I don’t miss how he looks at my drink just as long as his own pint glass. “Nah, I’m okay.”
“Well, I’ll buy your next one,” I grumble and I could murder Hannah for undoing all the effort it had taken to snap out of my mood. Or rather, the effort my sister had put into that talking to she gave me.
What was it she said that made me finally realise being upset about Hannah is pointless? Oh, yes…
Hannah is my best friend and I love her to bits but you were never meant to be with her. She drove you up the wall with the way she left her stinking football kit in her training bag for days. You rarely cooked or ate a meal together because she couldn’t give up half of the foods you have to. Remember when she invited half of the team over to your place and they stayed up until two in the morning being noisy playing FIFA on a Wednesday night and how tired you were the next day? And I hate my brain for retaining this information but she once told me that you and her would fight regularly over who would top in the bedroom. Face it, Minnie, you just weren’t that compatible and by getting all upset over her and Sally, you’re forgetting this and you’re giving it a fuck ton of power over you. You’re writing a narrative that isn’t true. It’s nothing but a story. So, feel the pain of your break-up and the bite of Hannah moving on quickly, but don’t let it consume you. Put all that energy into finding something to make you happy, to make you smile, to make you laugh a little…
God my sister has verbal diarrhoea. But she also made some very good points.
“Charlie,” I say slowly, and I’m not looking at him. Instead, my eyes are staring across the room as Hannah and Sally disentangle themselves and smile dreamily at one another.
“Yeah?” he says and I can feel his eyes on me. But I need to say this while not looking at him.
“I’m sorry for being a bitch,” I say, rushed and quiet. As if to congratulate the world’s worst apology, I take another sip of wine.
“I don’t think you’re a bitch,” he says.
“Just accept my apology, please,” I respond, tightly. “I have more to say.”
“Okay. Apology accepted.”
“Good. Now I have a favour to ask,” I say, forcing my tone to loosen up a little.
“Gosh, Mina, you are taking all the liberties…” he comments, sarcasm heavy in his voice.
I finally turn to look at him, and not for the first time I’m stunned by the bright blue of his eyes, the silly way his hair sticks up, how those smiling lines perfectly frame a grin that is far too generous considering my treatment of him thus far this evening.
“Can we have fun this evening?” I hold his gaze. “I really need to let off some steam tonight. It’s been a busy and stressful week, and I’m probably all nervous about the pitch on Monday, and yes, sure, having Hannah here playing tonsil hockey with her new and absolutely fucking stunning girlfriend isn’t helping, but I am genuinely not as bothered about them as I was—”
“It wouldn’t matter if you were,” Charlie rushes to interrupt me. “Break-ups are hard. People move on at different paces. And to be honest, they are kind of shoving it in your face.”
Right on cue, Sally and Hannah start sucking face again.
“Get a fucking room!” I call out, even though the music is now loud enough to drown out my voice. Charlie looks at me stunned and I’m a little shocked myself. That outburst was no doubt fuelled by the glass of wine that is now half-empty. I turn back to Charlie. “I’m also trying to be more positive about things. I’m trying to just move past this whole episode because it really isn’t a big deal.”
“I’m no expert but heckling at your ex as she canoodles with her current girlfriend isn’t a textbook example of moving past it.”
“Which is exactly why I need your help, to have some fun, to forget about stressful things and to just smile and you know, laugh a little…”
“I can do this, on one condition,” Charlie says.
I arch an eyebrow at him. “What?”
“That that’s your last drink of the evening. I really don’t want you risking a migraine attack. No amount of heartbreak is worth that.”
“I’m not heartbroken!” I shout at him loud enough to turn a few heads near us.
“It doesn’t matter if you are,” he says, gently. “But let’s just both agree that an attack isn’t going to help anything.”
Feeling irrationally defensive at having him dictate my behaviour, even if what he’s saying is completely true and his suggestion is very much for my own good, I drop my gaze to his near empty beer glass. “Fine. As long as you do the same.”
“Pardon?”
“Make that your last drink of the evening too.”
“But I thought you wanted me to help you have fun,” he says with a frown.
I put my free hand on my hip. “Are you saying you’re only fun when you’ve had a drink? I know that to be categorically untrue. I’ve seen you prance around the office when a song you like comes on your headphones, all while being stone-cold sober at 10:30 in the morning.”
