I sit on the balcony alone with my fourth glass of wine. I have three conversations going on Facebook messenger and two more via text. All five are with people that I have not spoken to in at least a year. Most are halfway across the country from me. I have let so many people slip out of my life. I am desperately trying to reclaim lost connections. I am so terribly lonely.
I am on glass five, and it is starting to get chilly out, when Sean comes home. He says hi and seems to be about to go inside, but I ask if he wants to sit with me instead.
“Only if we can go inside,” he says. He settles into the recliner, and I take the couch. “I was just going to head to bed, but you looked like you really need to talk.”
“I guess I do,” I say slowly. “I’ve just been thinking. Too much thinking.”
“Jess, stop.” He says. “You have got to quit worrying about him. Worry about you. Do what makes you happy. I’ve been getting a lot of advice from people lately, trying to help me get over the whole Noel thing, and that’s probably the best bit I’ve picked up so far. You three are all worrying about each other too much. You can’t move on if you don’t stop caring what he’s doing.”
“I’m not so sure that I want to move on,” I whisper. “But at the same time, I know I really can’t think like that. Not if this living situation is actually going to work out.”
“You actually think this is going to work anyway? He’s not going to stay. He’s going to end up letting both you and your roommate think that he will, and then he’s going to run away like a little bitch and leave you two stranded. You might as well beat him to it and tell him to move out.”
I sip my wine and stare into space while he continues like this for a bit. So many thoughts are running through my head. I have been so focused on making this work for everyone that I seem to have forgotten one of the awful traits of my ex. He is selfish to his very core. I wish some of that rubbed off on me from our time together. It would make things much easier now.
“Stop giving him so much,” Sean says, bringing me out of my musings. “You gave and gave. You don’t have to give him anything else. In fact, you shouldn’t. Just stop.”
“You know, Sean,” I say. “I wish that you weren’t friends with him. And I wish that I had met you at a different time.”
“You don’t have to worry about me telling him things if that’s the problem,” he says with a laugh. “I don’t tell him about the times we talk because he doesn’t need the ego boost of knowing how much you miss him. And as for meeting me at a different time, I believe things happen the way they do for a reason. But I really should get to bed now. Do you need a hug?”
After that response, of course I need a hug. I am uncertain if he is deliberately misinterpreting my statement to avoid embarrassing me or if he really doesn’t understand that if he weren’t friends with my ex I would be all over him. Either way, tipsy declarations are best ignored, so I appreciate it more than I can tell him. I go to bed alone; I am beginning to get used to this. The petty part of my heart hopes that Brad is detesting his crappy couch experience.