I wanted the connection. And I asked for it

I

drop chocolate into colored glass cups, add a miniature schnapps. There’s something thrilling about doing something easy and economical, with a touch of elegance. It’s a demonstration of connection and friendship that makes each package count.

I go through my list of family, neighbors, friends, and workmates.

Toby. I stop. The thing with Toby is that she doesn’t fit neatly into any category. She and I work in the same building and sometimes we chat as we wait for the elevator. But I deliver my goods into her hands every year because she lives next door to my aunt. If I’m there anyway, why not? We enjoy a good schmooze and marvel how our young ones are making strides and our big ones are shying away.

When I first delivered my cellophane-wrapped baskets to her, Toby handed me one of her own. Then life changed, clear wrapping was out, boxed became the thing, and Toby stopped reciprocating.

“I have such a big family and friend group,” she lamented. “I’m not giving to you.” She waved her hand like a magic wand. “It’s okay, right?”

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll continue bringing, no pressure to give back.”

Hey, I can be a big girl, understand a friend, and be all there anyhow.

It’s what friends do.