Two Birthdays In A Row (2020 NaNoWriMo Practice)

   [Ahead of an inevitably bumbling NaNoWriMo attempt, I'm writing a bunch of short stories to improve my fiction-writing efficiency. They're quickly written and largely unedited, so please leave vicious critique in the comments. This was written on October 8th, 2020.]

 

“I’m just in a really low place right now.”

He needed water.

“That’s okay.”

There was a half-filled glass on the coffee table.

“I know it’s okay, but I still don’t want to feel this way.”

He stared at it.

“That’s okay too.”

It stared back, somehow.

“That’s not helpful.”

“What isn’t helpful?”

No, not somehow.

“Telling me it’s okay.”

It was the eyes.

“Is it not okay?”

Yup, definitely the eyes.

“No, it’s fine.”

Not the eyes on the glass, of course.

“So why shouldn’t I tell you that?”

The eyes on the man across the coffee table. He could see them, reflected in the water.

They stared at him still.

They blinked.

Oh shit, he’d stopped talking.

“I’m sorry, I’m lost.”

He made eye contact for the first time in several minutes.

“That’s okay too.”

He reached out for the glass.

The swig felt good. That tacky feeling at the back of his throat was gone.

“Where were we?”

What was that thing at the back called?

“You were telling me about Diane.”

The vulva? No.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Definitely not the vulva.

“I think you should.”

The uvula? That’s it.

“I’ve made enough of a mess of myself tonight.”

What was that thing even for?

“All the more reason to talk about it. You’re already a mess, let’s dig deeper.”

All it seemed to do was cause tacky feelings at the backs of throats.

“Can we not?”

He hated tacky feelings.

“We can talk about something else if you want.”

His whole face felt tacky right now.

“Thank you.”

It was all sticky from the salt.

“So what else have you been doing lately?”

He could feel how red his eyes were.

“Work, mostly.”

They felt dry now, ironically.

“Anything interesting happening there?”

The front of his head pulsed.

“Not really.”

He needed more water.

“See, this is what I was worried about.”

“What?”

“You. Not doing anything. Just moping.”

Another swig. Another good swig.

“I’m not moping.”

He hiccuped. A slug of snot fell out of his nose and slid down his throat.

“Half the lights in here were off when I arrived. You are definitely moping.”

He couldn’t respond with the lugie in there.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded and made a generally positive “mmm” sound while holding up finger.

This swig was astounding. It carried the lump the rest of the way down.

He finished the glass.

“Sorry, had something stuck in my throat.”

“You’re good now?”

“I’m good now.”

“Okay. So tell me what happened with Diane.”

“You know what happened with Diane.”

“No I don’t. I know you two had a fight on Tuesday and then you broke up.”

“That’s what happened.”

“You know that isn’t enough information, right?”

“I don’t have to tell you.”

“I’m your best friend. I’m going to find out eventually.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Another hiccup.

“But I think you need to talk about it.”

No lugie this time, thankfully.

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve already been here half an hour. I’ve got nothing else tonight.”

“Ugh. No.”

“Come on.”

He needed an out.

“Let me get some more water.”

“Okay.”

The kitchen tiles were cold on his feet.

The sink sputtered.

Why did it do that?

Was there air in the line?

Was there a leak?

Maybe he should buy one of those Britta filters.

He should ask Clark if he wants something.

“Do you want anything?”

God, he’s a terrible host.

“Sure, I’ll have some water.”

“One round of waters, coming up.”

Stupid joke.

“Heh, yeah.”

Why is carrying two glasses of water infinitely harder than carrying one?

“So what do you wanna know?”

“What did you fight about?”

“She wanted kids.”

“Really!”

“No.”

Stupid joke.

“Oh. Heh.”

Dumber than the last one.

“I don’t even really remember what it was.”

“Really?”

“It was a lot of things for a few weeks.”

“I get that.”

“So not really any one thing in particular.”

It was the shoes.

“Was it the shoes?”

Fuck.

“How do you know about the shoes?”

Ainsley.

“Ainsley told me.”

Fucking Ainsley.

“She told me she didn’t tell anyone.”

Ainsley isn’t just anyone. She’d used that excuse before.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

Damn right he shouldn’t have.

“It’s fine.”

Asshole.

“No, it’s not. I just thought it’d poke you out of your shell.”

I mean, it’s one thing to listen to gossip.

“You’re right, though. It did.”

It’s another to act on it.

“Did you really just forget?”

Yes.

“Sorry?”

“I asked if you really just forgot.”

He stared blankly.

He didn’t want to admit it.

He’s such a stupid fuck.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Were they nice shoes at least?”

“Nice enough that I bought ‘em twice.”

Stupid.

Fucking.

Joke.

“Heh. Yeah. I suppose they had to be.”

“I think she just got sick of me forgetting things in general.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Not a lot of big things. Mostly just odds and ends. I think it wore her down.”

“Did she say that?”

“She didn’t need to. I watched her.”

“What do you mean?”

It hurt.

“I watched her give up.”

It hurt so fucking much.

“Did you talk to her about it?”

He could see her eyes.

They were hollow.

Every single day.

She talked less.

She had more work to do.

Not that he could say that to Clark.

Clark wouldn’t understand.

Clark was a good listener.

That had stung.

Nobody likes being compared to their best friend.

Right?

Maybe.

Maybe that’s what’s wrong.

He couldn’t handle constructive criticism.

He didn’t change.

And she lost interest.

“Pete?”

Fuck.

“Sorry, in my own head.”

“That’s okay. So did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Did you talk to her about it?”

“I didn’t know what I was seeing.”

“It didn’t click?”

“Yeah. It was like a part of me could tell something was going wrong, but only the part of me that wanted to be angry.”

“I’ve been there.”

No way.

“You’ve never had a messy breakup.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m terrified of conflict.”

This was hard to believe.

“Wait, so was breaking up with Jenna not a mutual thing?”

“No, it was. We both realized it wasn’t going to work out. We had a few fights.”

Clark was always the suave one of the group.

“I can’t see you fighting.”

“That’s because I hate fighting. They were more like passively aggressive debates.”

“So what went wrong?”

“In retrospect, she was bad at communicating and I was too possessive. Neither fatal on their own but doomed in combination.”

Clark gets it.

Holy shit.

He understands.

“That’s exactly what happened with us!”

“I figured the shoes were an excuse.”

“Like I said, it didn’t really matter what the fight was about.”

“Still a hell of a thing for a fight to be about.”

“I’m keeping a log of all the birthday presents I buy people from now on.”

“I don’t know, repeating successful presents seems like it should work pretty well on the surface.”

“Well I’ll consider it for you, but Diane did not appreciate it.”

“Do you still have the second pair?”

“Actually, yes. I should probably return them.”

“Why? They’re good shoes. Your next girlfriend might like them.”

He laughed at that.

He hadn’t laughed in a while.

It felt good.