CHAPTER TEN - THE FRIEND'S TABLE

The isolation is real. The beliefs behind it, maybe not so much...

Dearest Nurse,

When a woman first leaves her husband, the only thing she wants to do is drink wine, plunk down on the couch, and watch chick-flicks, particularly if Meryl Streep is involved. Actually, scratch that. When a woman first leaves her husband, all she wants is Meryl Streep. Since she can’t actually have Meryl Streep, she watches all the Meryl Streep movies she can get for free on her various streaming services, and then pays full price for the ones she can’t on Amazon. You know why? Because Meryl Streep is worth it. Every. freakin’. penny.

But there’s often a scene in these Meryl Streep movies - you know the one - where there’s a small group of women who have all miraculously known one another forever, sitting around the table, drinking wine, and getting real. They laugh together, hold one another’s hands, feel one another’s pain, and enjoy the gentle ribbing that comes with true, lasting female friendship.

Who the fuck has these friends?

No judgement if you do. I’m fucking jealous. I would pay good money to live in a scene like that. At the time, when I had just left Paris, I would have paid good money for half that scene. Maybe just two friends and some shitty beer. Maybe just one texting on her cellphone the whole time and a glass of water. I didn’t care, I just wanted friends.

Because here’s another thing that happened while I was with Paris - I stopped hanging out. I know I’ve mentioned this before, but it’s important here, because during our marriage, I really thought I didn’t have friends.

I mean, I knew I had a couple. I knew I had Sampson, but she has a newborn and can’t just swing by whenever single mama needs a drinking buddy. I also knew I had an old college friend in Baltimore who would talk if I needed, but she also had a newborn, and, well, she was in Baltimore. The others were either old friends I hadn’t spoken to in forever, or women I met through work that were awesome, but I didn’t feel I could reach out to them… or anyone, really. I felt very, very alone, and suddenly very annoyed with Meryl Streep. Fuck you and your perfect movie friends.

This, I have come to realize, wasn’t just a symptom of being in a not-so-hot marriage. Having children can be incredibly isolating. Your wings are clipped. There are places you absolutely have to be, and when you’re there, you have to be focused and on being there, or god knows what could happen. Gone are the days of last-minute hangs, and rushing out the door when a friend needs you.

Once I became a mother, I didn’t have much gas left in the tank for friends. Add working full time on top of that, and then add being a freelance writer, (which means, when you’re not working, you’re hustling for more work...) and suddenly, you don’t even have gas left in the tank for yourself. With that kind of insular, self-serving existence, how can one then randomly reach out and expect anything back? Friendship is a two-way street, after all. Even I know that. But perhaps the deeper truth is, that I never really felt like I had real friends.

I’m not looking for a pity party, believe me, but this much is true: growing up, there were a couple girls I considered my best friend. The problem? There was always someone else they considered their best friend. Keep in mind this was at a time when being BFFs was paramount, and everyone else fell into the everyone else category. So, all too often it seemed, I would find my BFF, and I was their everyone else. It felt awesome. Not. (We’re talking about the 90s here. Don’t judge me, Garth.)

Then, in high school, I had a group of girlfriends, but we were kind of horrible to one another. I mean, they weren't bad people - not all of them, anyway - but all I remember is a lot of mocking and laughing at each other’s discomfort. We were wild animals, picking at one another, like some evil, teenage, Darwinian, endurance experiment. Who could last the longest without crying or losing their shit. It wasn’t healthy, and needless to say, we don’t get together as grownups, drink wine, and help one another through divorces. I haven’t even seen most of them since graduation.

So, in some ways, it’s safe to say I’m not used to having female friends. Sampson always amazes me with how thoughtful she is. Checking in with me outside of whatever project we’re working on together, getting me awesome gifts that are just perfect, and let me know she really cares. I’ve learned a lot about the kind of friend I want to be from her. A woman’s woman. One who shows up, pours the wine, and holds the hands.

But, like I said, she has an infant. If I was ever going to have my Meryl Streep, table full of fabulous women movie moment, I was going to have to crawl out of my shell and go get them. And so, after much deliberation, that’s exactly what I did. And the excuse I used? This very blog.

There are a small handful of, beautiful, amazing women who I decided to tell about Juliet Anonymous. The first was Friar Laura, an incredible moon goddess, tarot reader, and feminist powerhouse, who is so full of love it bursts out of her, even over Zoom. We met through work, and I was nervous about reaching out to her for this, but something told me out of everyone ever, she would get it.

[JULIET]. HOLY SHIT. THIS IS A BOOK. … After your 30 day journey, after September 24th you should freaking publish this. This is INSANE. And magnificent! I can’t wait to see your growth. AND I CANT BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED WHEN “PARIS” CAME BACK FOR THE LITTLE POTTY. WTF. HOW IS THIS REAL LIFE? YOU ARE THE MAIN CHARACTER. OMG. Sorry I’m spinning!

