by Jo Watson
“Bitching! Yes, I can do that!” I felt confident. “I can bitch!”
“Me too,” Alex said.
“Okay, so . . .” I tried to start slagging Matt off, but nothing was coming to me. “Um, yeah, Matt! He was such a, such a . . . um . . .” I tried to think of something negative, but nothing came. Was I that far gone that I couldn’t find one bad thing to say about him?
“He was so, so, so . . .” I tried to forge ahead. But finally gave up and shrugged.
“Come on, you can do better than that,” Julian urged. “Was he selfish, maybe?”
I thought about it for a second and then nodded. “Well, I guess he did slip his laundry into mine sometimes and expect me to do it, and he hardly ever said thank you.”
“Selfish and ungrateful!” Julian clicked his tongue and shook his head.
I started thinking again. Really thinking. “You know what, he actually was ungrateful. I did so much for him. Stuff that girlfriends are meant to do. I even went out and bought him a new toothbrush when he dropped his in the toilet. And, oh God, he actually talked me into buying Sam tampons once because she’d run out and he didn’t know what to buy.”
“Damn! And what the heck did he do back for you, gurrlfriend?” Alex said with a strange accent. He clicked his fingers and snapped his head back and forth.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Isn’t this how women talk to each other when they’re trashing their exes?”
“Like Aretha Franklin?” I smiled at him and he smiled back.
“I’ve never done this before,” he confessed.
“Me neither.”
“But you’re doing so well. Continue,” Julian added.
I nodded, feeling a little more confident in my trash-talking abilities. “Okay, I mean, if I think about it, he usually only talked about the things he was interested in. I was always asking him how his day went and I would listen for ages, but he never really asked me back.”
“Selfish prick,” Alex said, dropping the accent and the dramatic clicking.
“I know, right?” In fact, now that I reflected on it, I could see he was selfish. The relationship had often felt like a one-way street, but I’d ignored those feelings so often.
Julian and Alex looked at me and shook their heads. This was starting to feel really good.
“And, while I’m at it, he didn’t sound like he was that great in bed either.”
“Do tell.” Julian leaned in even more; it looked like he was having more fun than we were.
“Well, I could hear them. And it’s not like she was screaming his name every five minutes and banging the wall with her sweaty fists.” I threw back a shot of tequila and looked at Alex and Julian. They were both staring at me now.
“What?” I asked.
Alex and Julian looked at each other, as if they were communicating silently.
“What?” I asked again.
“So . . .” Julian started, “your definition of good sex is screaming his name every five minutes?”
“And beating the walls?” Alex added.
I burst out laughing. “What’s wrong with that?”
Alex and Julian both shook their heads.
“Um . . . To be honest,” Alex started, “I’m not sure I’ve ever made a woman bang her sweaty fists against a wall.”
“Well, then you’re probably not doing it right,” I said.
“How should we be doing it then?” Julian asked.
“Yes.” Alex also leaned in—I had their attention now.
“Helllloooo! Drink, please,” a voice suddenly called out and we all turned to see an angry-looking couple waving in our direction.
“I’m busy. Pour your own!” Julian shouted at the startled people and turned back to us. “Carry on,” he said to me.
My tongue was a little loose from all the alcohol so I was only too happy to oblige. “Well, all I’m going to say is that sometimes less is definitely more, and slow and steady does win the race.” I gave them both a wink and a knowing nod.
They looked at me blankly and then shook their heads.
“What does that even mean?” Alex asked.
“Please. Tell us,” Julian urged.
“The thing is, sometimes you guys just go for it like you’re trying to score a football goal in the first minute of the bloody game!”
“So we shouldn’t be trying to score so soon?” Julian asked.
“No. And definitely not with so much enthusiasm! It’s a delicate area, it needs some warming up. A bit of prep work before the main event.”
“So, lots of foreplay?” Julian asked.
