The same week Freddie and I officially parted ways, Tucker announced plans to throw Jack a big party for his thirty-fifth birthday. It was adamantly not a surprise party, as Jack hated surprises almost as much as he hated parties.
But Tucker was determined not to let the occasion pass without celebration. He wanted something perfect: the food classy but not pretentious, with just enough booze to keep things lively, but he didn’t want a room full of falling-down drunks. Also, he needed enough people to let Jack know how much he was loved, but not so many it became more about the party and less about the birthday boy. Most importantly, he wanted the right people there, people who were invested in celebrating his husband, not in looking for their next hookup or creating any kind of drama.
Sadly, his plans were not to be.
About a week before the party, he called with some delicate news, too delicate for a text it would seem.
“What’s up, buttercup?”
“You tell me,” I said.
“Well, it’s about the party on Sunday.” This was not surprising news. Everything in the past two weeks had been about Jack’s party. From the vantage point of a newly single man in the midst of a bad breakup, it was both sweet and terribly annoying.
“What about it?” I asked, forcing a smile into my voice, secretly hoping he noticed the effort.
“Well…Freddie’s coming. To the party.” This was also not a surprise. When we had announced our split to our friends, we insisted on civility and promised they would not have to choose between us.
“That’s fine, Tucker. I don’t mind. Really.” Of course I minded, but I was determined to keep my word.
“Okay, sugar. It’s just that…”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Freddie’s not coming alone. He’s bringing someone.”
“Probably Carol from his office. It’s okay. She’s cool.”
“His name is Edwin. And Freddie mentioned he was excited for us to meet his new…um…”
“Boyfriend,” I said.
“That was the word,” Tucker said. “Sugar, I’m so sorry.”
“Fuck.” It was the only word that sprang to mind, I’m afraid. Freddie had moved out of my house less than three weeks before, and had already found my replacement. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.”
“I can talk to Freddie. Tell him to bring Edwin over some other time when it’s just the four of us?”
“No,” I said, “don’t do that. Might as well rip the bandage off while the wound is fresh, right?” My metaphor made no sense, I realized. Probably because this was a really bad idea, but I was going to take the high road, and I would still get to Scotland first, goddammit.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, it’s fine. Really.”
“Listen, sugar, don’t take this personally.” I exhaled in a huff, creating an audible roll of the eyes. “I know that’s a tall order, but I’ve known Freddie since BC—Before Charlie. He doesn’t do ‘single.’ It’s a wonder he lasted this long. It’s not about you, honestly.”
“Tucker,” I said, processing everything I was hearing. “Was Freddie single when he met me? Tell me the truth.”
“Shit,” Tucker said. Truthfully it was the only answer I needed. “Not exactly?”
“Tell me.”
“Shit fuck in a garbage truck,” Tucker replied, and then the line went temporarily dead. He was probably waiting for me to change the subject, but I was determined to wait him out. “Do you remember Roger Lindsey?”
“He was supposed to be my chorus buddy. The one who hated me?”
“That would be he.”
“Well, that makes some sense now anyway. Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Because Roger Lindsey is an asshole, and Freddie was clearly just marking time until he met someone decent.”
“Like me.”
“Exactly,” said Tucker. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure Edwin will be perfectly awful.”
“Yeah, well here’s hoping.”
“Listen, Charlie, thanks for being so great about this. Come Sunday, I won’t leave your side for a minute, and it’ll be fun. I promise. Dogs are invited, so bring Mamie if you like.”
* * *
I don’t remember the exact moment when things went south between Freddie and me, but I knew we were in trouble when we experienced the Iris Incident.
Iris Clifton was a friend of mine from college. We were theater kids together who spent every night at rehearsal and every day daydreaming about the parts we’d play and the Tony Awards we’d win someday. Had it not been for Facebook, Iris and I probably would have drifted apart after college. Neither of us was very disciplined about writing long letters to each other, particularly missives detailing how we each learned a life in the theater was not all it was cracked up to be, and how we eventually settled for a corporate training gig in my place and a husband and two kids in hers.
But thanks to social media, we were fairly in tune with each other’s lives. When her son was born, and then her daughter, I was part of the congratulatory voices cooing and fawning over the baby pictures. When I made my big coming out announcement the same year, she skipped the platitudes about how brave I was and went straight for “Aha! I knew it” with a heart emoji.
After Freddie and I had been together for almost two years, Iris texted to let me know she and her now teenage son and middle-school daughter would be playing tourist in Washington, and chief among her must-see destinations was me. She wanted to take me to a fabulous brunch and was excited for me to meet her kids, especially the younger one, who was already showing some enthusiasm for school plays. And, of course, she wanted to meet Freddie.
When I told Freddie about Iris’s plans, he seemed amenable enough. “Sounds fun,” he said, and I put the brunch on both our calendars.
But the night before the big reunion, Freddie wanted to go out with Tucker and Jack for a good old-fashioned gay bar crawl, which usually meant getting home at around three a.m. and not quite knowing how you accomplished it.
“We can do that,” I said, “but we shouldn’t stay out too late or get too wasted. We’re meeting Iris and her kids tomorrow.”
