffy, meet Rachel. You’re both newish to Chicago, and my friends, so I thought you should meet!” It’s an easy way to get things moving. All I had to say was “Hi, Muffy! I’d love to get together. How’s Monday?” If I’m Facebook friends with the BFF-in-waiting already, as I was with Hilary, I’ll send the initial message that way. Feels more casual. More, well, friendly.

  On a personal note, my loneliness is dissipating. It’s not gone—hence the bouts of jealousy when I saw Callie and Jill—but with weekly friend-dates and yoga and monthly book clubs, there’s hardly time to be alone, certainly not to feel alone. Only three months in, I’d count that as success.

  SPRING:

  “BFFLESS SEEKING

  SAME”: TAKING OUT A

  WANT AD

  CHAPTER 5

  In February, I wrote an essay about my search that was published online. I figured serial killers are unlikely to troll the Internet for want ads hidden within an essay, so if I was too nervous to post on Craigslist this would be the next best thing. After laying out my backstory and explaining why Matt wasn’t enough to quench my thirst for friendship, I put it out there: “MWF Seeking
BFF: Must live in Chicago. Must not bring her dog to lunch dates. Fluency in Entertainment Weekly preferred but not required.” It wasn’t easy to distill my BFF requirements into three short sentences, especially since there’s so much more I want out of a BFF. But how do you say, “Looking for someone to call on a moment’s notice, who will watch TV, talk books, laugh at nothing, and analyze others (from Charlie Sheen to my mom) with me when necessary. Someone who will talk me off the ledge from time to time. In return, I will support you in all you do, drive you to the airport whenever you need, and be up for a playdate always”? Well, I guess you say it just like that, but it might be coming on a bit strong. My twenty-three-word classified got to the heart of who I am and, I thought, might attract someone similar. (To be clear, while I’m not an animal lover, I am not a complete hater. I wouldn’t disqualify someone for having a dog. However, I really don’t like being licked while trying to enjoy a nice turkey burger. It just feels wrong.)

  Within days I was getting emails from Chicago-based strangers in the same boat. The first was from Jodie, a single mom who’s also new to the city. “It’s like you have been following me around the city somehow sucking the thoughts out of my very frustrated mind,” she wrote. “I want a friend here in Chicago that I can grab a coffee or drink with at someplace casual or fabulous occasionally. Someone who will laugh with me about the crazy things we hear women talking about in the locker room, or the latest scoop picked up from some television show we know we shouldn’t be watching because we have five hundred other more important things we should be doing.”

  Kaitlin wrote, “Thank you for writing the article—I truly felt I was going crazy trying to make friends lately.”

  Gina said, “I can completely relate! You gave me a sense of relief that I’m not the only one looking for a BFF.”