by Hayden Hunt
“Not a problem.” He nodded, still going hard on the beer.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Hey man, what are you up to?” he asked. “Do you want to come over to Jamie’s? We’re eating some pizza, then going to the bars.”
“What?” I asked, confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Uh… We’re talking about going out drinking. What’s wrong?”
“Well, you’re supposed to be at my house tonight,” I told him.
“What? For what?”
“For game night!” I said, beginning to get a little frustrated.
“Huh? No, man, you said that was next Wednesday. We were just talking about it.”
“What? No I didn’t, I said tonight.”
“Naw, dude, you said the sixteenth. Check your texts.”
“Shit…” I muttered, putting a hand on my head. This made Miles look at me strangely.
“No harm done though, right?” Mario asked. “You can just come over to Jamie’s tonight and we’ll do game night next week.”
I flashed Miles one finger before getting up and walking out of the room, trying to let him know that I needed just a minute on the phone.
“No, I can’t. I invited this guy I met at my shop over for game night. He’s already here.”
“Oh, a new man in your life, already?” Mario teased.
“No,” I said. “It’s not like that at all. He came in with his fiancée. He’s totally straight. I was just trying to be friendly earlier because he seemed like kind of a lonely guy.”
“Shit, man, that sucks. Good luck getting out of that one.”
“Yeah, thanks for all your help,” I said sarcastically.
“We’re still coming next week though, so, you know, buy more beer.” He laughed.
“Will do. I’ll talk to you later.”
“See ya.”
Shit, now I had to go out and explain to this near stranger why it would only be the two of us here tonight. That wasn’t going to be awkward at all.
I walked back into the living room. Miles’ second beer was gone and he had grabbed himself another out of the fridge.
“I, uh, hope you don’t mind,” he said, holding the beer above his head.
“Not at all,” I said. Though it was a little concerning that he was on his third beer, considering he may be deciding to go home now.
“So, uh, funny story. I guess I told my friends the wrong date. They thought game night was next Wednesday, so they’re not coming. It’s going to be just us. Sorry about that. I totally understand if you just want to go home.”
He thought about this for a moment. “Well, would you still be down to chill?” he asked. “If not, it’s no big deal, but—”
“But what?” I asked.
“But me and my girl got into a pretty big fight before I left. I’m not really looking forward to going back there right now.”
Well, that explained his eagerness to drink.
“So, you want to hang out, just the two of us?” I asked.
“I mean, I’m down. If you don’t mind.”
“No, I don’t, that sounds fine.” I smiled. “I’m gonna get myself another beer.”
I didn’t really mind, either. It might be a little awkward at first but I was sure that would dissipate pretty quickly. I could hang out with basically anyone. Especially with a few beers in me.
And I could see Miles was already a little tipsy, so I was sure we’d both loosen up. Honestly, it beat going out to the bars with my friends. I just didn’t like that kind of atmosphere. I wasn’t one for crowds and music so loud you couldn’t talk to the person next to you.
I sat on the recliner with my beer. “Want to play some games?”
“Sounds good.” He nodded.
This seemed like an easy way to break some of the tension. We could both get drunker in peace as we played some games.
I popped in a random first person shooter and we got into things. It was nice. We were mostly quiet, of course with the random laugh or jeer every now and then. We played like this for about an hour or two. I kind of lost track of time.
But we were both grabbing beers in between games and I was definitely drunk by the time we finished. My hands always got a little sweaty when I was too buzzed, and I could definitely feel them now. It made it kind of difficult to keep playing, so I suggested we take a break.
Mere seconds after I did, Miles’ phone began to ring. He looked at it, rolled his eyes, and silenced it.
“Man, it’s Chelsea.” He groaned.
“Not going to answer it?” I asked.
“Naw. I really don’t see the point. We’re not going to work anything out over the phone.”
“Do you want to go home and talk to her? I won’t be offended if you’ve gotta go, I know how important working this stuff out is. I can call you a cab.”
He shook his head. “Honestly, it doesn’t feel that important right now. I don’t see the point in rushing it. Plus, doesn’t feel like there’s a lot I can do to actually work it out.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s hurt about something that isn’t fixable right now. Like, there’s nothing I can do or say to make it just go away. I’m not sure what she expects me to do.”
“You wanna talk about it?” I asked.
Normally, I wouldn’t, because this seemed personal and we weren’t close. But he really seemed like he wanted to get into things. It was probably the alcohol. It took away all inhibitions that made you want to keep things private.
“When we got home, she kind of freaked out. Said I wasn’t interested in this wedding, I wasn’t interested in her, how she deserved to be with someone who really loved her, basically.”
“Damn. That sounds like a big fight… But you told her you loved her, right?”
“Yeah, I did. And I do. She’s my best friend. Well, honestly, she’s my old friend at this point. We’ve lived together for years, been together ten years. I care a lot about her.”
“Well, then, maybe you just need to get more into the wedding stuff for her? If that’s what will make her feel more loved, I mean.”
