There are two reasons this ritual became important to us. First, we escaped our hectic lives. Second, we talked and talked and talked. It was like therapy (with a high alcohol content). Our lives changed a lot in the years we went to Tybee. I switched jobs a few times; Caroline got promoted a whole bunch of times; I got married and she fell in love. We both bought houses, discovered wrinkles around our eyes, and got (just slightly) better at telling our mothers no.
What Happened Next.
I got pregnant. There’s just no way to do this trip with a baby in the belly. So July 4, 2004, Caroline and I went away for a spa/shopping weekend. It was fun, but it wasn’t Tybee. The next summer, we talked about going back but I had just returned to work and had a lot of working-mom guilt. By 2006, I was pregnant again. This past summer, we didn’t even discuss it.
Caroline, who is one of my daughter’s favorite people on the planet, met my family for a hamburger dinner a few months ago. My toddler spilled water and screamed. My son cried for no reason. It was one of those stressful meals that makes parents lose their minds.
When the bill came, I told my husband I would pay it if he would take the kids home. “Caroline will give me a ride later,” I told him.
She and I hit the bar for a glass of wine. We started talking about our emotional issues and which ones we inherited from our mothers. “This is Tybee 2007 style,” I told her.
“Totally,” she said laughing.
What I’m Thinking Now.
Caroline is engaged, and she and her fiancé are likely to move to another country. My husband and I are considering baby number three. A lot is about to change, a lot already has changed, but I think there is time for one more trip to Tybee. I better call now. I bet the Rodeway is booking up.
