Why I Broke Up With My Best Friend
The Best-Selling Author of "Silver Girl" Shares Her Story
However, on my 40th birthday, I came up with a new mantra: I was going to be my own best friend. I now have lots of amazing women in my life, a circle of five or six that I can confide in when I need to, but no one friend is closer to me than any other. I have found that, as much as I miss that incredible intimacy, the reading of minds, the finishing of each other's sentences, my mind and heart are clearer, and I am happier.
I do hope, however, that somewhere down the road, Kate and I come back together again. We will be old ladies, perhaps, wearing sensible shoes, our husbands long buried. I will see Kate across the salad bar, perhaps at the Early Bird special, our eyes will meet, and we will smile. I will say, "Hello, Kate." She will say, "Hello, Elin." We will start a conversation—perhaps about something as mundane as the size of the cherry tomatoes—and soon we'll be remembering the eggnog ice cream we ate on the night of the new millennium, we'll remember the stuffed caterpillar she brought when my first child was born, and we'll remember how we saw Pete Rose when he checked Kate out in the elevator at Caesars Palace.
And it will be just like no time had passed at all.
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