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No, my ego isn’t so huge I can’t tell her how I feel. I’m just not the sort of guy who is going to beg. Plus, she was pissed off—it would have looked like groveling for me to start spewing bullshit about how amazing and incredible I think she is.
She wouldn’t have believed that either!
Damned if I do, damned if I don’t, and that’s how it’s been my whole fucking life.
I cannot win.
Too macho for feelings, too many feelings to be macho. What the hell do people want from me?
I stab the remote control at the television, settling onto the couch for some peace and quiet but not seeing a single channel I’m flipping past. It’s all a blur. Nothing interesting, everything a goddamn waste of time.
I slam down some popcorn but don’t taste a thing. And when a few kernels fall to the living room floor, I whistle for Chewy to come eat them, forgetting he’s not here at the moment.
Check my phone for the eightieth time today, imagining that at any moment, Chandler is going to pop up in my notifications to say she misses me.
Wrong.
She is as stone cold as you are, bro.
And speaking of bros, mine called me this morning to find out how things went last night. He wasn’t there himself, obviously, but he knew Chandler was going to be with our parents and cares enough to call for the details.
“Does Mom have you engaged yet?”
Not even close. “No. It wasn’t great.”
“What do you mean, it wasn’t great?”
Why did he have to be so damn nosey so early in the morning? My brain was barely functioning at that point.
“I mean—it all went to shit.”
“What did you do?”
Now see? That’s the shit that pisses me off—everyone thinking any time something goes wrong, it’s my fault. So what if I don’t run around blowing bubbles of joy up everyone’s ass? Does that make me the problem? No.
“I didn’t do anything, jackass. This time it was Mom.”
“Mom?” He didn’t believe me. I could hear it in the way he exhaled and said, “No way.”
“Way.” I sighed, rolling over in bed to stare out the window. “She got drunk and told Chandler our first date was a publicity stunt.”
“Mom got drunk?” There was a long pause on the line. “No fucking way.”
“Way,” I repeated. “Then she hiccupped and giggled her way to the demise of my relationship.”
“You’re in a relationship?”
“Can you not be literal? You know what I mean. Whatever Chandler and I had going is fucking done.”
“Shit. There’s done and there’s fucking done. This is serious.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“Aww, now you sound like my wife.”
His wife. Chandler’s cousin and her biggest support system.
Who no doubt hates me after that conversation.
“You just love any opportunity to rub the wife thing in my face, don’t you?”
“Please,” he scoffed. “It’s not like you want one.”
Didn’t want one. Hadn’t wanted one.
But things are different now.
I’d started to have a bit of hope that I wasn’t a complete social idiot after all. Was beginning to wonder if I had what it took to be a good partner to the right person.
Boy was I wrong.
I let the line go silent until my brother couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Tripp—are you saying you want one?”
“What difference does it make? Chandler hates me now.”
“So? Hollis hated me too but she got over it.”
“She did?”
“I mean, no. But I definitely annoyed the shit out of her. You just can’t give up because of one bad night.”
“I’m not going to hound her.”
“Since when are the Wallaces a bunch of quitters?”
“I’m not quitting! I’m giving her space.”
“Space is for astronauts, and the last time I checked, you suck at science.”
“Oh my god. You’re such an idiot.”
My brother laughed, unperturbed. “There you go, that’s the fighting spirit.”
“Is that your advice? Don’t be a quitter?”
“Pretty much.”
“Could you elaborate? You know I’m not any good at this shit.”
“Yeah—no. I can ask Hollis about it and get back to you?”
“No!” I shouted. “No, don’t do that. I can figure it out, I just need a little time.”
“If you change your mind, let me know.”
“I will.”
But I didn’t because the idea of calling him back and speaking to his wife felt weird. Asking for help isn’t in my wheelhouse and I’m not starting today with a relationship problem, especially with someone related to the quandary.
I need a game plan.
I need…
“Hey Mr. W. Is everything alright?”
Not the neighbor girl.
Fuck.
Why the hell did I agree to let Molly walk Chewy this morning when I’m not in the mood for company or conversation?
Because I wasn’t in the mood to go gallivanting around the block either.
It’s the morning after my argument with Chandler and I’m still not over it yet.
No, everything is not alright. “Why would you think something was wrong?”
“Uh—because it’s like nine AM and you’re eating popcorn for breakfast?”
