Back in the day when I had oodles of cash lying around, I decided it would be fun to buy the place next door and pick my neighbor. I did, and it was an incredible two-year run. She would bring me flowers occasionally and write sweet cards. I would make a big pot of soup and bring her half.
We shared wine and secrets and conundrums too improbable to describe here. It was a business relationship, for sure, but above all, we became friends. The kind of friends that have been through things together. The kind of friends who trust that yes, the olive green walls will be repainted and the floors will return to splendor after a giddy tiny dog.
In the past two years, she managed to snag an impossibly sweet and handsome French husband, a belly full of baby, and a sprawling fixer-upper in Altadena, and now she’s moving on.
Today during my open house, with each person who passed through, I imagined our lives entwined. There will never be another Mia. But I’m trusting the Neighbor Gods enough to send me someone good. Let me know if you know anyone!