That’s what friends are for

Secret or not, Julie is kind of my friend – or as close as anyone will be to a friend. And to see her in such pain, to know she’s miserable and unhappy, I had to do something. Her mom’s not the crying type, I gather. She’s making boxes to go back to her parents’ multi-family home in New York, as if her dad was already gone. He hasn’t even arrived in Moscow and he’s already being considered dead.

So I invited Julie for a sleep-over. We never really get to use our extra bedroom – Uncle Roger always invites us to sleep at his place but he never stays here overnight. I wonder what that’s about? – and this might be the last time we would. Anyway, Julie did sleep over once, although I doubt she remembers coming in. My dad, she remembers.

‘Is Phil Parker going to be there?’

I snorted: girls are SO weird when they meet/talk/gossip/hint at Dad. Why didn’t she just say ‘your dad’? Why wouldn’t he be there, it’s his house!? Why did she ask? Would it change anything if he is – or isn’t?

I wasn’t in the mood for a fight, so I just asked her to come over. We had fun: popcorn and a gossipy week recap on the entertainment channel. We went to bed at four in the morning, when Dad finally asked us to keep it down. He thought we were laughing, but it was Julie crying: they had announced her dad’s arrival in Moscow and showed his first footage. I hate to admit it, but he’s quite good behind the lens.

To cheer her up, I gave her my embroidery purse. I found it at the beach years ago – washed it in bleach to get the water stains and the horrid smell out – and always thought it was so beautiful… but I must learn to let go of the things I love. I must practice.

　

***Jessica Peter is a craft swapper, a writer and a travel bloggist: http://jessdoesstuff.blogspot.com/ ***