“Who?”
“Iris, my best friend from college. Remember? She wrote to me about a month ago, and we’re meeting her for brunch. She’s taking us to Sequoia.”
“Oh. Yeah, I think I’ll skip brunch.”
I was stunned. “What? No! Freddie, she went to a lot of trouble, and we’ve had this date on our calendar for weeks.”
“But I don’t even know her. You go. I’d rather hang out tonight with Jack.”
“I’m not saying we can’t go out tonight. Just that we should take it easy.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” he said, curtly. And I dropped it.
That night, we did go out with Tucker and Jack, but around eleven thirty, Tucker made his perfunctory exit, and I decided I’d better do the same. Jack, predictably, wasn’t going home anytime soon, and Freddie decided he wasn’t ready to call it a night either.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I said as I hopped into a cab, hoping Freddie would receive it with all the lightness and humor I was desperately trying to convey. But he just rolled his eyes.
When the sun peeked through my window at six the next morning, Freddie still wasn’t home. It was an hour later as Mamie and I returned from our morning walk around the block that I saw him fumbling with his keys, still drunk from last night’s intemperance.
“Morning,” I called out, not able to hide my pique and honestly not caring. Mamie strained at the leash to get closer to him, tail wagging, determined not to help me in my campaign to shame him.
“Hey, girl,” he said, giving her a little scratch behind the ears, ignoring me altogether.
“Did you have fun?” I asked, but he was giving me the silent treatment, once again fumbling with his keys. “Here, let me.” He moved out of my way, proving he could hear me when it suited him. I unlocked the door while he stared at his shoes.
Mamie entered first, followed by Freddie, followed by me, still tethered to Mamie on the other end of her leash.
“Mamie, c’mere.” And she did, nearly tripping Freddie in the process. As I turned our little dog loose, I asked, “Did you have fun?”
“Look,” he said, massaging his temples, “I don’t want to fight.”
“Who’s fighting?” I asked, although it was clear to both of us I was fighting. “I’m just glad you made it home. And it’s not even seven thirty. You have time to take a nap if you want. We don’t need to leave for another three hours.”
“I’m not going,” Freddie said, so quietly it barely registered.
“Freddie, you have to go.”
And suddenly he was so loud it scared even Mamie. “Don’t tell me what I have to do! You’re not Yoda!”
“Lower your voice, please. Look, Iris is one of my closest friends—”
“Who I’ve never even heard of! You’ve never mentioned her once in two years. How important could she be?”
“It was twenty years ago, but I’ve told you those stories. It’s not my fault if you don’t listen.”
“I told you I wasn’t going to your stupid goddamn brunch yesterday. Which one of us doesn’t listen?”
“Look,” I said, adopting a more conciliatory tone, “this is important to me. Back in college, Iris and I used to—”
“Oh, Jesus, that word again!”
“What word? Iris?”
“College. You’re not a better person than I am because you have a fucking theater degree, you know.”
“If you think I’m so ashamed of you, why do you suppose it’s so important to me you show up today?”
“God knows,” he said. “Maybe it’s more fun to relive your glory days with someone who was too stupid to get into—”
“You got into college! You’re taking college courses right now! You’ll have a degree in a year! And I’m very proud of you, Freddie, of us. When you’re not stumbling around drunk after being out for twelve hours doing heaven knows what.”
“Then you’ll be glad to know,” he said, “I won’t be there to embarrass you at your fancy brunch with your fancy friends. I’m going to bed, Charlie. Don’t wake me up when you leave.” And he walked upstairs.
“What am I supposed to tell Iris? That you couldn’t give a shit about meeting one of my oldest friends?”
“Sounds about right,” he answered from the landing, slamming the bedroom door behind him.
I did go to brunch with Iris by myself. I made up some bullshit about Freddie not feeling well, and I think she knew I was lying, but was too polite to say so. We had a nice time, despite my being embarrassed about showing up alone. When I got home four hours later, Freddie was gone. He wouldn’t reappear until after dark. A text he’d sent said he needed to get out, to think. I’m fairly sure I believed him, which makes me an idiot. Also a kind person who gives people the benefit of the doubt, but mostly an idiot.
He returned as the sun was setting. I told him we had to talk. He didn’t want to, but I insisted. As I poured myself a cup of coffee, he told me I was too controlling, too judgmental, and he was feeling constrained. He suggested “opening up the relationship” might give him the space he needed away from my condescension and snobbery. I told him I wasn’t sure about an open relationship, but I apologized for making him feel disrespected. See “idiot,” above.
The next three months were awful. We fought a lot, and I went to bed angry most nights, exactly the way you’re not supposed to. On several occasions, Freddie wouldn’t come home from work until almost midnight, and if I should dare inquire where he’d been, it was merely one more jot of evidence that I was a psychologically abusive mother hen. And then we’d either scream at each other or climb in bed, each facing opposite sides of the room, silently fuming.
We fought so much toward the end, the eventual breakup seemed almost serene by comparison. It happened on a Friday evening. It was a short conversation, as I recall. Freddie announced he was leaving, and nothing I could say would change his mind. I asked him to reconsider, but he was firm in his convictions and, weirdly, not angry. He had simply made up his mind.
