Father’s Day

Sunday morning Mr. G left the house at 5.30am to go to work. Yes, it was Father’s Day. Yes, it was Sunday. Yes, he went to work. A better wife would have woken up early with him and made him some coffee and eggs but that’s just not who I am and mercifully it’s not what he wants.

When I woke up at 8am there was a text from him saying, “You’ll never believe who is here. Call me right away.”

My husband’s script supervisor was the woman who introduced us to each other in 1995. She had been one of my closest friends since I was 17 years old and we sort of fell out of touch when I became a mother and she was busy traveling the world making movies. Nothing bad happened, our lives just sort of wound away from each other. We’ve dropped in and out of each other’s worlds long enough for her to meet my kids, but never long enough for her to have an impact on them or vice versa.

So when I took the kids to visit the location (we’d been planning on visiting Mr. G anyhow) I saw my friend Hilary before I even saw my husband and it was like we’d seen each other last week. We’d grown up together, and I’m not convinced that either of us are done growing. We chatted and caught up but realized that there really isn’t much catching up to do because those are just events and we sort of are who we are. We hadn’t changed in measurable ways. Our families are good, our choices are good, our travels have continued and our loves of good food and bad music are firmly in place.

Mr. G and Alexander played catch on the field and then explored the Coliseum while Jane napped in the car (three parties in two days) and my heart swelled. Because there’s nothing like a friend who really knows you. The friends who know everything.