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I shake my head, not about to explain the loneliness that I’m bracing for this season. The pain that already ignited this morning. The slip-ups that have been invading my thoughts. I really don’t like the holidays, but that’s immaterial. December just happens to be the month my life ended. “I wouldn’t be very good company.”

“Alright. I definitely don’t want you killing my buzz, so maybe after the new year?”

“Ask me at the next meeting.” I make a turn to use the stairs instead of waiting with her at the elevator.

Relief floods me when I key in the code to enter my apartment building. I don’t socialize. Haven’t for… well, since I left Penn State. I can’t bring myself to care. Forget about meeting anyone new.

A small white envelope, the size of an index card, falls to the floor when I open my door. I scoop it off the ground before hanging my jacket and computer bag. It was hand-delivered since it only has Jonathan scripted elegantly across the front.

I kick off my shoes and collapse onto the couch, sinking into the cushions. It’s probably the best investment I’ve made since my motorcycle. This thing’s so comfortable, I could fall asleep on it. Only to wake in the middle of the night.

I pop open the envelope with a swipe of a finger. The thick stationery has PPW embossed in gold at the top, with scrolling leafy vines on either side.

The tailor’s business card is included along with the appointment date. I pull my phone out of my pocket and add it to my calendar. What’s a couple more suits? We’re a business casual firm, except when we’re meeting with clients or have collaborative meetings like today. And Priscilla Prescott isn’t easily ignored.

I impulsively click on the text again. The one Sadie sent this morning. I’ve looked at it at least ten times today. I scroll up to the one before it, sent on April 7th, my birthday. I deleted every other message after this one. They were too painful to read more than once.

Sadie: You’re still here. And that’s what matters most. I’m still here too. Happy Birthday, Jonathan. I love you. Always and Forever.

I swipe the message app from my screen. Why can’t I let her go? It’s what she wanted. And what I need to do. Since the moment we became more than friends, she’s only ever been hurt. This isn’t healthy for either of us.

“Screw this,” I say to no one, because that’s who I talk to most. Myself. Whether out loud or in my head.

I climb the stairs to my loft bedroom to change and head back out into the harsh winds of coastal Connecticut. I thought it would be cool to live right by the docks with views of the harbor. But damn, it’s cold.

I don’t have far to go before I enter the warmth of the pub.

“Hey, Samuel.” I nod to the bartender, who may or may not be my friend at this point. I’m here when I’m not at work, the gym or my place. Sometimes I need to be around noise and other people. I don’t engage with anyone other than Samuel. It’s where I go to hold on to my sanity. Or humanity? Either way, there’s always cold beer on tap and sports on the screens.

“Whatsup, Jonathan? Whatcha havin’?” he asks, pointing at me like he’s been waiting for me all night.

“Just a beer,” I respond, taking my usual stool near the end of the bar and pushing it back to make room for my legs. I lean forward to set my elbows on the bar top and glance at what’s playing on the screens. Some low-tier college bowl game and hockey.

Hours later, I’m milking my second beer, and the hockey game has been followed by another. The pub’s transitioned from the after-work crowd to those ready for a Friday night out. This is most people’s first stop, before they go to a concert or a club. A few will hang here to play pool or darts. And then there are those who’ve already had enough and need to have that one more drink that’ll end up making the following day intolerable. And that’s who walks in when I’m settling my tab.

“Tell Erin I said hi,” I say to Samuel before turning around to come face-to-face with a group of girls dressed in various styles of red dresses and Santa’s hats.

“Where are you going?” a brunette asks, pointing at me from inches away and inadvertently poking me in the chest. “Excuse me,” I say, trying to sidestep her. But there’s another one. This one has short, blond hair and red lips as bright as her outfit.

“You can’t leave.” They’re bossy… and drunk. Which is most likely why they’re so bossy. They probably think they’re flirting.

“We need to be leaving,” the one behind them says, standing by the door. She’s sober and has apparently taken on the role of drunk-sitter. I feel bad for her. She has her hands full. “They’re not going to serve you. Let’s go back to Kelly’s place. She’s already there, waiting for us.”

The girl is tall with jet-black hair. Her brown eyes are sharp and bright when she gives me a small smile and nod of acknowledgment. I do the same in return. She has the door propped in an attempt to get her friends to leave.

“Are you coming with us?” a fourth asks. I spin around, having no idea where this one came from. They’re multiplying like gremlins—just add vodka. This one has black-framed glasses and a chin-length bob. She’s sitting on the stool I just vacated. She props her head up on her fist and smiles at me or tries to—she’s barely conscious.

“Uh, I am leaving,” I tell her. “If that’s what you mean.”

“Great!” the brunette exclaims, wrapping an arm around mine. The blonde on the other side leans against me. I’m afraid if I move away, she’ll fall over.

The sober friend, Terin, I think one of them called her, appears annoyed. “Leave the poor guy alone.” She bites her full lower lip and scrunches her nose. She’s definitely attractive. “So sorry about them.”

“Don’t apologize for us like we embarrass you,” the one with glasses says from the stool.

“You don’t embarrass me,” Terin replies softly. “But you can’t just accost a random good-looking guy at a bar and think that’s okay.”

“What’s your name?” the blonde, using me for balance, asks.