MWF Seeking BFF

by Rachel Bertsche

  We get to Kari’s house at 7 P.M. Our host was in Australia for the last two weeks, so there’s a lot of catching up to do. After we inhale two homemade pizzas and plenty of appetizers, Kari makes an announcement.

  “I got you guys a little something while I was away,” she says. “They’re nothing huge, but were made by the Aboriginals.”

  We dig our hands into her gift bag and each grab a different colored beaded bracelet.

  “They’re like grown-up friendship bracelets,” Kari says.

  Wowser. I don’t believe in The Secret, but if I did I would swear I manifested this moment. My bracelet is white, gold, and yellow, and fits my wrist perfectly.

  Our gift exchange is similarly successful. We know each other so well that each present is tailor-made for the recipient. I got Kari a Young Adult book I’d recommended for her trip—she passed because it was still in hardcover—and the debut album from Mark Salling (aka Puck from Glee).

  Joan gave me three books she knew I’d love, and a pinecone ball—a nod to a project we worked on together during which I got enraged that children would actually give pinecone balls (not pinecone ornaments, mind you, just balls for an end table) to their teachers for Christmas. Perhaps it’s a question for another day, but seriously, why would someone want a ball made out of pinecone for Christmas? It’s like getting coal! Coal that sheds pinecone needles all over your living room floor!

  “Why is it so much more fun exchanging gifts with friends than with family?” Kari asks.

  “Because friends actually know you,” Joan says.

  Amen.

  “It’s amazing that you found people so much like you,” my mom says when I tell her that I sang the Glee soundtrack at the top of my lungs all night.

  “I know, I lucked out.”

  But it’s not just my coworkers. The book club I’m in with Hannah and Jillian had a gift exchange, and one of the members got me a T-shirt with my favorite Modern Family quote. (“WTF? Why the face?”) Natalie constantly forwards me articles about our favorite branch of yoga or Harry Potter. Hilary consistently invites me out to meet more of her friends, since she knows I’m on the hunt. And at our last dance class, Jordan brought me a mix of her favorite studying music to help me cope with my mounting workload. It’s these moments that make me think, “It worked. I have real local friends.”

  Deep relationships are made of more than gifts and emails, of course. Looking back, part of my loneliness last year came from having so much friendly energy to give and nowhere to direct it. Now I get a rush from being the great pal I set out in search of. Like last weekend. Cooking club Jackie had surgery on her deviated septum Friday night, so on Saturday I brought her a Snuggie and read in her living room while she slept. Or a few Tuesdays ago, when I told the guy working the Second City front desk that Rachel thought he was cute and slipped him her number.

  They went out the following week.

  The night after my coworker gathering is my final holiday party of the season. It’s the eve of Christmas Eve and the theme is Ugly Christmas Sweaters. I’m wearing a red turtleneck and black cardigan with puffy-painted holly designs that I bought at a thrift store. Not the best wardrobe for picking up new friends, but it’ll have to do. I’m still one date short of the finish line, and while I met a freelance writer at Hannah’s birthday party who might be a match, I’d like to meet someone tonight too. It’s good to have reserves.

  “Rachel, this is my friend Taylor.” Riki, a girl with whom I went to college but hardly know, gives a thin brunette wearing a light purple shirt and a silver scarf—no reindeer sweater for her—a friendly shove in my direction. “She just moved here from New York, where she worked in publishing. I thought you guys might have a lot to talk about.”

  Taylor relocated to Chicago in September. She was a children’s book editor in Manhattan, but after four years in the Big Apple she was ready to come home. Now she’s living with her parents in the suburbs while she looks for a job.

  “What kind of work are you interested in?” I ask.

  “Anything editorial. I’m doing some freelance copywriting at the moment, but would love a more steady gig.”

  “There might be an opening in my office. This is our copy editor’s last week and I don’t think we’ve hired a new one.”

  Taylor looks interested but skeptical. When you’re job searching, most potential leads amount to nothing.

  We chat a bit more about the editorial scene in Chicago, and, later, as Matt and I say our goodbyes, Taylor asks me to let her know about the job.

  “Sure thing.” The problem is that I don’t have Taylor’s contact information, or even her last name. If she’s serious about wanting a job, isn’t that something she should have provided?

  Yes, I could have asked for it. Maybe I should have asked for it. But I didn’t realize the mistake until I was in a cab home.

  On the Monday after Christmas, my final girl-date prospect—the one I met at Hannah’s—tells me she’s in Florida and asks if we can get together after the new year. I’m slamming my head against the wall—what’s a girl gotta do to get a date around here?—when I remember Taylor.

  Anna, our current copy editor, sits in the cubicle across from me. “Has your position been filled yet?” I ask.

  “No. We can’t find anyone good.”

  “I think I might have the perfect fit.” I do some Facebook handiwork, finding Taylor through Riki’s page, and send off a message telling her the job is still available. Is she interested? Is she so interested that she wants to go to dinner with me and talk publishing?

  By the end of the day, I’ve placed Taylor’s résumé in the right hands. On Tuesday, my boss schedules her interview. Wednesday night we meet for dinner.

