My friend, Nicole, has been living with us for the past four weeks. I thought it would be best to keep it under wraps until now.
Basically, her jerk boyfriend just decided to call it quits one Tuesday. That's after three years together, a home purchase and the recent booking of a European holiday (hence, my last minute Paris trip). His decision appears to be motivated by a combination of immaturity and a young French woman interning at his company. What a...there are too many mean adjectives to choose from.
Devastated, she moved into our dining room and has been commuting back and forth to Napa. I've never really thought of myself as a particularly good friend; I'm not great about calling or remembering birthdays. So it's kind of nice to know that I come through when it matters most.
Together, the three of us have been a happy little urban family. It's been fun for Rob and I to teach Nicole about city living. She's already learned how to use the laundromat, walk to the grocery store, take the subway, host dinner parties, camp in Yosemite with climbers and go to the neighborhood bookstore. Getting her to try Ethiopian food is the next challenge. We joke that she's our 27-year old "daughter."
Nicole has been doing a little better each day. We even went out last Saturday to the bars with another single friend and Nicole caught the eye of a few handsome gentlemen. I was honestly a little worried about the arrangement at first. But it has turned out to be a strange kind of wonderful.