“And then he told me that he loves me!” she squealed, clutching her drink to her bosom. I, on the other hand, tried to hide my eye roll while chugging down a mouthful of tequila, hoping that the other side of the glass obscured the chagrin with which I drank in her tall tale of lust and love.
I find that being chronically cynical has proven to be quite a dire health condition, and that hopeless realism is not at all compatible with hopeless romance. I wasn’t really sure what to say to her outpouring of emotion in regards to this one particular gentleman, so rather than quashing it immediately with a concrete ton of, “And he’s not fucking anyone else?” (a statement that would, surely, be accompanied with the usual condescending, downerly-matronly tone of someone who already knows the answer to that question, which is YES), I smiled and nodded and drank more tequila.
“That’s great!” I pipped.
“Yeah, and then we just lay there and held each other for hours. Can you believe that we’ve been attracted to each other this whole time? And after all these months, he’s felt the same way about me, too?”
“Yeah, cuz you were into him for a really long time.”
“And he says he’s going to cut back on drinking, and that he’s going to move out of that house-“
“Wait, he’s not going to live with Harry and Jose anymore?”
“Ummm…I find that highly unlikely.”
“Cuz they’ve all been best friends forever. Where would he move to?”
“Well…he’s going to move in with me, actually!”
“Yeah, Grady is moving out next month, and he’s going to take that room.”
“Oh, cool…” I tried not to choke on my tequila, which is strange because choking on tequila is not something that happens easily, and putting effort into not spewing it all over her face seemed strenuous.
So, I’m at a moral cross roads. There she is, my happy, perhaps naive, friend, gushing over some guy who – well, let’s be honest. He’s going to move into her house? We all know what this means – she better be prepared to work some more and give up her thrifting hobby in order to accommodate paying his rent, too. Oh, and feeding him, and driving him places, and supporting his unabashed and I’m sure unmitigated drinking habit, regardless of how much he swears he’s going to cut back. This is something that I know, and something that pretty much anyone who knows him at all knows, yet somehow he seems to have hoodwinked her into believing that he’s really a changed man. I mean, are he and Jody really over? Did that actually end? Or is she just an easy solution to the inevitable misanthropy that pursued what was most likely Jody dumping him, again, because he’s a drunk fuck up. Is my friend really just another easy target, next in line on his fuck bucket list, and also she happens to be eager to love him so he’s going to take full advantage of the situation?
I should call Jody. I haven’t seen her in a while, but I’m sure that if things went south between the two of them, we’ll be hanging out again soon. And I’ll hear all about it, and I’ll feel uncomfortable again, because – should I tell Jody? At that point do I get drunk and say, “Yeah, remember that girl that I hang out with sometimes at the tiki bar? Yeah, her. She’s dating him now. I guess they’re moving in together?” To which Jody would respond with something flabbergasted and defensive, like, “Well, we’re still fucking, so I don’t know how he’s going to pull that off.” At which point I’d have to admit that I’m mired in a sea of half truths about a relationship involving three people that honestly kind of suck, and I’m not even getting laid so why do I even care about this three way relationship? Sure, he and I fucked that one time three years ago, but that’s been over for quite some time, so…yeah.
I guess there’s no easy solution. I could mention Jody in this conversation and feel guilty for shattering her newly acquired joie de vivre and hope for life, but, then again, it’s bound to happen sooner or later. Or, of course, it’s not like this guy is capable of running a functional relationship without fucking it up sooner or later, so maybe I’ll just coast through this, take it easy, and hope that when it all comes crumbling down, she and I are still friends.
I don’t know. I should talk to Jody first. Then I’ll really know what’s going on. I don’t want to make any false accusations here.
“So, what’s going on with you?” she asks me.
And I smile, and I drink more tequila, and I realize that, with that question, I am in no place to give anyone relationship advice, or, really, advice on anything, as I reply, “Oh, you know, just whoring around again.”