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“It’s not that I don’t believe you, but now I’ve seen you shit-faced twice. That’s two times more than I wanted to think you did when we first started this thing,” she sits down on the wooden chair next to the small table in the corner that I use as more of a second office than somewhere that I eat.
I sit at the opposite end of the table, leaving enough space between us, to give her enough room to figure shit out.
“Sure, you’ve seen a few of my bad days, and yeah - I go to the bar and drink a few extra beers than I normally would. But I do not, I repeat, do not have a drinking problem. What you’re seeing here is usual relationship shit. You see people in their good times and in their shit times. Congrad-u-fuckin-lations, you’ve seen both.”
“Is that how you normally cope with a bad day? You go to the bar and drink?” she questions.
“I’m sure there are other ways to cope, but that’s the quickest and I’m surrounded by people instead of wallowing in my sorries alone. I told you, I’m not an alcoholic, I’m a casual drinker.”
“What kind of casual drinker needs a tab?” she asks coldly.
“If you would look at what’s on my tab, you’d notice that I rarely owe high amounts, but either way, it’s doesn’t matter. What matters right now is that you are judging me for how I deal with shit,” I say quietly shaking my head.
“Maybe, just maybe we should cool things off, maybe I need to reframe everything.”
“Reframe? What’s there to reframe?” I ask.
“Maybe we should take a step back,” she says, “I think we’re moving too fast, too soon.”
“A step back?” I repeat.
“Yeah, I wasn’t too sure about the future when we first began dating, but maybe I need to see if I can manage dating someone who hangs out at a bar, and not let it affect my own personal judgements.”
Too late for that!I think to myself.
I nod, not really wanting to say anything as well as giving into the hangover.
I can’t force her to see it my way and I really don’t think I would have any power over her decision. She feels one way and no matter what I tell her, I don’t think that she will listen. So, there’s, no point.
“I’m just going to let myself out,” she says standing.
“Do we just leave it like that and go our separate ways?” I ask turning and walking behind her to the front door.
“I mean, we’ve existed in this town before without really knowing one another, why not?” she shrugs.
“Right,” I respond. “Mads? Do you really think that I’m an alcoholic?” I ask.
“I’m not saying that you are, but I think overall what I am saying is that I can’t deal with the little bit of drinking that you do on an occasional basis as it stands.”
“So, the standard line of, ‘it’s not you, it’s me’?” I say.
She avoids my gaze and then nods.
“Okay then, well, just to be clear, this is not something that I want,” I tell her.
“I know. And you are a great guy, but I can’t be around someone who–”
I hold my palm interrupting her, “I know, you don’t need to say it again.”
The front door opens and she steps over the threshold, then stops before turning around again.
“For what it’s worth, you’re a great guy. But I think that you’re just not the guy for me,” she says sadly, lowers her eyes to the ground and walks away.
One more thing to add to my hangover, a break-up.
