And then there were two.

There used to be four. Now we will only have two.

The first moved to style the hair of celebrities; she comes home often, telling tales of the eccentric people, like those at her Santa Monica gym, stair-stepping in oversized sunglasses and pink UGGs. The second is moving in a week for retail merchandising; her new life will involve a two-hour commute in L.A. traffic and business trips to China and India. The third is content in the Minnesota ‘burbs with her man, raising a puppy and working as a dental hygienist. And the fourth – me? I am restless, always restless.

The four of us, we started in the same place, all friends from high school, and yet despite our diverging life paths, our group dynamic still works. They aren’t the friends that sugar-coat their lives, insisting that they are happy and everything is wonderful. They are the friends that bitch about their problems and tell amusing stories about their latest sexual partner. I adore them. Especially on nights like last night where the wine bottles to people ratio is skewed toward the wine side.

The second is making her move this next Tuesday morning. The third is joining her for the trek cross-country. I have also been invited. Even though taking three days of PTO and missing one five-hour summer-school class to drive TWENTY-EIGHT hours is a bad idea, I still debate. I like being one of four.