An impromptu crowd had gathered. We had nothing to feed them. We’d been out of town for more than a week fetching the kid. So they went and got a stack of pizzas. That’s the kind of friends they are. Pizza friends.
Their first child was born four months later. Jackson had his first playdate with their son. It was more of a mom playdate. The babies were in bassinets. We sat together and watched football and talked about whatever. I stole a garden gnome from her house that night. There were shenanigans that followed.
Their second child was born three years later. They remained pizza friends…the kind of friends you could call and say, “I’m getting pizza, you get wine, bring your kids over and make me laugh.” And they did.
Then they moved away.
The day-to-day interactions of my life changed quite a bit after that. It’s been more than four years. And some days it’s still really hard that they’re not around the corner anymore.
When we hung out on the boat, ate pizza (obviously), drank beer, watched our children play together and laughed until my stomach hurt, it was so good. But I couldn’t help but be a little sad when we all went home because I was reminded of how much I miss them.
Pizza friends are rare creatures.