This is me and my best friend Rylee, dressed up as spies, just because. Today is her birthday. She is 25.
I am an emotional wreck in expressing my love for my friends. I fill up birthday cards and emails and letters with mush. Every time I just think about writing Rylee’s wedding toast, I start crying. I JUST HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS.
Rylee is more of a “show” than “tell” kind of friend.
There are times (of the month, lol, right?!) when I get worried, because that is just what I DO, that Rylee doesn’t think we’ll be best friends for as long as I do (until the year 2100), or that she’ll find some other dumb girl she likes better. Like, “Heyyy Katie, but there is this girl at work I met and, though we’ve only known each other a month, I have decided to replace you with her. Sorry, best wishes, ttyn! (That means talk to you NEVER.)”
I’ve been doing a lot of things lately that I never thought I’d get to do. One of them is trying to write a book. When I had 18 pages I emailed them to Rylee, adding that I was basically out of ideas and wasn’t sure how I’d ever have anything else to say. She told me that I would. We went through the same routine at 45, and 73, and 90.
She and I went to a cabin for five days at the end of summer and brought along a whiteboard and whiteboard markers. We have a thing with whiteboards, we have three in our apartment. On the first night when I told her that I was still worrying about how I’d ever finish the book, she took up the whiteboard on her lap and helped me brainstorm for two hours. When the whiteboard was full, she transferred all the notes (color-coded by topic) to a legal pad so that I could take them with me when we left. It was the sweetest thing.
I don’t know what’s going to happen with it. I just know that I have 127 pages more than I ever thought I would.
Thanks, Rylee. I might have stopped at 18 or 45 or 73 or 90 or 127, if it weren’t for you.
Happy birthday. You’re funny and pretty and weird and perfect. You’re also the worst sore loser I have ever met, so I guess it’s a good thing that you beat me in every type of game we play.
I love you. Bear with me - I might need to tell you that twenty more times today.