“What are you doing this weekend?” My co-worker asked.
“Heading to Chicago!” I said. “My friend Mash is getting engaged!”
“Emma, we know Mash.”
Everyone knows Mash.
Mash, a nickname that came easily with a name like Megan Ashley. A girl with two first names, it was one of the first things we bonded over when I was Emma Haley, and we met at one of those Chicago start-ups with beer on tap and ping pong tables.
She’s the friend who traveled in to help label the inside of my wooden drawers before my first baby was born so I’d feel like I’d be ready: sleep sacks, jammies, onesies.
She figured out where the bottles should go and how to make homemade ice packs for the early postpartum days despite not yet having her own baby.
She created a thorough “hospital-bag prep Google Doc” with bullet points like “don’t forget husband” to add in a little humor.
When I got the text from her soon-to-be fiancée, detailing the logistics of the engagement: 3PM, Green Door Tavern, park on the side street, I immediately booked my plane ticket and turned off the Find my Friends app. An app we’d used for years to obsessively keep tabs on each other from afar.
Ten minutes after disabling my location, Megan texed: “Emma Rachel did you remove me from seeing your location.”
I had no other choice but to lie.
“My phones been acting up,” I said. “You and my mom are the only ones who’ve noticed…” Praying my quick wit would hold.
It did, but I was on edge for weeks. Side texting friends. Double checking every recipient field. Debating and overthinking if asking ‘what’s going on this weekend?’ would make her think something should be going on this weekend.
After landing in Chicago, hours before the surprise engagement, I texted my sisters the details, having strategically waited because I knew I’d be inundated with questions about Mash, each of them making statements like “she’s my friend, too!”
My Garmin buzzed with “Relax Reminders” all day as I waited in anxiety for the 3PM proposal to come. Finally, our friends watched her say YES through the reflection in the window across the street from the room we were waiting to surprise her in. Her hands on her knees. Her hands over her mouth. Her hands on the face of her now fiancee.
My vision blurred with joy and nostalgia thinking to myself damn, she so deserves this.
Watching this moment brought flashbacks of our decade of friendship:
The time she suggested moving in together so I could save some cash before quitting my job, which meant we’d bunk in her one bedroom Chicago apartment with two queen beds crammed in next to each other — a modern day I Love Lucy situation.
Driving around in her black Nissan Rogue with the vanity plate, “M-A-S-H”, we’d make trips to Jewel Osco to pick up Ritz crackers and green grapes after bad dates. We’d go through the drive through at Starbucks on Wells for Vanilla Lattes and breakfast sandwiches after a foolish evening out.
And she’s still showing up for me, for everyone. She sends my kids Valentines Day cards and Halloween stickers and buys them Frozen branded nail polish kits because she knows I won’t.
On Monday, I spent the better part of an hour answering questions at work.
About the ring.
About the location.
About the new fiancée.
About Mash.
Thanks
for your help on this one.
Sounds like a friend you don’t want to lose track of. We should all be so lucky. Got your app turned back on?
I loved loved this one. Everything about it, and Mash and your friendship. She's the best!