  FRIEND-DATE 52. “Tell me everything I need to know,” Taylor says over my last sushi plate of the year.

  “You’ll be great. A lot of the job is just about being good with people and handling deadline pressure. Nothing you haven’t dealt with before.”

  There are zero moments of silence during this meal. I give Taylor interview tips and a general lay of the office land. She gives me insight into the book publishing world from someone who worked on the editorial side.

  An email comes in twenty-four hours later.

  “I got the job! See you tomorrow!”

  Taylor has gone from total stranger to coworker in the span of a week. Tomorrow, she will join the ranks of those I see almost every day. We’ll sit next to each other, chatting across the aisle about weekend plans and upcoming movies and, every once in a while, actual work.

  Date 52. Last but not least. I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

  I can’t believe it’s over.

  I’ve gone on fifty-two friend-dates in the past year. I’ve met closer to one hundred people if you count everyone in my improv class and LEADS group and book clubs and mixers. Maybe even more. I’ve gone out with some people who became great friends and some who I never saw again. A good handful of potential friendships fizzled after the second date. In some cases, I tried to follow up with ladies only to never hear back. In others, my new friends moved out of state. A lot can happen in a year.

  Let’s tally, shall we?

  In fifty-two first friend-dates, I went out with …

  • 59 people

  • 24 women I never saw again

  • 7 women on second dates that were also the last date

  • 3 women (Kim, Stacey, Bridget) with whom I tried to pursue friendships but got no response. Whether it was because they were at friend capacity, too busy, skeptical of my blog, or just not that into me I’ll never know.

  • 4 women who moved by the end of the year (Sally, Rebecca, Alison, Julie)

  • 22 people who I consider legitimate friends (and still live in Chicago). Of that 22, I met: 4 at work, 2 in improv class, 5 through friends of friends, 5 via my online essay, 1 at my wedding dress appointment, 1 on an online message board, 1 at her author reading, 1 through
Matt’s office, 1 at LEADS, and 1 at Northwestern back in the day.

  Remember the Dunbar number? At the beginning of this year I did the math and found I had twenty openings for friendship. Twelve months later, I have twenty-two new pals. Whoa. Science is creepy.

  Some status reports of note:

  • I haven’t gone out with Maritza the waitress again. We have texted back and forth, but every time we try to make plans, they fall through. I ran into her at the restaurant the other night and she brought Matt and me free glasses of wine. We promised to get drinks soon.

  • Stacey, my Meet Joe match, disappeared. We made tentative plans to go to a film festival but she had to cancel when she went out of town for work. I tried to reschedule by email but she never wrote back.

  • Alexis, the friend of Hannah’s who called me out for ogling her arm, went on her trip to Italy shortly after our second date. She just got back to the states after three months away. We saw each other at Hannah’s birthday party and plan to pick up where we left off. After the holidays.

  • I heard from the speed-friending women one more time. They planned a pizza outing that I couldn’t attend because of my Tuesday night improv class. After that declined invitation, our communication petered out. I like to think that they’re still friends with each other, though.

  • I wrote Celia the boutique manager telling her I’d love to get together again sometime, for lunch or maybe a pedicure. She never responded. I bought a great pair of fleece-lined tights from her, though, and our stellar in-store relationship is still intact. No harm done.

  • Jillian’s husband is still waiting on word regarding his nursing school applications. If he gets into his first choice, they’ll be moving to Philadelphia in a year. I would never wish him rejection, but …

  • My mom’s mini-search is faring well. She has a solid group of quilting friends—they recently had an overnight retreat at one guild member’s house—and when I called her the other day she ushered me off the phone with a “Well, my friend Francine’s here, so if you don’t need anything …” I know she still gets lonely sometimes, but this is a good start.

  Have I found a best friend forever? The One who is my other half? It’s too soon to tell. But even if none of these relationships rise to the BFF level, I might have something better: A bouquet of friends, people I can call for any occasion or activity, from an all-day Friends marathon (enter Mia or Ashley) to a night out on the town (Jordan, please). If I want to go to the Muppets Exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry, I’ll call Jillian or Natalie or Kari or Joan. For a keen eye on a shopping trip? Margot or Hilary or Lynn. An easy Sunday brunch? Hallie.

  And for something deeper? A shoulder to cry on? An ear for advice? It seems too good to be true, but I’d trust them all. I used to think someone needed to be my best friend before I’d burden her with my problems or my tears. Now I think those interactions—the sobfest or therapy session—are the encounters that earn someone BFF status.

  A year ago I defined what I was looking for as someone that I could call and say, “What are we doing today?” or “Let’s meet for brunch in an hour.” I wanted a best friend like I had when I was 6 or 10 or 15. Twelve months later, I’m struck by how naïve that was. I don’t know that I believe in the idea of the attached-at-the-hip BFF anymore. At least not in adulthood. Sure, I’ve met some people I can call and invite to lunch at the last minute, but the chances that they could actually come are pretty slim. Everyone is stretched thin. We have jobs and families and significant others and friends and errands and dance classes and book clubs to attend to. Sara and Callie became my best friends not because they were always available or I saw them every day, but because they made me laugh and dropped everything when I needed them and understood me in ways no one else could.

