I've pretty much decided that all bets are off between now and Sunday morning, when my Canadian friend, probably my dearest friend here, leaves. We keep telling each other that we'll see each other again--when I'm on sabbatical, or when we meet up in her home city, or when she comes to my little village. But I won't be able to see her across the terrace as she's coming back from doing her laundry. And I won't be able to break any more of her grocery store wineglasses with my thumb while just trying to clean my lipstick off their rims. And I won't have her around to have my back when particular people say, "Is that a new dress? I haven't seen it before." Because she's the person here who can retort instantly to something like that: "There's a lot about her you haven't seen."
She's the person for whom I'm happy to leave the dinner table in order to get trivial information (like what "Eton Mess" is, when that's the scheduled the dessert). And in three days, she won't be here anymore. And it's sadder than I'd have thought it could be, back when I first met her and she asked me embarrassing questions, just like she does to everyone.