“Fuck her,” I say, tossing a balled-up napkin to my empty plate and nudging it forward.
Bobby eyes me doubtingly. “You’re kidding yourself. There was something about this one. I think if you stay persistent, you can convince her.”
I wave him off, leaning back into the chair as if to prove my resignation, though I’m certain he can see right through me.
“Nah, it’s just not in the cards.” I shrug. “It is what it is, Bobby. I don’t have the patience or the energy to go chasing anyone. Or trying to defend my actions. She’s made up her mind.” I sound so confident, so self-assured, but I’m not certain who I’m trying to convince more, Bobby or myself.
“Dude, come on. She’s just taken aback by all this, like I said she would be if you weren’t upfront with her. I told you long ago you needed to tell her… you didn’t listen. It’s just gonna take some effort on your part… and a little patience.”
“Neither of which I currently possess,” I assure him, but he simply rolls his eyes as he crosses his arms.
“You’ve gotta be shitting me. You’re a full-time writer. Yeah, you take care of your grandma, but that’s about it. You got the time to put in the effort.”
I go to refute him, but stop myself as I know full well he’s right. I shrug and take a swig of my Sprite.
“You’ve gotta be willing to dive in head first for something at some point in your life, Gavin,” he continues.
“Hey,” I say, wagging a finger at him, “I took a gigantic fucking leap when I released my first book. I know your first book was a lot for you too, but speaking bluntly, because you’re my best friend, you didn’t have the initiation into this world I had. My blurb helped you quite a bit. And I’m not saying that to make you feel bad or anything.”
He looks offended, his lip curled back. “So why are you saying it then?”
“It’s just, when I got into this business, I knew no one. I had no link to the industry whatsoever.”
“I never asked you for that blurb,” he huffs.
“I know, I know. I wanted to write it for you. Your book was incredible and everything else I said it was. You’re missing my point.”
“Obviously,” he says as the waitress approaches, hesitating awkwardly at the sight of our little argument. She whispers a “sorry” as she collects up our dishes.
“Can I get you all anything else, or should I grab the check?” she asks, reluctantly.
“Check, please,” Bobby says, hardly letting her finish her sentence.
“Would you like that together, or split?” she asks, and I motion to myself.
“I’ll take care of it,” I say, but Bobby waves me off.
“No, we’ll split it, please. Thank you,” he counters.
She looks at me and then back at him, confusion on her face.
“You paid last time,” I argue, but he shakes his head, his eyes catching hers.
“Split, please. Thank you.”
She looks at me once more and I nod. As she departs, I lean in toward him. “Come on, bro. I don’t want to do this again with you. You’re my best friend. You know I mean no harm.”
“I get it, but you gotta start thinking about the shit you say. Maybe it makes sense in your head, but you have to think about how people will interpret that shit too. I know what you’re saying here, but I still had to write the damn thing, and I never studied a lick of writing like you did. You helped me tremendously… with your blurb and everything you did for me along the way, but I won’t let you take away from what I’ve accomplished.”
I put a hand up, nodding, as I lean back in the chair. “Okay, okay, sorry, man. You’re right. I’m not the best at communicating my feelings. You know that. I’m just—I’m bent out of shape. You say things were different when I was with her, right?”
He nods, the frustration finally dissipating from his face, and a look of understanding replacing it. “You need to talk to her,” he says, frankly.
“I’ve tried. I texted her again this morning. I’m not going to be that guy and call her nonstop. She won’t answer anyway.”
“You don’t know unless you try,” he responds as the waitress approaches and presents us with our checks, then departs.
As she leaves, I joke, “You’re an ass for not letting me pay.”
He narrows his eyes on me as he digs his wallet out of his pocket. “And you’re a dick for your constant word vomit,” he says, tossing some bills and the receipt onto the table. “Just try calling her sometime this week. See if she’ll answer. She probably just needs some time. But she’ll come around.”
“Honestly…”—my eyes shift to the tabletop and I rub my temples, a habit of mine when I’m nervous or stressed; of which, I am currently both—“I don’t think I have it in me. She’s read my messages. Thank you Apple for allowing me to know that much. And she hasn’t responded. We weren’t dating, or whatever you’d wanna call it, for that long. And I’ve been known to fall quickly in my life only to be let down. I’m used to it.”
“Fall? As in, fallen? As in, you’ve thought about that?”
“No. Not seriously, at least. I mean, it was different with her, no doubt about that, but I can’t say whether I feel that way or not at this point. I think I’d have to get to know her better, and that’s obviously not gonna happen now, so,”—I shrug—“it is what it is.”
He squints his eyes as a look of doubt passes over his face. “We’ll see. I happen to think you’ll be singing a different tune once it really hits you.”
“You do know how fucking stubborn I am, right? Even if I did see myself talking to her again, I’d avoid it simply to ensure you end up being wrong.”
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Maybe.” I shrug, shooting him a facetious grin. “Maybe not. It’s worth it for me to be right, though.”
“You’re an idiot,” he chides, a grin forming on his face.
“And I’m your best friend. What does that make you?”
He laughs, thinking on my question for a moment before he shrugs. “Charitable?”
Scooting my chair back and standing, I say, “Listen… I’ll be alright, man. I just wasn’t meant to fall in love, or to be loved. Old and lonely, here I come.”
I shoot him the dual thumbs up as he joins me standing. He huffs, passing me a look of judgment. “I can’t even deal with you today,” he complains, slipping past me and out the door.
During the quiet walk home, after parting ways with Bobby, I can’t help but laugh at myself. It’s one of those sad, pitiful laughs you let out when you just don’t know what else to do. Bobby isn’t wrong here, and as much as I’d like to wish he was, and as much bullshit that comes out of my mouth in defiance, he’s right. This one’ll hurt.
There are hundreds of little things one can control in regard to themselves. We determine what goes in our gullet, whether rabbit food or a wagyu feast. We decide what music plays through our headphones, which programs play on the tube, and what we educate ourselves on. But the one thing out of our control, no matter how much we fight it, are matters of the heart. You can’t choose who you love. You can’t control how you feel. And how I feel right now is empty. Genuinely empty.
I miss her.
And who am I to miss anyone, really? Do I even have the right?
This road has been paved by a hundred different mistakes.
Reaching the house, I don’t even bother taking my coat off. I hit the freezer first for my pint of Jameson, and slip through the loft to the back door. Spotting the rolled joint on the frosty table top, and against my better judgment, I grab it, bring it to my lips, and I light it. With each puff, I know I should be doing something else… anything else, but I puff at it anyway. And eventually, I stop caring. I stop ruminating about the feelings I’m numbing with THC. I stop worrying about how right Bobby really is.
I stop thinking about my feelings for Sami, but one thing remains persistent.
A desire, a need for her—to take her—to make her mine.
I see myself stripping her clothes off for the first time, Marcus Mumford wailing away in the background as I tug her short shorts over the small peach-skin hairs on her thighs that glisten in the sunlight. We’re in the garden, on a blanket, in the summer. The noise of the city surrounds us, excites us, but we are utterly alone here. Her moans ricochet off the brick as I kiss her down her bare stomach, around her belly button, and then blowing her sweat-coated skin dry.
I see her on our wedding night, in the same way, with the look of lustful desire, of irreplaceable love in her expression.
And then I take her, all of her, and I love her like she’s never been loved before.