  Down the line, some of my new friends could very well join those ranks. Our friendships are still young. They haven’t had to survive much in the way of hard times. But relationships are constantly growing and evolving, and in time my new friends and I might have fights or lose loved ones or face life changes—babies, marriage, divorce—that challenge the relationship. Either we’ll make it or we won’t.

  When I leave the house these days, I’m constantly on the lookout for familiar faces. The chances that I’ll run into someone I know seem pretty high. It feels like I’ve conquered the town.

  But I haven’t. In a city of 2.8 million, meeting one-hundred-ish people doesn’t even make a dent. There are plenty more potential best friends out there. And sure, I won’t be signing up for any more meet-and-greets or speed-friending in order to find them. I’ll avoid getting-to-know-you games and name tags for a while. I’ve certainly rented my last friend. Still, I’ll always be open to meeting new people. There’s no off switch for the changes that have taken place within me this year, and even if there were I’d hide it under duct tape so it always stayed on.

  And it’s not just me. The search is starting to rub off on people. Just last week, a girl in my book club told me about an encounter with a new-in-towner. “I normally would have just smiled and moved on, but I thought of you and gave her my number. What if she needs a friend?!?”

  Jaime, my brother’s girlfriend, went on her first blind girl-date recently, while Alex watched football with a man-friend setup. I’m not saying it’s a movement, but if weight gain and loneliness and smoking are contagious, it’s nice to know that friendliness is, too.

  I’m still the same person. To a Callie or a Sara, I’d be perfectly recognizable. But I’m a happier, nicer version of myself. I talk to strangers instead of avoiding them. I do the work to bring people together, personally or professionally. When I’m invited somewhere, I say yes and show up. I try not to interrupt, especially with stories about myself, and I don’t point it out whenever I go out of my way for a friend. I get a kick out of new people instead of just acting awkward around them. I get phone numbers, and I use them.

  In short, I’m a better friend.

  Matt and I are spending New Year’s Eve at my former roommate Brooke’s wedding. I’m not in the bridal party, so I was surprised and honored when Brooke’s sister asked me to speak during the rehearsal dinner. Telling an old friend how much she means to me seems a fitting way to close out the year.

  Before the speeches start, one of the guests tells me she reads my blog.

  “A ton of my friends have gotten married recently, and they won’t leave their husbands even for a night,” she says. “I have no choice but to go out and make new ones.”

  I nod in recognition. Plenty of the women I met this year had the same story.

  “So?” she asks. “What’s your advice?”

  Hmmm. What is my advice? From this vantage point my journey feels circuitous. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what made it effective.

  “It takes a lot of work,” I say. “You’ve got to say yes to all the invitations that come your way. The more you say yes, the more invites you’ll get. You have to follow up with all those meetings where you say ‘We should totally get together!’ instead of just saying it to sound nice. And signing up for things helps. Oh, and asking for setups. You know, basically all the things you do when you’re dating.”

  “Sounds exhausting,” she says.

  I want to tell her to just go for it. That I was nervous when this year began. Very nervous. I was scared that women would think I was hitting on them or that I was a pathetic loser not worth their time. I thought they would find me annoying or burdensome or strange. But as it turns out, everyone likes friends. Not everyone is willing—or motivated—to do the work it takes to make them, but they’re not put off by your desire to hang out. They’re flattered.

  But she’ll figure that out for herself.

  “It is,” I say. “But it’s worth it.”

  The countdown clock reads 20 seconds until the New Year. 19. 18 … Matt is wearing a festive lei, I’m rocking a 2011 headband. Our marriage has survived the search. In fact, it has thrived. Matt’s taking me out
to dinner tomorrow—a surprise he only told me about this morning.

  “It’s to celebrate the end of the quest, but also to toast its success,” he said.

  We’ve come a long way since the day I told him our move may have been a mistake.

  11. 10. 9 … Next Tuesday the fourth level of improv starts. I have cooking club on Wednesday and Thursday is my girl-date with the writer from Hannah’s birthday. While the official search may be over, my new life is not.

  But right now I’m focused on my husband.

  5. 4. 3. 2 … Matt and I ring in the New Year together. The two of us, surrounded by friends.

  It bodes well for our future.

  FOR MATTHEW

  AND IN MEMORY OF MY FATHER,

  BILL BERTSCHE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Before anyone else, I should thank all the women—and one man!—who agreed to friend-date me this year. Whether I never saw you again or we had brunch just yesterday, I am forever grateful. It follows that I should also thank my wonderful pre-existing friends—Sara, Callie, the girls of 1113 and Fieldston, and Brooke, my post-college roomie—for setting my friendship standards so high.

  I’m eternally indebted to my agent, Alison Schwartz at ICM, who believed in this book from the very day I sent her the proposal.

  If Jennifer Smith weren’t my editor, I would try to friend-date her, too. I am so thankful for her editorial insight, support, and for answering my every last question—and always with a friendly exclamation point, no less!