In the end there are good things about being single and there are shitty things about being single. When I’m single I have more freedom but less goodnight kisses; when I’m with someone I’m happier more often, but I’m always cautious, always fearful of a looming pain or a stupid mistake.
Anyway after the breakup and the receptionist I was well and truly single. If I wasn’t at the gym, all I did after work was go home and cook some egg whites and drink some water and watch a documentary on YouTube. That’s all I did, that’s all I really wanted to do. I stopped working on my book of short stories. I stopped remembering the promise I made to myself and Jude at the start of this year. I stopped remembering a lot of things, and for some reason it was all okay.
After a few weeks a friend of a friend messaged me that she was in the library and that she was bored. “Come over,” I said.
She came over with two bottles of Vodka and I took her to the backyard. We sat cross legged on a table, poured two shot glasses, and, for the first time in a million years, I drank something that wasn’t a glass of water or a protein shake.
“How’s your boyfriend?” I asked Kate.
“I don’t know,” she said. She then told me some long story about him that I didn’t listen to. I took two more shots.
“How’re your books? How’s your writing? Dean?” She bent forward and looked at me quizzically. “You look totally different from when I first met you.”
“I really don’t know,” I said.
“You don’t know what?”
I shrugged. We drank some more.
“I read your blog. All you troubles – they’re always about some girl. Maybe you should start writing about something with more depth. Like Syria or something.”
We both laughed at that. Loudly. I don’t know why. I looked at her, cross legged, her cheeks slightly pink. “So,” I said, “what do you want to be when you grow up?”
“I want to be rich,” she said immediately.
“And how the hell are you going to do that?”
“I’m going to own a business,” she smiled. “Or I’ll invest in stocks or something. Or I’ll fuck a bunch of rich dudes.”
“I used to have a few shares.”I looked at one of the bottles of Vodka. It was empty. “Now they’re somewhere lost in space.”
“I want to drink more.” I found a bottle of cheap wine from my room and we took turns taking drinks from it.
“Take your top off,” I told her. She said no. She asked me if I’d ever pee in her mouth and, tears in my eyes, I yelled, “Not now! Not now!”
We drank more and more. I thought, Should I really write about Syria? We kissed quickly before she vomited all over the ground. I gave her a glass of water, watched her vomit more. Her vomiting didn’t seem to end so I dragged her inside, repeatedly saying “Aren’t you glad I didn’t pee?” while she puked all over the place. Eventually she stopped. I placed her on my couch. I put a glass of water next to her, watched her a little longer, and went to bed.