When I interviewed for the job that would bring me from Houston, Texas to my beloved Baltimore, Md. way back in 1996, Carey Donnelly was part of the team that interviewed me. At one point, I forgot an obvious word (a habit that I now blame on my children but which clearly predated them) and asked for her help. She said, “I don’t know the word.” And between that and her impeccable sense of style and fast, stylish sports car, I knew she was way too cool for us to be friends.

That was true for the first few months of my employment, and then a small moving trauma brought us together. I had moved thousands of miles without knowing anyone, and settled into a small suburb right by our office. It was — lonely. So after being there a few months, I left my sublet and rented an apartment in Mount Washington, an urban community near downtown Baltimore. It was an attic apartment with wood floors; love at first sight.

I hired movers, and they delivered everything except my gorgeous, beloved, bought-with-my-first-adult-paycheck-ever red couch. It was … too big. Too big for the stairs, too big for the apartment, too big to get anywhere. After canting it over the third story fire escape with three men carrying it, then removing the burglar bars from the windows, they got it as far as the … kitchen. And there I sat on it, crying.

It seemed so important! and a symbol of something! and not sure of next steps, I called Carey.

My goodness. That girl — a friend should always have Carey with her on a hard day. She might have been a bit cool in the interview, and training me every day (again and again) tried her patience, but — with a couch tragedy on my hands, Carey sprung into action. In what seemed like two seconds, she had arrived at my apartment — with food. She brought good cheer. She brought a certainty that we could do it, and she brought stubbornness. She even brought Dr. Pepper!

We cemented our friendship that day, wedging the couch between the kitchen and the bedroom, then between the kitchen and the bathroom, and then just in different parts of the kitchen, until finally giving in and letting go. She stayed for hours. We got sweaty and mad. We laughed and laughed and laughed. I asked her why she didn’t give me the word in that darn interview, and she gave me her line, which she maintains to this day: “I had no idea what word you wanted!”

From the start of that evening, we became a team. Our boss, Mitch, was happy to join in, and the rapport — the laughter, the friendship, the confidence that we were good at our job and better together — is something I still value 15 years later.

Work is great when it is effective, and infinitely better when it is fun. Though we only work together rarely these days, Carey remains my most stylish friend — and one of the truest.

P.S. Carey helped me locate a ‘sofa mover’ on the following Monday who came to my apartment, took the whole thing apart, and put it in the living room without a second thought. All problems have solutions — and the best problems also create friendships.

P.P.S. In looking for tonight’s photos, I found the one of Jana and I from last night’s story, and included it there.