They say “closed mouths don’t get fed”, but asking is too close to begging, so I let it be.
“I’m not even gonna lie it’s times like this I question if my friends like me.”
And then I hit send. I knew what I said to Ken* was extra when I typed it, but I wanted to cut him a bit. I wanted to be heard.
“I don’t like you, I love you.”
I placed a heart on the message, yet I was still annoyed.
I could go into a long, drawn-out spiel of that Saturday, but it wasn’t grand in itself. I was supposed to meet Ken* and friends at a mutual’s Knicks watch party. Somewhere between “let’s all link” and gametime, communication broke down. I spent the day waiting for the details, assuming someone would eventually reach out. They didn’t. I made multiple calls before I finally received word.
Despite the sour taste, I still wanted to be in the presence of friends and familiar faces, so I went. As the Knicks valiantly fought for their lives the first two quarters of the championship game, I fought for mine in the backseat of an Uber. A nondescript black SUV. As the car whizzed through the Holland Tunnel, my phone lost signal, the radio died, and everything became enveloped in silence. I shed a couple thug tears. Hopefully the weeping was quiet enough, but that doesn’t matter now.
It wasn’t truly about arriving late to the game, or getting my logistics together without a car, or minor misunderstandings in the mix. It was that I was forgotten. That I don’t have anyone whose job it is to give a shit by default. I’m no one’s waking thought, their first call with good or bad news, their prayer point. No one’s “default person”. Someone that automatically checks in, includes you, and cares. This isn’t another “boohoo, I’m single” post, but an analysis of how my position in my relationships evolves when my friends are partnered. A lover girl truly loves love, even when it isn’t happening for herself. While I revel in the wins of my friends, the shift afterwards is palpable. Lovers are the defaults for each other, but what of those of us who don’t have one?
Ken* and I spoke later after I arrived, “Are we good? Barbie* and I were together all day, and a lot came up. I forgot to hit you up. I’m sorry.”
I knew he was genuine, so I word-vomitted. I went on about how I’m still learning my place in my friendships. I told him that at the end of the day, I know the only ones that have me in mind fully are my family and perhaps close friends. Apart from that, no one. And at this point, I don’t know when there will be. We couldn’t talk much there, as the evening’s festivities after the game were about to be in full swing. But it felt cathartic to share.
Sometimes, I feel on the outskirts of my friends. This thought process is partially of my own making, but not totally inaccurate. It didn’t spring up in a vacuum. It’s kind of different when your friends are dating, especially if it’s each other. They are now a packaged deal. I’ve felt similar with my long-distance best friend, Princess*, and her fiancé, Rome*. There are times I wish I could speak with her one-on-one, like we always used to. Now that she’s forging a life with a man, apartment, and dog in tow, how often do we get to share time alone? Yes, I care for Rome as well, and enjoy a man’s input on some of my shenanigans, but often conversations with my best friend become a shared group session.
I distinctly remember an occasion that stung. I called her to bitch-and-moan about something, and she told me she had to get off the phone to comfort Rome after a particularly bad day at work. We talked again later that evening, but the choice stuck with me. In that moment, she chose someone she loves that needed her, and it was him and not me. Rome needed her, and she showed. I can’t say I blame her, because I likely would do the same if I was in her position. It was a necessary jolt into reality, albeit uncomfortable, showing me that things were different now. I had to find my own way.
I don’t begrudge my friends and the joy they’ve amassed with their lovers. It’s a beautiful thing to watch them change, blossom into something softer and more yielding to love. Trusting. Though there is love all about me, this is a lonelier era of my life. I’m recognizing more and more that my expectations are a tad bit high given their circumstances. That being said, instances in which I feel “othered” or imposing are pushing me to make a concerted effort to build new connections of my own not solely based on previous proximity, but on shared experiences and seasons of life. Perhaps that’s what this summer begs of me, and to that, I will oblige.
Reading this as someone who is partnered and still feels like they’re often on the outskirts of their friendships…the part where you considered that your expectations may be too high given their circumstances is particularly relevant for me right now.