“I’m very glad to have you as my best friend, Caro,” I said, my voice a little husky.

“Oh, Barb! I’m glad to have you, too! I love you! And I love this margarita! Please tell me there’s more.”

We spent the rest of the night chatting, and she drank a bit too much and stayed over in the guest room, which she could do without a single phone call explaining her actions. She had two boys a little older than Juliet; one lived in Vermont, and the other in New York City, so just like that, we were having a sleepover. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so much fun with anyone except Juliet. Next to my daughter, Caro was my best friend. She lived around the corner and had brought over a cake the very first day we moved in. We clicked right away.

I took her advice, even though my heart wasn’t in it. I tried. I made a point of lining up things to do with John, or for the two of us and with other couples, like our newlywed days. Caro had a steady beau named Ted (she refused to use the word boyfriend), and the four of us took ballroom dancing lessons, though John was clumsy as an ox on the dance floor. Karen, the dance instructor, would laugh till she cried sometimes, making us laugh, too. When Caro ruptured her Achilles tendon on a hike, we dropped out. There was a bowling league we tried, but I had some arthritis in my wrist, and it was painful. We went on a wine-tasting tour of Connecticut. Booked a trip to Italy with a group, which John summarized as “on the bus, off the bus; on the bus, off the bus” for the girls. Sadie lectured us about how shallow those bus tours were, and how we should’ve asked her for recommendations instead, since she was an expert on all things Europe (in her own mind, at least).

I’d thought our trip was quite nice. I liked the ease of the coach, not having to wonder where we’d stay each night, knowing a fairly decent hotel was part of the package. No, we didn’t explore and wander on our own, but we saw some beautiful churches and countryside. Why did John have to poke fun at it?