Normally, when someone leaves Playboy by his or her own choice, the staff gets together and gifts them with a cover in their own image (ranging from the wonderful to the wonderfully ridiculous) as part of their sendoff. They’re printed and placed on oversized mattes that everyone signs to create a really great memento of the outgoing colleague’s time at the company and of the relationships forged while they were there.

In the most recent departures, however, a large swath of us were let go (eventually 30-something total) after management’s decision three months ago to shutter the magazine. It’s a strange way to go out, with everyone already physically disbanded and working from home, a state of affairs that leaves no good way to put an official period on the end of things for any of us. No final goodbyes. No proper sendoffs. Certainly no parties and no covers.

But, as the world carefully starts to open back up, I was finally able to have lunch yesterday, outside on the westside, with three of my most cherished PB mag friends—Gil, Cat, and Winifred (the Managing Editor, the Executive Editor and the Copy Chief, respectively). During our outing, Cat surprised all of us with her own version of our covers. I appreciate mine and adore it so much more than any official company version because it was made by a dear friend and gifted with love during what is certainly not an easy time—a time when it probably would have been easier to just skip everything. And, of course, I also love it because let’s face it: MY HAIR HAS NEVER LOOKED MORE EXQUISITE.

Farewell, Playboy. Thanks for the memories.