“Nobody does that here.”
“Did you get into a fistfight with the guy delivering the milk?”
“No.”
“You just hit a home run, Lisette. Gold star.”
She laughed. “Americans are crazy.”
“I am not arguing with that, but corporate people are especially crazy.”
Later, as she headed to bed, I said, “Good night, rock star.”
“Good night, rock star,” she called back, laughing. It already felt like we were better friends than we were. I suspected Lisette had that effect on people.
The next day,my best friend Jasmine called me up. Jasmine, Lucas and I had been brunch buddies for over a decade. We were all in our late thirties, all perpetually single, and we managed to have a good time pretending to be fabulous while debating the life choices of characters on TV shows.
“Hey, Chica,” she sang out. Jasmine has one of those voices that can turn a two-syllable word into a Mariah Carey song. “How is the ‘New Found Land’? Are they having a lot of July 4thfestivities?”
“Shockingly, no, given that it’s not their Independence Day. I guess July 1stis Canada day, but I arrived late enough that I missed any parades.”
“That seems unfair.”
“Somehow, I’ll pull through without an evening spent wondering whether that’s fireworks or gunshots for six hours straight.”
“But you like it there? Lucas said he thinks you’re doing some kind of cleanse.”
Lucas, Jasmine and I had gone out for drinks together when I told them I was leaving, and he had stared at me in silence for a few moments when I mentioned Newfoundland and then immediately pulled out his Google maps app to remind himself where it was.
“What am I supposed to be cleansing in this scenario?” I asked.
“Urban life,” she replied.
“I’m literally in a city.”
“Not a real city. St. John’s is the size of Hartford, Connecticut, isn’t it? No one ever says,I’m going into the cityand means Hartford.”
“Well, tell Lucas I am cleansing all my negativity and I’ll come back in a Live Laugh Love t-shirt, carrying a golden retriever puppy that I’ve named Chastity.”
“We can’t be friends anymore if you do that, you know that, right?” I laughed, but there was some truth to it. We spent an awful lot of our time together venting. “So,” she went on, “is it like Prince Edward Island? That’s my one reference. I’m picturing you in a white farmhouse, wearing a wicker hat and reciting poetry.”
“Just add tanker ships and a lively bar scene and you’ve nailed it.”
“Have you met Gilbert Blythe?”
“Definitely not.”
“Justin Trudeau is hot,” Jasmine said thoughtfully. “And Ryan Reynolds and Ryan Gosling. That’s it. That’s my entire knowledge of Canadian men. I know nothing about Newfoundland.”
“It’s an island.”
“See, the only islands I know are in the Caribbean.”
“Well, the food is expensive here. So I guess that’s one thing all islands have in common.”
“Tell me when you’re home so we can start planning things again.”
One of the things I liked about Jasmine was that our primary relationship was in person. She wasn’t one of those people who stayed in touch via Facebook or Instagram. She actually wanted to see people and give them hugs and get meals together. The flip side was that she didn’t quite know what to do with our relationship now that I couldn’t meet up.
