“You’re right.”

“I know I am. Now get in here and tell me about Ashley.”

I smiled from ear-to-ear before grabbing her in the tightest hug I was capable of giving. I loved her. She was my best friend and I had missed her more than I could’ve ever predicted. More than Heidi misses L.C. More than “America’s Next Top Model” misses Janice Dickinson. More than…ok, you get it. You totally get it.

More than “Saturday Night Live” misses…everyone. Sorry, I had to get that one out.

I followed behind her, collapsing on one of her art-deco barstools.

“So you like Ashley?” she asks, pulling a bottle of wine out of her fridge.

“I’m in that weird place where sometimes it’s slightly past like and sometimes it’s significantly past like and sometimes it’s…you know, other stuff.”

“Other stuff?”

“I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about this.”

“Yes you are,” she says, passing me a glass.

“I like her a lot. I really do.”

“Is the sex still good?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“We start and stop, but never finish. That time in the bathroom…”

“My fault. Right.”

“So it’s not a sex thing because that’s only happened once.”