Life sneaks up on you.
One minute you’re lying in a cornfield somewhere outside Normal, Illinois, staring at the stars and wondering what college will be like. The next, you’re nearly thirty, comparing mortgage rates, planning weekend trips, and learning how to share your best friends with their spouses.
That’s the part no one really prepares you for — the sharing.
In This Content
The Gift of Long-Term Friendship
I’ve been lucky in love, but even luckier in friendship.
I met my two best friends on the first day of freshman year. We’ve grown up side by side — through heartbreaks, exams, career pivots, and all the little identity crises in between. We’ve argued, forgiven, evolved. We’ve stayed.
But time changes things. People get married. They move across the country. And suddenly, the people you’ve known forever have lives that stretch beyond you.
Which brings me to Boulder.
A Weekend in Boulder (And a Quiet Fear)
The trip was almost impulsive. I had a free weekend, limited funds, and a restless spirit. I searched flights to visit friends, and Boulder won by a landslide. Next thing I knew, I was on my way to see Daphne — and her husband, Joy.
Here’s the part I didn’t say out loud: I was nervous.
I’d known Joy since high school, technically. But adulthood is different. We hadn’t built a real friendship. Most of what I knew about him came through Daphne. Most of what he knew about me probably did too.
And that made me uneasy.
Would we click?
Would it feel awkward?
Would I feel territorial?
It’s strange to admit, but I wanted to be his friend. I know my other best friend’s husband so well — we have our own rhythm — and I craved that ease here too.
Realizing My Own Insecurity
Our first dinner together felt like careful excavation. You chip away at topics, trying to find common ground.
We both love Daphne. That’s obvious. We both matter to her deeply. That should have been enough.
But somewhere in the conversation, I caught myself.
I wasn’t worried about him competing with me. I was the one measuring. I felt protective, insecure, unsure of my place. That’s my best friend, after all. I’ve known her since we were teenagers.
And then it hit me: if I want to love her well, I can’t approach her marriage with defensiveness.
Insecurity makes you small. Love requires expansion.
Falling Back into Girlhood
Most of the weekend was what you’d expect when two longtime best friends reunite.
We talked endlessly. We drank. We ate an irresponsible amount of Cheetos. We shopped. We spiraled into deep conversations about religion and trauma. We toggled between nonsense and vulnerability like it was second nature.
If you have a best friend, you know the cadence — the way conversations wander everywhere and nowhere at once.
Joy mostly watched this unfold.
And I realized something else: he had never seen Daphne and me interact like this. Why would he have? He knows her intimately, but our dynamic is its own ecosystem — layered with years of shorthand, teasing, and fierce loyalty.
At dinner one night — pizza in a grungy basement bar near campus, the kind of place I’ll always love — I accidentally pressed on a sore spot for Daphne. I tend to do that. I know her pressure points because I’ve held them.
And for a moment, I wondered what Joy was thinking.
Was he worried? Protective? Confused?
Instead, it felt like an unspoken understanding passed between us. Like we were silently saying: We both love her. We’re on the same team.
Stargazing & Seeing Clearly
Later that night, Joy took us stargazing.
And that’s when I understood.
He’s thoughtful. Gentle. Intelligent in a quiet way. He brings out something whimsical in Daphne — a softness, a lightness. They fit. They move together with ease.
Watching them under the stars, I realized something I hadn’t admitted before: I was afraid of having to share her.
But how could I resent someone who loves her so deeply?
He would lie across every puddle in the world so she could walk dry. That much was obvious.
And instead of feeling threatened, I felt relieved.
A Small Moment That Meant Everything
We went hiking one day — the three of us and their dog, Tully.
Let me be honest: I am not built for altitude. My lungs were fighting for survival. I lagged behind, dramatically.
But Joy didn’t rush me. He didn’t make a show of waiting. He just did. Quietly. Patiently. Without complaint.
That kind of kindness doesn’t announce itself.
But I noticed.
And it mattered.
What I Learned
By the end of the weekend, I felt almost silly for my anxiety.
Joy wasn’t competition. He wasn’t a stranger. He was someone who loves my best friend — fully, faithfully, and well.
And that makes him someone I want in my life.
Friendship doesn’t shrink when you share it. It stretches.
I’m grateful I got to truly meet him — not as “Daphne’s husband,” but as his own person. And I’m excited for more weekends, more hikes, more basement pizza bars, and maybe fewer Cheetos (though probably not).
Growing up means learning how to widen the circle.
And sometimes, it means befriending the man who brings the stars to your best friend.
Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this piece, there’s more where that came from. Stay close — the stories are just getting better.