Birthday

I went to my friend Sigrún’s birthday party. He didn’t want to come along. “It’s your friend’s birthday, I don’t see why I have to go.” I’m not his girlfriend; I don’t have any right to drag him to some girly party. I’m never invited on the rare occasion that he actually goes out with his friends. I only exist to him when it’s just us two.

It was a pretty big party; Sigrún and Emma live together in an apartment building on the west side of town—and the party was a big hit. I had a couple of cocktails and was in a really good mood until I saw her. The Ex was in Sigrún’s class in high school and she’d come with a few of her friends. She greeted me, and I responded as coldly as I could and then ignored her aggressively. The Ex wasn’t there for very long, anyway; Sigrún and I are much closer than those two. I refilled my glass again and again, and the wine opened the floodgates. Tears, forcing themselves to the surface, uncontrollable. I closed myself in a bedroom and started to cry and cry and cry and cry. I couldn’t stop, even though I knew I was acting like an idiot. A little while later, all the guests left, and I didn’t know whether I was the reason or if they’d just gone downtown.

I stepped outside and met the girls, who were gathering up bottles and cans. I couldn’t talk, couldn’t explain anything. I could only say sorry and cry convulsively. I stayed with Emma, and she wrapped her arms around me until I wore myself out. Near morning, I crept out of bed. He would’ve lost it if I hadn’t come back to his place, and I wanted to be sure that nobody else was in his bed.