I read her text and almost cried. Before this project, I had always thought blogging was weird, millennial, and attention seeking. Anonymous blogging? Fucking forget it. I mean, my views on the matter had changed since separating from Paris and desperately needing an outlet, but that didn’t mean others would feel the same. Friar Laura’s validation was everything, and the correspondences that have followed show me not only that she’s a gorgeous human, but that she is genuinely invested in my health and happiness. And you know what the craziest part of all is? I’m invested in hers, too. I’ve only known her for a year or so, but I would drive her to the airport any day of the week, and that’s saying a lot when you live in L.A..

The second was Mercutio. I stole Mercutio from Paris, hard core. The two were in a class together and hit it off, but the minute I met her, I said, this one has to be mine. She is wicked smart. One of the quickest with a quip I’ve ever met, and she is literally always smiling - a slightly evil smile, like she has something awesome just up her sleeve. And she does. It’s called joie de vivre. She just genuinely loves being alive. That and Shakespeare. She and I have that in common, along with misophonia.

Mercutio has also been divorced. As I mentioned earlier, having divorced friends is essential when you’re going through one yourself. Some are good for advice, boosting your confidence, and reinforcing the fact that you’re doing the right thing. That’s what S, my goddess of a mentor, did for me a few weeks ago. But others are good for reminding you that even though you’re trudging through ten miles of paperwork to legally disentangle yourself from another person, it could always be worse. Much, much worse. Mercutio is that person for me. Her ex dabbled in prostitutes, destroyed her credit, and stole her dog. Paris has his issues, but he’s not a fucking animal.

Mercutio and I have only been friends for a couple years, but she, like Friar Laura, is a diamond. I knew immediately she would understand why I had to write this blog, and she encourages me regularly. Texting to make sure I know she’s with me on this journey. I mean, who gets that kind of love? Really?

Next up was Apothecary. I love the natural world. I believe this planet is stocked with everything we need to live happy, healthy lives, cure ourselves, and elevate our souls - which is, in my mind, the entire point of life. I mentioned before that I’m Pagan, which, along with all creatures being born perfect, means I believe the Universe has a consciousness. A collective current, that if you can tap into it, pulls you right along, guiding and serving your goals with divine intelligence. It sounds woo woo to some, but I know with every fiber in my being, that the Universe brought me Apothecary.

We met four years ago when I was at the end of my rope. The acne I had acquired after having Big hadn’t subsided, and it had been three years. I was desperate. I found a Groupon for a facial and purchased it, only to discover the place had closed God knows how long ago. The next esthetician on the list was Apothecary.

Not only did she heal my skin, she taught me all about the mysterious workings of the circulatory and lymphatic system, and how, through simple massage, breath work, and nutrition, I could heal myself. But she’s not just a “skin lady”. Apothecary is a mystic healer. Not only did she get rid of my acne, I look at least six years younger now than when I first met her, and she also helped me get pregnant when I was having trouble conceiving Little. Lastly, and this is where collective consciousness comes in, she knows what’s going on with me, even when we don’t talk.

“I was thinking of you that weekend. I thought, I should ask [Juliet] for help with this. But then I got this feeling, and I was like, no. No. She’s too busy. I just knew it.”

Apothecary speaks English very well, but writing can be challenging for her. So, whenever I can, I help her with copy for her website or social media posts. I love helping her. She has helped me so much, it’s the least I can do. But she was right, because, come to find out, the weekend in question was when I was deep in franticly-aroused-sexting-like-a-maniac land with Romeo. I gaped like I always do when this happens between her and I. Yes, she was right, I was busy that weekend. Very, very busy.

Apothecary and I are also oddly aligned, much like my mother and I are. So, though I was surprised that Apothecary was living a very similar epic romance of her own, I wasn’t completely shocked.

“The 24th? You’re kidding me.” Apothecary said as she steamed my face. “That is the exact same day I was going to fly out and see him.”

Apothecary has a Romeo too, but her one-that-got-away reunion is thirty years in the making. They met through a friend back in Northern Africa, had a steamy, whirlwind romance, and parted ways. Once he separated from his wife, the two reconnected. But between COVID, travel restrictions, work, immigration, and his ex-wife refusing to divorce, Apothecary and her love had been unable to reunite. She has been planning to surprise him, fly out to meet him in Europe without telling him. Just show up, finally, after all this time, and seize that magic. I know, sounds like your girl, Juliet, doesn’t it? Well, that’s fitting, because we both, coincidentally, planned our reunions for the exact same day. If that isn’t some cosmic sign from theUniverse that she and I are meant to be on this life journey together, then I just don’t know what.