“Not necessarily. But you can’t just go for it like a jackhammer. Start slowly . . .” My thoughts trailed off. “Very, very slowly. Like, so slow she almost doesn’t even feel you at first. Teasing. And then, only when you’ve teased her so much that she is about to scream and beg, do you pick up the pace . . . Mmmmmm.” I think I needed to fan myself. My body temperature went up a degree or two as I started to imagine all sorts of things.
“Not like jackhammer . . . slowly . . . teasing,” Alex said as if he was reading. I looked over at him and he was scribbling my words in his little notepad and I burst out laughing.
“Yes, and here’s another tip, when we start looking like we’re going to . . . you know, you don’t have to always increase the speed like a bat out of hell. Sometimes it’s all about that slow and steady pace.”
“Slow and steady . . .” Alex continued to scribble.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, there’s a place for jackhammers and bats out of hell, but sometimes I think you guys think sex should look like it does in pornos. Most women don’t want to be bent over and twisted into a million positions at one time . . . just saying.” I had such a captive audience now. “Also, it’s not always about the size of the tool, it’s how you use it!”
“So size doesn’t matter?” Alex asked.
“Not as much as you guys seem to think it does!” I nodded at them both.
“Good to know,” Julian almost mumbled under his breath, but then quickly corrected when he realized we’d both heard, “not that I am . . . you know. Deficient in any way down there. At all!”
“No. Me neither,” Alex quickly added.
I laughed. “Guys! You’re like children when it comes to penis size. Remember, there’s only so much space in there anyway . . . and there is definitely a limit to how much luggage one can fit into a suitcase, if you get what I’m saying.”
They both looked at me and nodded slowly and thoughtfully in unison.
“Yup.” I threw back another shot. My tongue was getting very loose now. “Big, medium, slightly smaller than medium. I’m cool with them all, as long as you know how to use them.”
“Thanks,” Alex said, “that was very informative. Good to know for step ten.”
“Huh? Step ten?” I asked.
“Getting under someone else,” he said casually.
“Wait! What?” I said, shocked.
“Didn’t you read that far? That’s our step ten in getting over our exes.” He looked so cool about that.
“Well, I’m not doing that!” I said quickly.
“But we have green ribbons.” Alex held his finger up.
“Exactly. What was rule one? No relationships.” I held my finger up too.
“There’s a big difference between sex and relationships,” Alex said.
“Said no woman ever!” I quickly added, because, let’s face it, women who can truly separate love and sex are few and far between.
“We made a promise, though. We have to get through the list,” Alex insisted.
“I made a promise before I knew I was meant to be having sex with some random person.” I wagged my finger at him.
“But don’t you want to get over that . . . BLOODY BASTARD!!” Alex suddenly broke eye contact with me and screamed. People in the bar looked in our direction and I jumped in my seat, suddenly caught of
f guard by how emphatic he was being.
“I mean, sure Matt was a bastard . . . But—”
Alex cut me off quickly. “No, not Matt. Look!” He pointed at the TV screen behind the bar and Julian and I swiveled our heads. It was the show I’d seen at the airport, Big Band Battle, and the same band was playing from last time. The same cheesy singer was gyrating across the stage to an adoring female crowd, sweat beads glistening on his forehead.
“That’s Six Feet Over It,” I said, pointing up at the screen. I immediately heard a massive groan emanating from next to me, and when I turned, Alex had lowered his head and was now resting it on the bar counter.
“Not you too . . . please. Not you too,” he moaned into the bar, almost inaudibly.
I looked up at the TV screen again and felt my brain doing some kind of mental aerobics until I finally got it. “NO!” I gasped loudly. “That’s not . . .? It can’t be . . .? She left you for him?”
Alex’s head was still down, nose and forehead to the bar, but he managed to nod it.
“WHAT!?” I shouted and then coughed a little as I choked on a peanut. “But he’s so, so, so . . . lame,” I offered. It was the first and only word I could think of in that moment. I was also reeling from the shock from this revelation.
