Being a widow, she told me once, was a social liability: “They don’t know what to do with you at dinner parties”
The author’s mother Veronica with friends in 1993. Photo: Courtesy of the author My mom Veronica is 80. She used to be popular. In one of my earliest memories, she sits at a kitchen table in Queens, spilling her mug of instant coffee as she cackles with her best friend. When we later moved to New Jersey, her work pals from the local real-estate agency popped by in the afternoon to gossip and listen to Billy Joel. “I’m movin’ out!” Veronica would sing, with a fist pump.
Mom then bought a condo around the corner from me, my husband, and our 11-year-old daughter Tess a few months later. So now, like almost 14 million American seniors, she lives alone. She and I haven’t lived within 3,000 miles of each other in over 25 years. Now, I can walk to her door in four minutes. While we talk every day, shop for groceries together on Tuesdays, and meet every week for Sunday supper, I know she longs for a few old broads.
The author and her mother in 2006. Photo: Courtesy of the author I learned to prioritize women from Veronica too. She valued her friendships and worked at them. As a kid, I saw her differently when she leaned into a huddle of housewives to tell a funny story about shredding her bra in the washing machine. She wore her chic Norma Kamali catsuit to meet the girls.
Sociologists say it takes an average of 50 hours to make a casual friend and about 200 hours to form a close bond with someone. Using that metric, and undeterred by the previous failed friend date, I figured my mom could make two casual friends a month and bank her surplus hours to upgrade informal pals to platinum status.
Thankfully, my Nextdoor gambit paid off. By noon, 37 people clamored to befriend Veronica in the comments. That evening, over 150 jockeyed for a playdate. The responses ranged from “Born in the Bronx. Count me in.” to “I would love meeting senior ladies who are still alive …” to “Does she need a gay best friend?” Only one creeper asked, “Does she like to party?” My mom simply said, “If that means some Doobie Brothers and a glass of red wine, absolutely.
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