Lunch, Thirty Years Later

*As always, names are changed to protect people's privacy.

According to my journal, the last time my middle school friend, Ivy, came to my house was on Sunday, April 14, 1996. 

That day, along with our friend Aviva, Ivy and I got together to work on a group project, an ongoing endeavor that had spanned ten weeks. I was not looking forward to this meeting, as my friendships with both girls had been heavily strained all year and were clearly ending. This project had caused an even greater rift between us, as I was constantly bickering with Ivy and Aviva, and they were constantly bickering with me. However, to my great surprise, I actually got along great with them that day. My mom ordered in lunch for us (hoagies, if memory serves me correctly), and we had fun while getting a lot of work done. Perhaps there was hope for repair.

The next day at school, we were fighting again. 

As you saw in a series of posts that I began in the fall of 2024 and completed in the spring and summer of 2025, middle school was pure hell for me, rife with bullying and ultimately being ostracized from my friend group. Ivy, who had once been the closest of these friends, stood by while another once-close friend, Torey, kicked me out of the lunch table in the beginning of 9th grade (part of the middle school in our district). By the end of the year, none of my friendships survived.

However, something interesting happened when I was writing the series: I friend requested Ivy and Torey on Facebook. Long story short, Ivy followed a link I had posted to this piece and commented on it, apologizing for ending our friendship. She admitted what I had suspected for years, that she felt if she continued to be seen with me, she would be bullied as relentlessly as I was. I eventually messaged Torey, and she and I had a similar discussion, which also resulted in her apologizing. Reconnecting with both women and clearing the air proved to be therapeutic: I realized that the school had failed Ivy and Torey almost as much as it had failed me. Talking about those years also helped me truly put a traumatic part of my life in the past where it belonged. It also taught me that it is never too late to patch things up. As I talked to both Ivy and Torey, I learned that I liked the smart, caring adults they had both become.

And finally, on November 30, 2025, Ivy came to my parents' house for the first time since that day in 1996 when we worked on the project together. I was visiting Pennsylvania for Thanksgiving week, and I suggested that she, Torey, and I get together. She drove all the way up from Delaware, her five-year-old daughter, Fern, in tow. After she came inside and exchanged greetings with my parents, we got into Ivy's car and drove to a nearby diner to meet Torey. 

For the first time in almost thirty years, Ivy, Torey, and I ate lunch together. I think what was the most remarkable about this reunion was how unremarkable it was. We were no longer insecure, terrified kids in the pure hell that is middle school. We were calm, well-adjusted adults-- who also had insecurities. In fact, we discussed these insecurities with ease. I talked about my therapist, Oren, who had died suddenly earlier that month. Both Ivy and Torey expressed sympathy for my loss. Torey also talked about a personal anxiety issue she was struggling with, and I offered advice. While it matters that we are adults instead of kids talking about this, being adults in the 21st Century is just as relevant, if not more. In middle school, I wouldn't have even admitted to going to a therapist. I'm not sure adults in the '90s would have discussed such a thing with each other. It was still largely a taboo subject back then.

We also laughed, of course. Torey had a great time getting to know Ivy's daughter, Fern. "Someone's made a friend!" I commented, as Fern sat in Torey's lap and giggled. 

Did we talk about our days in middle school? For about two minutes. I brought my 7th- and 8th-grade yearbooks. Ivy and Torey both laughed at the messages they had written to me. Then, Torey flipped through the book and said, "I don't remember any of these people." I quietly put the yearbooks away.

After lunch, Torey gave me a hug before getting into her car. She said she might bring her kids up to Boston to visit sometime. I promised to show her around the city. Ivy drove me back to my parents' house so that Fern could use the bathroom-- and meet my cat, Neptune, who was also visiting. When Ivy asked where the bathroom was, I said, "The same place it was thirty years ago," and then pointed it out. As Ivy was getting ready to leave, she said, "I'm so glad we did this," to which I said, "Me too. And we'll do it again."

I have no doubt that we will.