“And their music is terrible,” Julian added quickly.
“And his hair! No one highlights their tips anymore, unless your last name is Jovi. Or is it Bon Jovi? I don’t know.”
“And look at what he’s wearing.” Julian pointed. “No self-respecting man wears pants that tight.”
“Or leathery,” I added. I shot Julian a concerned look and he nodded at me. No words were spoken, but we both understood what we needed to do!
“It’s like if Meatloaf and Billy Idol had a baby.” Julian was on a roll now.
“And it was raised by Kiss,” I exclaimed.
“Besides, there’s no way they’re going to win this competition,” Julian said.
“Exactly. They’ve probably bribed the judges to even get this far.” I banged my hand down on the bar counter for added effect. “Seriously, you are way, way hotter than him, and more talented—you’re a surgeon, for God’s sake, and what does he do? Gyrate his pelvis on stage!”
“It’s obscene!” Julian started pouring shots and lining them up on the counter with slices of lemons. This was an alcohol emergency.
“But he’s cool. He’s a rock star,” Alex moaned again.
“He’s a bad one.” I put my hand on Alex’s back and started rubbing it in circles. I had to admit that having the man that seduced your fiancée on TV wasn’t exactly helpful when trying to get over her.
Alex lifted his head slightly and looked up at us both. “You really think so?” he asked.
Julian and I both began a mutual nod.
“He’s terrible,” Julian qualified firmly.
“Pure eighties power-ballad cheese.” I nodded.
We all looked up at the TV and watched together in silence as the song finally came to an end and he fell to his knees on the floor, again.
“And way too dramatic,” I added, pointing at the TV.
“I forgot to tell you, he goes by the name Enigma,” Alex said.
“Oh God, what an idiot.” I shook my head at the fool who was lying dramatically on the stage in the pool of melancholy blue light.
And then suddenly, it happened. It! And it was the worst, worst thing that could ever have happened under the circumstances . . .
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
It felt like we were all watching it in horrific, extra-slow motion.
Enigma pulled himself up onto his knees. And then, he reached into his pocket slowly, so, so slowly. He raised the mic to his mouth again and started speaking, his words deep and blurry, like in a dream. Then his hand reappeared from his pocket clutching a ring box. Julian and I both gasped and then looked over at Alex, whose jaw fell open.
The camera swung wildly into the crowd and found her. Connie. Alex’s Connie. She raised her hands to her face, just like I had done during my fake proposal. The camera panned closer to her and Alex gripped onto the bar as if he was going to fall over.
“Connie, you are the love of my life. You are my reason for being. The reason I do what I do every single day. The reason the sun rises and sets in the sky . . .” He paused and looked directly into the camera with his smoldering eyes for what I can only assume was added dramatic tension.
I cringed. God, he really was cheesy.
“You are my Yoko. My muse. My everything. And I really want you to be my wife too.”
“Yes! Yes!” she gushed, tears streaming down her face now as she rushed onto the stage and threw her arms around him and they—
Julian turned the TV off quickly and we all just sat there in total silence for what felt like forever. No one dared to speak, I guess we were all waiting for Alex to initiate conversation again, but he seemed glued to the bar. Holding on so tightly that his knuckles had now turned white.
“I . . . I don’t think I feel that well,” Alex finally spoke. His voice was so soft and reserved, nothing like I’d heard before. “I think I’m going back to my room,” he said in a slow staccato rhythm. He stood up, looking a little like a zombie, eyes not fully focusing on things, and began to walk away, dragging his feet in the sand.
“I’ll come with.” I jumped up and ran to him. I wasn’t sure what to do, drape an arm across his shoulders in a comforting way? But how the hell was an arm going to comfort that?