“But I don’t give a fuck about it!” he said in exasperation. “It’s stupid, it’s pointless, it doesn’t interest me. I wish I could make myself care about it but every time I do anything for it, I get angry. And I’ve been trying so hard to hide how much I hate this all for her.”
“Why? Why try and hide it? Why not just tell her how you feel?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt her, I guess. I think hearing how I really feel would bother her. I guess I’ve gotten into the habit of lying to her like that, to save her feelings. Seems like I’m doing it all the time lately. I even had to lie to her again tonight.”
“You did?” I asked curiously. “About what?”
“Well, when she was going on about how I don’t care about the wedding she asked me why I even proposed. And the truth is, I only proposed because I felt obligated to do it. We’d been together so long, her family and friends were pushing me toward it, it was the right thing to do. But I know that’s not romantic. I knew it would hurt her.”
I could feel my eyes starting to bulge a bit. “Is that really the only reason you proposed to her?” I asked.
“Well, yeah, is that bad?” he asked.
I gave an awkward laugh. “Well, I think usually people propose because, you know, they want to get married. I gotta be honest, doesn’t sound like you want to be married at all.”
He was drunk and honest. “I don’t. Every single day, I dread getting closer to this wedding.”
“That’s no way to live your life, man! If you’re not happy, if you don’t want to marry her, then you shouldn’t. Seriously, you could just not marry her.”
“But I’d be an asshole if I did that. I was with her for a decade. What a dick I’d be if I didn’t marry her after ten years.”
“I have to be blunt. Do you really think sh
e’d rather be with a man who doesn’t really want to be with her? There’s more to life than that, there is more to love than that.”
“But is there?” he asked, a hint of sadness in his voice. “Isn’t this how relationships are after such a long time? Boring, routine, but comfortable? Will she really be able to go out and find someone who, after ten years, is still passionately in love with her? Have you ever felt that for a woman after all that time?”
I laughed a little, because obviously I hadn’t found that with a woman.
“What’s funny?” he asked. It was in this moment my drunk ass realized how inappropriate it was to laugh right now.
“I’m so sorry, I’m not laughing at you, I’m really not. It’s just… I haven’t found that with a woman but I’m gay.”
“Oh,” he said suddenly. “Well, have you found that in a man, then?”
I thought on this. “Okay, if I’m being honest, no, I haven’t. But I haven’t been with any guy very long. I haven’t had a very serious relationship, since it’s hard to date around here. But I do truly believe that it’s possible. In fact, I’ve broken up with every guy I’ve dated specifically because I didn’t feel very passionate about them. I really want that. It’s out there.”
He sighed. “I don’t know. All I’ve ever heard is that relationships get comfortable after a long time.”
“Well, sure they do. But comfort doesn’t mean the absence of passion. I think even with comfort, you still feel deep love for that other person. Have you ever felt that passionate about Chelsea?”
He paused. “No, not really. I was pretty hesitant to date her back in high school. I don’t know, I didn’t have a lot of experience with girls and I wasn’t very interested in it at that time. I sorta got pushed into dating her. And then I just got comfortable with her.”
“Well, maybe that’s your problem. Maybe it’s because you were never passionate with Chelsea and that’s why you can’t feel that much for her now. I mean, you’ve only been with one woman in your entire life. How do you know there isn’t somebody better out there for you?”
“Shit,” he mumbled. “I never even thought about that.”
“Look, obviously I don’t know you very well, and I’m not trying to butt into your relationship at all. You know your life better than me so you should do whatever you think is right.”
“That’s the problem, though. I probably don’t know my life better than you! I don’t think I know my life very well at all these days. I don’t think about it much. I actually spend every moment I can avoiding thinking about it.”
“You don’t sound happy. And I don’t think that’s any way to live your life. Like, you say you’re comfortable with Chelsea, right?”
“Right,” he acknowledged.
“But today in the shop, I noticed you don’t even really talk with her much. And obviously you can’t communicate with her about things you don’t like, like your wedding.”
He looked at me skeptically. “So what is that you’re trying to say?”
“I’m saying, what kind of comfort is that? When you can’t talk to her and you can’t communicate with her? Is that level of comfort really worth staying unhappy for?”
He laughed in realization. “You’re right. I don’t know why I always say I’m comfortable. Clearly, I’m not. I’ve talked more honestly with you in the last few hours than I have with her in the last few years.”
“So what’s really keeping you in this relationship?”
I felt guilty asking, like I was destroying a relationship that I knew nothing about. But I was drunk and I was speaking my mind. The way this guy was describing his life to me made it sound so incredibly bad. It really seemed he’d be better off alone.
“I don’t know. I really hadn't thought about it. I’ve just been going through the motions because I felt like I should. Like I should be married at my age. Like I’ve been with this girl so long, I should just stay with her.”
“But you don’t know what’s out there. Happiness could be out there, man! There could be someone you actually are comfortable talking to, about anything. Someone you could spill your life to and feel good about it. You could be with someone who you’re excited to see after work every day. This could be your life.”
