She smiles.
“I’m glad.”
“And you know what else?” I ask.
“What?”
“You were right. What she did is bullshit, and I’m not going to sit here another week feeling sorry for myself about it.”
“Good for you,” she says. “Does that mean we’re going to fuck?”
And my momentum is stalled.
“Too soon?” she asks with a chortle. “Got it.”
“But you’re right,” I tell her. “What am I accomplishing by sitting here feeling shitty about everything? I’m just making it impossible to be happy. I mean, she’s doing what makes her happy, why shouldn’t I?”
“Okay, now I’m back to unclear as to whether—”
“Tonight, things are going to change. I’m going to stop trying to be that guy who sits at home, bummed because his girlfriend left him. I’m going to reintroduce myself to an old friend.”
“Great, so we’re gonna—”
“Myself!” I declare. “You know, I’m pretty fucking good company when I’m not acting like a bitch.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Wrigley says. “What are you going to do about it?”
“I’m going to stop pretending like I owe her something. We’re not together anymore.” I stand up. “Why am I wasting my fucking time when I could be out there, having fun, and I’ve really got to sit down.”
I sit back down, and Wrigley gives me a polite round of applause.
“That was great,” she says. “I’ve never actually been in the room when someone made an inspiring speech to themselves.”
“Glad I could be of help,” I tell her.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just stood up too quickly,” I tell her and then stand again (this time, much more slowly.) “Mark the day,” I start again. Couldn’t tell you why, but the overdramatization seems to be helping. “Tonight is the first night of the rest of my fucking life!”
“Eh,” Wrigley says with a shrug. “A bit cliché there at the end, but I can get behind it.”
“First thing’s first, though,” I say.
“Yeah?” she asks. “What’s that?”
“We’re going to need more alcohol.”
* * *
Wrigley and I make a quick trip to the liquor store, and we crack open the bottle o
nce we’re outside.
I haven’t paper-bagged it for years, and damn it, tonight is my throwback to the dynamic son of a bitch I was before I met Leila. Tonight’s going to be a fucking good night.
“What now?” Wrigley asks, wiping the vodka from the sides of her mouth.
“Now,” I tell her, “we’re going to do something that’s not only stupid, but absolutely brilliant.”