“Help! I need a furniture therapy!” Angelique texts me early one recent morning. Even earlier for her since she moved from Maryland to Colorado a year after our family jumped ship from the Old Line State to the Old North State. But we’re both early risers, especially now that we’re middle-aged, and those predawn conversations are frequent — focusing on anything from perimenopausal insomnia and parenting to what smutty books we’re currently reading. Or, as in this case, which Facebook marketplace chairs will look best at her dining table.

When Gail, a mutual friend of ours, got wind that I was packing up and heading to the rolling hills of rural Myersville, Md., she said, “You’ve got to meet Angelique! She has a vintage business, just like you. You two will hit it off.” Plus, I discovered, Angelique had three kids, two who were the same ages as mine — Sawyer and Emmy, just 6 and 4 at the time. It felt like a fated friendship. And yet, things didn’t simply fall into place.

Once our boxes were unpacked, I dialed the number Gail had given me and burbled on as I do when I’m nervous and unsure of myself. “Hi, I’m Cassie, and Gail has told me so much about you and I’d love to hang out sometime and our kids are the same age and . . .” Yep, oral diarrhea, technically diagnosed as logorrhea, and I just can’t make it stop. But I suppose that’s better than the actual kind.

As luck would have it, I discovered that Sawyer and Angelique’s middle daughter were on the same soccer team. And at practice one afternoon, Angelique was there on the sidelines — tall, goddess-like, striking with dark-chocolate hair and, although I don’t quite recall the outfit, I do remember thinking at the time, “that’s pretty chic for soccer practice.” Angelique, I began to realize, had impeccable style, both in fashion and, I learned as the months went by, in what had become increasingly an interest of mine, interiors.

I fought the immediate urge to run over and say hi. And I didn’t. In fact, we didn’t really become good friends for months after that. As I sat on a blanket with Emmy watching Sawyer run down the soccer field, I took one look at myself and the word that came to mind was “frumpy.” Ill-fitting jeans, a worn T-shirt and hair that had been plopped up on top of my head just to keep it out of my tired face. Ultrachic Angelique seemed clearly out of my leggings-count-as-pants league.

But, as the years trotted along in Myersville, our kids got to know each other in school. Soon, Emmy was asking to play with Angelique’s youngest daughter, Genevieve. The girls were too young to make those plans themselves but old enough to choose their own playmates. I can’t remember who broke the ice first, but once we started chipping away, the rest melted.

Slowly, Angelique and I got to know each other. What started as a mutual passion for design and fashion blossomed into a deep interest in what else we held dear and what terrified us. We are both dreamers who thrive on the creative back-and-forth more than the final product. But where I am all fire and have a “go” kind of energy, Angelique is a soft place to land, contemplative, compassionate and an incredible listener. Day by day, week by week, month by month, as we allowed ourselves to become more vulnerable and share our innermost trials, tribulation and triumphs, we became trusted confidantes through all of life’s beauty and messiness.

When she became caretaker for her elderly father, I listened as she navigated a new stage in life. And when I suffered several miscarriages, Angelique’s nonjudgmental, empathetic ear saw me through. In fact, so thrilled that baby Wilder was finally growing in my belly, she insisted on throwing me a baby shower. I assured her I didn’t need one and was met with, “But I want to do this for you, Cassie.” While it may have taken years, Gail was right. No, off the bat, we didn’t hit it off, but practice makes perfect and now we’re each others biggest cheerleaders.

One of our favorite outings was to make the hour-long trek to Ikea, lists in our hands and dreams of affordable Swedish-made furniture and decor in our heads. The drive offered the opportunity for coffee and conversation. On one occasion, as we glided south on I-95, the topic of women supporting women came up — after all, we both co-owned female-led businesses. I said something to the effect of, “Sometimes it’s a case of feeling mutually intimidated that can lead to two women missing out on what could actually be a great friendship.”

While I hadn’t actually been referring to us, Angelique, in the passenger seat, sheepishly peered at me out of the corner of her eye and quipped, “Yeah, let’s not let that happen again.”

That’s the moment it dawned on me. All that time I’d lost thinking I wasn’t worthy of Angelique, she had been intimidated by me. She saw me as smart, casually stylish and totally confident in who I was. Turns out, that intimidation was just mutual admiration.

I pick up my phone, press Angelique’s number and wait for her to pick up.