Yes, she certainly was.

It took me a few seconds to get over the shock of actually seeing her; almost immediately I found I couldn’t quite make direct eye contact. It was like staring into the sun, or finally being next to a celebrity after waiting years to meet them. I glanced at her surreptiously, trying to take in as many details as I could as quickly as I could.

But there was her hand, outstretched.

I gave her my hand, too, and we shook. And as we did, I saw her eyes go directly to my other hand and the engagement ring on it. Of course, I didn’t blame her: it was a beautiful ring; Donald did, after all, have very good taste. She registered it, said nothing, and I retracted my hand.

And we were off and running!

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi,” she said back.

I paused uncomfortably, then turned toward Gayle to introduce her. And when I did I noticed her mouth hanging open. I jabbed my elbow into Gayle’s upper arm and ribs to snap her out of it, and she winced audibly. I ignored her.

“And this is my best friend, Gayle.” I said, almost choking on the words—not just because this alleged best friend of mine was entranced by my nemesis, but because I was in my mid-thirties and still using the term “best friend.”

“Hi!” said Gayle.

“Hi!” said Adrienne.

“Hi!” I said again.

Hi!

Hi!

Hi!

We all paused, silent for a split second, which felt like an hour in that wrinkle of time. Gayle licked her lips. I knew what was coming, but there was no stopping her.

“Look,” she said, “I simply must know where you got that coat. It’s fantastic!”

“I know!” Adrienne gushed back, running her hands down the lapel, the buttons, and both pockets. “Isn’t it?”

And she was modest, too.

“I got it at Bergdorf’s.”

Gayle blinked. “This year?”

Adrienne hesitated, seemingly confused. “Yes.”

Of course she’d bought it this year. Not everyone wore other people’s four-year-old cast-offs.

Desperate to end the insufferable love fest going on in front of me, I interrupted with a barrage of banal questions for Adrienne even though I couldn’t have cared less: How was your flight? Were you waiting here long? Do you have any bags?

“The flight was great,” she said, flipping her thick straight shiny black hair from her mouth, then pulling away one single pesky strand which had become glued to her lip gloss. “It was actually a little bumpy even though it’s completely clear up there. But I love to fly, so, it was fine.”

No Jewish Gloom and Doom here. Adrienne, it seemed, had that adventurous, fearless, mountain-climbing spirit; she didn’t see death and dying around every aisle and window seat, as I did.

“How ironic is that! Elise hates to fly!” Gayle chimed in, with blissful ignorance. “Once, we flew to Los Angeles together for a wedding, and she was grabbing my arm so tightly she left fingerprint and nail marks on the skin!” She pushed back the sleeve of her textured cardigan sweater to reveal her delicately sinewy arm and wrist, then dug the fingers of her other hand into the flesh there to simulate the high-altitude scene she’d just described.