Then, I broke the news and everything that came along with it to Benvolio. I would give my left leg to have Benvolio in Los Angeles with me. She calls herself type-A, but I call her human magic. She’s fucking hilarious, has a memory like a steel trap, and literally everyone who meets her loves her. We met in college, and I thought she was just the bee’s knees. Every time we hung out, I spent half the time in disbelief that this chick was actually my friend. Not only that, but she had this amazing way of making fun of dumb dudes to their face without them knowing it. They thought she was flirting with them, but really, she was making them look like complete assholes, all for an audience of one: me. I absolutely adored her then, and I always will. I’m still in awe of the fact that she’s my friend. Being with her is like Christmas.

“I had an anonymous blog once too, you know.” She told me the other night over Zoom. “I thought I had to get rid of it…”

Benvolio also has a relationship horror story that almost took her out. The two didn’t marry, but they did buy property together. I won’t get into the harrowing details, but let’s just say, I don’t ever plan to buy anything with anyone ever. If mama’s gonna get a house, mama’s doing it on her own. Period.

Not only did Benvolio have that fine pile of shit to dig through, but, worried about her ex’s jealous tendencies, got rid of her anonymous blog. It just seemed like too much of a liability at the time. Now, however, she wishes she could get it back. She’s tried everything, but it’s gone. All those beautiful words and the impact they could have had… Toxic spouses suck. Be careful with your heart and what you decide to call love. It could end up costing you dearly.

I told Tybalt all about it the other day when we accidentally had lunch at the same place Paris is now working. Not only was she thrilled about the blog and this entire project, but she was very excited to hear that Romeo is back in my life.

“I think you two would make the perfect couple. I love this. I love this for you.”

And there are a couple things that are important about that. Tybalt remembers how Romeo and I were sixteen years ago. She always liked him. She liked him for me, and, as the only person in my world who knows Romeo other than myself, hearing that made me glow a little bit.

The other reason that’s important, is because Tybalt is also a republican. A thinking, feeling, intelligent republican with a fuck lot of heart. She’s the kind of republican that makes sense to me. One I can have sensitive, thoughtful, political discussions with, loaded with love and compassion, and come out of it feeling better about the world. Like there's hope. Not just for this country, but for Romeo and I.

Then, there’s Lady Capulet, my mother, who reads every post and e-mails me afterwards with all the love and support in the world, even when I’m writing about dick picks and female ejaculation. (Did I mention I have the best mom in the world?) And then there’s Sampson. I can’t hide anything from Sampson. She’s my soul sister.

So, that’s it. Those are the women that know, and there won’t be any more. Women are amazing, they are fantastic goddesses of compassion, love, forgiveness, and empathy, but these are the ones I trust above all others. These are my tribe.

And for all you Shakespeare scholars out there, I’m sure you’re screaming right now, “But in the play, those are all Romeo’s friends!”

To that, I say, as Mercutio put it, “So what? Shakespeare didn't give Juliet any friends, so you have to steal them!”

And therein my Dearest Nurse, lies the point. Outside of you in that unforgettable play, Juliet didn’t have anyone. She was who I thought I was before I started this project: Alone, drinking wine, watching Big Brother, and writing ex boyfriends. And that sucked, because even though I’m terribly glad Romeo and I reunited, not having a friend to call when you’ve just left your husband is really, really hard.

Well, because of this project, I have realized, not only do I have friends, they are the best friends in the entire fucking world. I reached out to them when I started this whole thing, and they reached right back with the most open arms. It is literally making me cry right now. Tybalt and I hadn’t seen one another or spoken in over two years, and probably another five before that. Benvolio and I have met up twice in fifteen. Mercutio and Friar Lawrence I’ve known for such a short time that I was taking a chance, but I was so richly rewarded that frankly, I’m speechless. I really am. I am so lucky. All those years I spent thinking I didn’t really have real friends. All those Meryl Streep movies I watched, longing for sisterhood, and the camaraderie that comes with it… and it turned out, it was always there. These women were always there. All I had to do was open the door.

None of these women know one another, but my absolute dream of dreams is, that when this project is over, I will find a way to have them all on my deck, seated around my big, hand-tiled table, with lots of wine and laughter. When I tell you I am overwhelmed by the love I feel for them, know that is an understatement. I have friends now. I always did, but now I know I have friends. And from this point on, I will never be afraid to reach out or reach back again. I love and am loved by women who inspire me, and who I am awed by, and… oh my goodness, Dear Nurse, that feels so good I just want to wrap myself in a great big hug and cry for joy. I think I will, actually.

I never want to forget this moment. This feeling. I have friends. After ten years of holing myself away and thinking I was alone, I have friends. And you know what? They’re the best friends in the whole damn world.

Sincerely yours,

Juliet