We met for the first time in the hallway of a Philadelphia hotel room.  I had just convinced all of her friends to ditch her at the airport and make her get a cab to the hotel.  I was sure she’d  understand why we’d rather do tequila shots than greet her personally.

It’s a miracle she didn’t immediately denounce me as her nemesis.

Instead, she exploded out of the elevator and into the hall of the Philadelphia  Sheraton with more life and animation than I had ever seen in another human being.  (Which is saying something, because I’d already met Becky.)  The woman is more of a walking party than I am – and I don’t think I’ve ever said that about another person in my life.

She permanently cemented herself into my heart that weekend.

Now, almost two years later, she is living in my neighborhood, and has become the girlfriend I longed for since moving to Florida.  No, she doesn’t have kids like I do, but she happily walks along behind mine while we all go trick or treating together.  And sure, she’d probably kill me if I dropped by her house without a forewarning phone call or text, but she walks into mine without knocking and has shown up more than once in her pajamas and Homer Simpson slippers.

She has permanently cemented herself into my family over the past six months.

She was the person my husband called when we separated.  She’s the friend who stays with our kids on Thursday nights.  She’s the girl who cried on my couch and let me cry on hers.  She’s one of the few people I called out for on my very worst day, and she came to my rescue without hesitation.  She sits on my back porch and endures my secondhand smoke while we laugh and laugh until one of us (usually her) snorts or (usually me) pees.  She talks sense into me when I need it and shuts the hell up when I don’t want to hear it.

A part of me knows that it won’t be like this forever; neither one of us has plans to die in this subdivision in Central Florida.

But we both know better than to guess or worry about what the future will bring.  For right now, she’s here, and I am more grateful for her presence in my life than she will ever know.

Happy Birthday, Hilly.

And thank you.

For all of it.

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