Love is a decision, Mo said as she lit another Marlboro Light.

We were sitting in our favorite booth. In our favorite hole in the wall bar and grill.

On one of our first weekends as roommates we sat in this very booth, and over pitchers of Lite, shared ourselves. We got so drunk that night we had to walk home. Not covering the short distance fast enough, we decided to gallop. I broke my shoe.

But tonight we sat as best friends sharing ourselves again. We sat as roommates with limited days. She's going back to Cincinnati. I'm as a sad as a rat. (TM Allison.)

We talked about boys, love and sex. Mostly about sex. We revealed our numbers. She knew mine already, minus a recent addition or two. She blew me away with hers.

Wait! You didn't tell me you had SEX with him!

We counted backwards and forwards, trying to fill the blank spots, or rather her blank spots, of senior year.

We widened our eyes at each other when we forgot last names. Or first. We covered our eyes in embarrassment over that night in September. But we secretly smiled at each other. Maybe I even winked.

We laughed. Loudly. We caused the guys sitting to my right to glance over a few times.

We talked about our ideal engagement rings. About our perfect proposals. We made bachelorette party promises and swore we'd see each other at least twice a year.

We wondered how we could be so old. We wondered how we survived without the other in our life. We talked about old roommates and about how different our relationship is.

We talked about Montego and how much they'd miss each other. How much we really were a family.

We ordered another pitcher. Coors Light the only thing on tap.

We bought cigarettes out of the machine. She admonished me for buying 100s.

But Light 100s are like regular Ultra Lights, right?

We got sentimental. Recalling loves past. Shaking our heads in amazement that we survived so many heartbreaks.

And time doesn't make a difference, she said. If you loved him, you loved him.

But it doesn't make sense, I told her.

It never does, she said.

We sat in silence. Wondering how two girls could've lived lives of such parallel, totally apart.

I swear you were a bitch the first night I met you, she said.

I was being a hostess!

Obviously not with the mostess!

We talked in our crazy voice and made pretend wedding toasts.

Never mind that we're both more single than the Missing Piece.

And when the pitcher was dry and the pack was empty, we walked home.

Remembering that late May night when we galloped. When our friendship, while not brand new, was fresh and wide open.

To you Mo. To our magic MoJo.

I'll miss you more than you'll ever know.