“You’re right!” he agreed suddenly, standing up off the couch, then promptly stumbling a bit. “I can’t do this with her anymore! I’ve got to go. I’ve got to tell her.”
“Woah there, cowboy!” I said nervously. “Maybe this isn't a decision you should be making totally wasted.”
I was a little anxious at the thought that I had drunkenly convinced this near stranger to break up with his fiancée. Neither of us were thinking very clearly. I didn’t want him to wake up tomorrow hungover, his engagement in shambles, with me to blame.
“But things have never been more clear!” he said happily. “I’ve never felt like I had things figured out with my life, but now I do!”
“Yeah, but, you never know when it’s just the alcohol talking. Better safe than sorry. I’m sure if this is really the right choice for you, you’ll feel equally as clear about it in the morning.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said, sitting back down.
“Besides, I don’t really think you should be driving tonight.”
His eyes widened. “Oh, shit, you’re right! How am I going to get home tonight? Fuck, I’m going to have to leave my car here and then come back in the morning before work. What a pain in the ass.”
“Do you want to sleep here?” I offered.
“Seriously?” he asked. “That isn’t awkward?”
“Nah, I have friends sleep over all the time when they’re too drunk. I actually have a guest bedroom so it’s not a problem at all.”
“Sweet! Thanks, man, thanks.” He gave me a goofy smile.
I was really starting to like this guy.
3
Miles
Aidan had gone off to the bathroom and in his silent absence, it hit me that I should probably let Chelsea know I wasn’t coming home tonight.
I didn’t want to call; she’d hear the slurring in my voice and that’d only piss her off more. So I went for a text instead.
“Hey, not coming home 2nite. Staying at Aidans.”
I got a text back mere seconds later.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No. Y?”
“Miles, we just had a huge fight! You’re supposed to want to come home and work this out with me.”
“Well, can’t. Too drunk to drive.”
“That’s just great. While I’m here, crying, focusing on our problems, you’re out drinking away yours. Very mature.”
I didn’t know how to answer that, so I didn’t. I didn’t want to say something I’d regret anyway. But she texted me back again.
“I’ll come pick you up, then. We need to figure this out.”
“No. Don’t want to pick up my car tom. Too much hassle I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Are you fucking joking? You can’t even deal with the hassle of picking your car up for me? Not even to make sure I’m fucking okay?! I was bawling when you left.”
“Sorry, we’ll talk tom,” I reiterated. I was too drunk for a fight of this level.
“No, we won’t,” she sent back.
I didn’t know what that meant but I was way too wasted to try and figure it out. I tossed my phone next to me on the couch and went to lay down, because the room was starting to spin a little bit.
When Aidan came back, he saw me laying down on the couch, hands covering my face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately.
“Not feeling so well,” I told him.
“Ahh, starting to get nauseous?”
“Yeah,” I answered honestly.
“Here, come on.” He extended a hand. “Let’s go lay you down. It’s getting late anyway.”
I nodded and tried to use his hand to stand up but as soon as I got to my feet, I was tumbling. I could
n’t hold myself up straight at all. Shit, I really didn’t mean to get this drunk.
He wrapped one of my arms around his shoulder and half carried me over to his guest bedroom. I moaned a little as I wobbled because my nausea was intensifying with every step.
I thought maybe if I closed my eyes, it would feel like the room was spinning less. But that only seemed to exacerbate the problem and obviously made me stumble a lot more.
“Here we are,” Aidan said as we reached the bed.
I nearly toppled onto it. He very sweetly took both my shoes off for me.
“Are you comfortable wearing that? You could borrow some pajamas?” he said, referencing my jeans.
“No, they’re fine, thanks.” They actually weren’t that comfortable but I knew there was no way I was going to be able to change in this state. I couldn’t stand back up if I wanted to. So I’d sleep in jeans, whatever.
“You’re still feeling sick, aren’t you?” Aidan asked, looking at me sympathetically.
I nodded.
“Here, one second,” he said as he left the room.
I was disappointed as soon as he walked out. Even though I knew he was going to grab something to help me. I still didn’t want to see him leave. I felt way worse when I was completely alone.
This was probably the point when I should have been craving Chelsea’s company. She usually took care of me when I was sick, after all. If she was my best friend, why didn’t I feel like I wanted her right now? Why wasn’t I calling her, going back on my word and begging her to take me home?
This solidified what I had already discovered. Because she may have been the closest person in my life, but even she and I weren’t that close. She didn’t bring me comfort. Fuck, my own home didn’t bring me comfort! Because it was filled with the awkward tension of being around her every day and not wanting to be.
I should have been so uncomfortable right now, being sick in a complete stranger’s house. I should have been dying to leave. But I wasn’t. I felt more comfortable here in Aidan’s guest bedroom than I had at home in years.
Fuck, I really needed to leave Chelsea.
Aidan came back with a few things in hand. The first thing I noticed was a big, black, metal pot.
