*
My apartment wastoo small, too hot, too empty, and after a ninety-minute whirlwind cleaning session interrupted by periods of ugly crying, I needed to escape. I changed into jeans, a black t-shirt, and silver flats, and charged out of the apartment with nothing more than my keys and wallet.
A cell phone was bound to cause trouble.
People-watching on the Red Line was adequately distracting, and the trip to Brighton ebbed my tears. Ringing the buzzer, I prayed that Marley and Jess were at home rather than pregaming—they upheld the college tradition of starting the weekend off right with startling fidelity.
“Andy, hey.” I whirled around to see Jess leaning against the doorway in her favorite clubbing dress with half of her hair curled in loose waves and a mascara wand in her hand. “What’re you doing here?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” I sighed, feeling the rush of tears prickling my eyes again. “I had a huge fight with my boyfriend, and it’s been an awful day, and I just need to talk to someone.”
“Yeah, so, about that,” she said, pointing at me with the wand. “You didn’t bother to tell me you were seeing someone.”
“Oh, I know, I’m sorry—”
“Can you just wait?” She held up her hand to stop me. “Let me finish. I haven’t seen you in two months, and you blow us off every single time we make plans. You have this big dramatic problem right now, but you’re never there for me when I go through a bad breakup. I can’t even…you literally never ask about me, or my life. I mean, I thought that since we were living in the same city again we’d be friends, but it’s obvious to me that you’re just a selfish bitch.”
I should have checked the weather this morning. It would have advised me to stay in bed to avoid the shit storm coming my way. “Jess, I’m sorry—”
“Let. Me. Finish,” she said, ticking off her points with her wand. “So it’s fine if you want to have your own life or whatever. I’m not sitting around and crying because you don’t want to have sleepovers with me anymore, but you’ve been a complete bitch since you showed up here in January.”
Marley tiptoed past the door, and when I tried to catch her eye, she made a beeline for the other side of the apartment.
“You don’t think I notice that you hate the clubs we go to, and the guys we hang with, and you think you’re too fuckin’ smart to even talk to us. Marley’s too nice to say anything, but you treat her like she’s dog shit, and I’m done with you. We were friends in high school, and that’s it. You need to find new friends to deal with your little boyfriend dramas.”
I didn’t have the strength for a counter-argument, and it probably wouldn’t have amounted to much. Wrapping my arms around my waist, I nodded, and stepped away from her door.
“And if I had to guess,” Jess called, her words landing on my back. “That boyfriend probably figured out you’re a cold, self-centered bitch and you’re too busy admiring your own asshole to give a fuck about anyone else.”
The door slammed behind me.
I debated skipping the subway and wandering along Beacon Street until I reached my apartment, but shouldering the weight of the day alone was starting to crush me. One more step seemed like too many. I watched the city stutter by with my head pressed to the Red Line window.
Emerging at the Park Street station, I squinted toward Beacon Hill and knew wallowing at my apartment wasn’t a wise choice. Not in the bed where I told Patrick I loved him. Not that he remembered, of course.
I stumbled toward the Theatre District, and found myself at the only dive bar divey enough to handle me: The Tam. I took up residence at the far corner of the bar, ordered three shots of vodka, and put on my best ‘don’t fuck with me’ face. I craved some communal anonymity but I wasn’t above backhanding the first bro who sidled up next to me.
Turning over my palms and forearms, I studied my skin, expecting to find myself bloodied and bruised from the blows levied by Jess and Patrick. Bruises would have been better, and part of me craved a physical representation of the pain inside. I knew how to heal bruises. I didn’t know how to recover from this.
It was a slow night at The Tam—anyone with a shred of sense was outside enjoying the weather, and not wishing for open wounds to appear on their body.
The bartender leaned against the bar with a nod toward my empties. “’Nother round?”
“Um, vodka gimlet,” I replied, my head braced in my hands. I hoped my vodka therapist was answering calls at this hour. A thorough sort-out was in order since I was complete shit as a friend and girlfriend, and patently incapable of holding either title. That, and I was utterly alone in the world.
“Comin’ up.”
I wanted Jess to be wrong—grossly wrong—but she wasn’t. I was a terrible friend to her. I treated Marley like an imbecile. I hated going out with them and faked my interest in all of their conversation topics. Badly. I expected them to be waiting with open arms when I needed them, and had the balls to be surprised when they weren’t.
And Patrick…oh, Patrick. He wasn’t without fault, but he wasn’t entirely wrong either. Pain radiated through my chest at the memory of his words.
You’re not the center of the universe.
I thought you were smarter than making a habit of fucking the people in charge.
I don’t know why I thought you’d ever let me in, but I was really fuckin’ wrong about that.
Patrick rewriting the partnership agreement was exactly what Ididn’twant—special treatment based on our relationship. But why couldn’t he have told me sooner? Why did I have to find out from Tom, and his suggested snooping? Why did Patrick let me look like such a fool?