I couldn’t imagine what he was feeling, at least I hadn’t seen Sam and Matt’s actual proposal. And on live television, no less. I decided to drape my arm across his shoulders anyway and felt a little bad when I realized just how deliciously broad and muscular they were. I quickly put that thought out of my mind, not appropriate under the circumstances.
We walked in total silence until we reached his room. He stopped, still looking slightly zombie-ish, and turned to face me.
“Thanks,” he monotoned.
“Do you want me to come in for a while?” I asked.
It seemed like he thought about this for a while and then slowly started nodding. “Sure. That would be nice. I don’t really feel like being alone right now.”
“Of course not.” He opened the door and I followed him into the room where he immediately went to sit on the edge of the bed.
I sat next to him, shoulders touching once more. Silence.
He finally spoke. “I mean, I knew it was over, but I never thought she would get engaged to someone else. Not so soon anyway.”
“There should be a mandatory waiting period between proposals,” I said.
“There really should be, right?” He turned and looked at me. “A decent amount of time between heart-breakings.”
“Agreed!” I nodded and looked at him. “It’s not fair,” I said softly.
He shook his head. “No.”
“Love hurts.”
“It does,” he agreed.
“Then why the hell do we do it?” I asked.
“Because when it works, it’s the best feeling in the world.” He tried to force a small, brave smile and I smiled back at him. My heart felt like it was breaking. It was breaking for him, breaking for me and the general situation we both found ourselves in.
“I can tell you though, I’ll be much more careful going into a relationship again,” he said softly, staring forward.
“Me too,” I agreed and looked down at the green ribbon on my hand.
“I’m certainly not going to be telling anyone I love them again anytime soon.” Alex flopped down onto his back on the bed. “God, I feel like such an idiot. Everyone we know probably saw that.” At that, as if on cue, his phone started beeping and buzzing in his pocket.
“Turn the thing off,” I said. Sympathetic messages just made you feel worse. I flopped down onto my back too, and we lay next to each other looking up at the ceiling. The ceiling was high and a fan was going round and round in hypnotic circle
s and as I watched it, I felt my eyes getting heavier and heavier. It was making me feel somewhat sleepy. But I willed them open.
“You know, you haven’t bitched about bae yet, and this would be the perfect moment to do it.”
“That’s true.” Alex turned his head and looked at me. “What should I say?”
“I don’t know. What did she do that pissed you off?”
“Other than saying ‘No’ to my proposal, cheating on me and then getting engaged only two months later?”
“Yes. Other than that,” I replied. “What else?”
He sighed. It was long and loud and had an edge of defeat to it. “I’m not sure I can do this.”
“Sure you can. Where’s Aretha Franklin now?” I propped myself up on my elbow and looked down at him. His eyes came up to meet mine and I marveled at how the color of them seemed to change with the light or his mood. Now they were a sad, blue-gray color.
He shook his head. “I’m not that kind of guy. I can’t bitch about people, no matter what they’ve done to me.”
I studied him for a while before speaking. “You really are a nice guy, Alex. You don’t meet too many these days.”
“Apparently, that was part of the problem,” he said, turning and looking back up at the ceiling.
“What was?”
“I’m too nice. What did she say . . .? ‘Not passionate enough. Not enough fight in me. Too passive.’ And I thought the key to a successful relationship was not being a bastard.” He sighed again.
There was a small amount of truth to his statement, of course. But I wasn’t about to point that out now. A man that was too nice is often seen as boring. But so far, I certainly hadn’t experienced him like that. This Connie woman was clearly a mad cow. I almost turned and said that to him, but then stopped myself. He didn’t want to bitch about her, even after everything she’d done to him.
We both stared in silence at the ceiling; the soothing circles that the fan was cutting through the air were seriously making my eyes heavier and heavier and heavier . . .
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The sound of children laughing and running woke me up. I opened my eyes, the sun was streaming through the gap in the curtains. It seemed late in the morning. I moved my body, but felt trapped under something heavy. I looked down to see what it was, and to my surprise, it was a big, solid hand.
