Last week, a group of dear college friends came to my house for fondue. Every few months, for the past 20-some years, we track each other down and have dinner together. Each time we gather, a new chapter is added to our ongoing stories: We’ve shrieked over engagement rings, attended each other’s weddings, compared swollen ankles during pregnancies. We’ve rocked each other’s babies and handed down clothing. We’ve helped each other move out of apartments and into houses. We’ve held each other at funerals and during divorces.
As I looked out across our dining room table that night, I found myself fading in and out of the conversation. The voices and laughter became fuzzy in my brain as I observed the tableau before me: long-time friends. Sisters. We are all so different, yet the fact that we all lived in the same dorm decades ago keeps us connected, bound together by time and shared experience. Even though most of us don’t see each other regularly, we always find our ways back to each other. I hope we always will.
The six of us encircled the fondue pot, leaning in with our forks stacked with bread cubes and veggies. We giggled as olives went rogue and took a dive into the Gruyere. Fondue is messy and interactive. You lean in, then sit down, then reach across, bumping elbows, saying, “Excuse me” or, “You first.”
And boy, it dawned on me how wrong I had been about the dining room table.
When we downsized, we didn’t bring a dining room table with us. It’s been seven years since my family moved into this small house. As we were getting ready to move, we decided to forego our big table. Since we were going to a small house, it seemed logical to have a small table, too.
We used a small table for a while. In the “just right” kitchen, our small table took up most of the floorspace, but we crammed around it. Our knees knocked into each other. If we pushed back our chair, chances were good that we’d scrape against the wall. We tried to look at the bright side. Look! I can reach into the fridge and grab the butter without getting out of my chair! How convenient!
But who were we kidding? My husband and I and our four tall children huddled around the tiny island of Formica, trying our best not to topple over our plates and glasses with our tangled legs and elbows. It was crystal clear that if we were to add even one extra guest to dinner it would be complete mayhem.
How could I have gotten it so wrong? I was assuming the only thing we’d be doing at the table is eating. I somehow forgot that family tables are used for games, puzzles, homework, late-night science fair projects, and after-school snacks. Couples fight at the table. Siblings argue. Money is counted, or borrowed, or loaned. Secrets are whispered.
And yes, there are meals. There are meals like the one I have with my longtime friends, the ones who know me better than most, the ones who keep my secrets. In exchange, I keep theirs, too.
No, I was wrong about the dining table. I thought downsizing meant “small” and “less.” But over the past few years, the smaller house has only meant other parts of my life get to stretch their limbs and fill up a much bigger space. Think of the way a cat stretches after a long nap. Or the way a plant unfolds its leaves, bending and stretching toward a patch of sunlight.
So a few years ago, we got rid of our tiny table. Now, we use a portion of our living room for a big, beautiful table with soft, comfy chairs. Our table has earned its rightful place in our house because we’ve decided that in our little house, there is more than enough room for friends and laughter. We don’t fuss if something spills or a glob of cheese lands right on the tablecloth. In fact, a glob of cheese or a smudge of chocolate sauce on the table is a badge of honor.
Sometimes the love we share among this group of friends seems too much to even grasp. I’ve seen The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants and I’ve read The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, but I know that despite what Hollywood tells us, these enduring friendships are sacred, something to be held and cherished. All you need is a large enough table. There will always be room for friends and fondue.
