Well, silly me for being surprised. “What? Why? When?” I should have known this, shouldn’t I?
“Oh, he was cheating on me.” For a second, that sweet, casual voice slips again, and I pick up a little anger.
“I'm so sorry, dude. That's awful.”
He smirks, lifting an eyebrow. “Stop being so polite. You thought he was an asshole.”
That's not wrong. Elliot introduced me to Andy after we had been hanging out for a couple of months. Andy was a very specific breed of douchebag. The ‘you should be glad I’m gracing your life with my presence’ variety.
“That’s irrelevant. You liked him. He shouldn’t have done that.”
“Not really.” He crinkles his straight nose. “I mean, he was hot. Even you can’t argue with that. But he was just convenient because I wasn’t looking for anything serious. Then he became inconvenient,” he says matter-of-factly.
“C’mon, dude. You’re really trying to convince me it didn’t affect you at all?”
“I mean, it did hurt my ego a little bit,” he offers, like he’s trying to placate me.
“Huh,” I say, digesting. I don’t think I’d be okay if Matt cheated on me. Wait, what?You aren’t together, Oliver. Jeez!
“What are you thinking about? I always forget how animated your face is,” Elliot teases.
Is it? My face goes hot. “Just that I probably wouldn’t be okay if someone cheated on me,” I deflect.
“Oh, you totally won’t be. Text me if that ever happens, and I’ll deal with the douche.” His eyes narrow. For a cute little person, he sure has a mean glare.
But the idea of Elliot trying to scare Matt is too funny. I laugh.
“But not everyone wants serious relationships, you know. I’ve just never felt that strongly about anyone, and I’m totally fine with it,” he continues.
That makes sense. As long as he remains his happy, mysterious, and snarky self, I guess that’s all that matters.
I don’t realize why his words hit me so hard until I’m standing in the hallway between my and Matt’s apartment.
Elliot is so right. Sometimes all people want is a convenient fuck.
I turn left and go inside. I’m not sleepy yet, so I pacearound, looking for things to do. That leads me to getting out the vacuum and cleaning my entire apartment.
But I’m done with that by nine-thirty. I’m old but not old enough to be in bed by then.
I decide to give old Marge another visit. And what do you know, this time she opens the door.
“Oliver! Finally made some time to come visit me?”
She’s surprisingly happy to see me. Maybe people aren’t as interested in gossiping as they used to be. Maybe the world is healing.
“I came around yesterday, but you weren’t here,” I say. Might as well butter her up some more.
“Oh yes, I went on a trip with my girls before the holidays. My family will be down here tomorrow.” She makes a face that says she’s not looking forward to it.
I laugh dutifully.
She basically pulls me into her apartment. It’s clean, beige, and smells like daisies. “Did you hear about Mr. Winford on the second floor?” she starts as soon as I’m sitting on her brown couch.
“What did Mr. Winford do?” I go along with it. And I’m a little curious to know what the middle-aged, straight-faced Mr. Winford did. Sue me!
“He was arrested for public indecency,” she says, salaciously.
My eyes widen. Couldn’t have guessed that. But that just proves you never really know your neighbors. And that gives me the perfect opening.