That night, Freddie slept in the guest room. He called Mamie into the room with him, but being a creature of routine, she preferred to sleep in her usual spot, under my—formerly our—bed. I counted that as a small win on what I thought was the worst night of my life, but she wasn’t happy in our room, either. She wouldn’t hop up on the bed when it was time to turn out the light. She just sat, stubbornly, by the bedroom door, clearly unhappy with the new sleeping arrangements. I told her I understood and I was sorry, and I turned out the light.
The next day, Freddie composed an email to Lee, Claude, Tucker, and Jack to announce our separation. He asked me to read it before he sent it out, and I hated it. It read as though it was cobbled together by a lawyer or a press agent. I asked if I could rewrite it. He said no. “Fine,” I said, “then take my name off it, and I’ll write my own.”
“Fuck you,” he said, hitting the Send button.
“Very nice,” I replied and immediately called Lee.
“Hey, chica,” Lee said. “What’s happenin’, hot stuff?”
“Freddie’s leaving me,” I said rather nonchalantly, going into the bedroom and closing the door behind me.
After Lee stopped crying, I explained it was probably for the best, although I was yet to be convinced on that point. I wasn’t a willing participant in this breakup, but it was happening despite my objections. And the most important thing was that we didn’t want our friends to have to choose between us.
“You don’t sound very upset about this,” Lee said.
“Just numb. It’ll hit me in a week probably. But I’ll go visit the rhyming lesbians at the beach or something. I promise not to burden you with this.”
“Burden away. I’m your friend.”
“But you’re his friend too. I don’t want to suck you into any drama—”
“Have we met? I live for drama.”
“We’ll talk about it later. I need to call Tucker and Jack before they get Freddie’s godawful email.”
“Too late,” Lee said. “They’re already texting me about it.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Listen. Before you go, where is Freddie staying?”
“He was in the guest room last night.”
“Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. He can move in here.”
“What?”
“This is not me taking sides, but I’ve seen this telenovela before. If you don’t want to kill each other, he’s got to get out of there.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I’ve got a business trip in a week, and I’ll need someone to watch Mamie, and—”
“Stop it. Freddie can move in tonight, and Mamie can come over when you go. You both need to get away from each other right now. Trust me, I speak from experience.”
I relented. I told Freddie he had been invited to stay at Lee and Claude’s place “to give us some breathing room,” I said. Freddie calmly agreed and packed a few bags. Leaving the house an hour later, he told me he’d be back for his other things when he found a place of his own.
The door closed behind him not with a bang, but with the quietest of clicks. My life had changed forever in the past twenty-four hours, and frankly I thought the moment deserved more drama. Some yelling, perhaps some crying, maybe something expensive being thrown against a wall and shattering into a million pieces? That would have been a nice touch. But the entire affair was surprisingly calm and adult. Freddie used to live here, and now he was gone. Simple as that. Mamie scratched at the door, requesting a simple walk, not knowing her other human had crossed the threshold for the very last time.
* * *
When the Sunday of Jack’s party arrived, Freddie had been gone for a month. I got up early and wanted to do what happy, well-adjusted single people did in the morning. I decided I’d go for a run. This was significant, because I had never “gone for a run” a day in my life before and haven’t willingly done so since. I ran two blocks before I was completely out of breath. I walked home, figuring I’d try being a happy, well-adjusted single person the next week.
When I got back, I took a nice long shower, shaved, styled my hair, and delicately misted myself with my favorite cologne, the one I hadn’t worn in years because Freddie said he was allergic. And when I looked at the clock, it was still an hour before I was supposed to leave so I would arrive fashionably tardy.
So, I sat on the couch next to Mamie. If she was having any difficulty adapting to life without Freddie, she wasn’t making a big show of it. She was sleeping at the foot of the bed again and didn’t seem to miss him all that much. Then again, I had stuck pretty close to home since the split, and it’s possible she had more human companionship than she knew what to do with. Either way, it was nice.
I sometimes imagined she had taken my side in the breakup, although I knew in my heart if Freddie appeared at the door, she would greet him up on her hind legs, her fluffy tail happily swinging back and forth. I would hate this, naturally, but wouldn’t blame her. She was wired for loyalty and couldn’t know what a selfish little shit he’d been lately.
I decided to leave Mamie at home on the day of Jack’s party, even though she’d been invited. I told myself seeing Freddie might confuse her, but in truth I was driven by spite. I didn’t want to see a joyous reunion, and I especially did not want to witness Mamie jumping for joy and Freddie weeping and cooing in front of everyone. Being in the room with my ex and his newly minted boyfriend was going to be awkward enough.
“You’ll be okay here while I go to this blasted thing?” I asked.
Mamie’s doleful face gave me the answer I dreaded. Please don’t leave me, she seemed to be saying. Or maybe I just didn’t want to go.
Fuck it, I’d have to be unfashionably on time. I grabbed a liver-flavored cookie from the kitchen and shouted, “Kennel!” Mamie ran upstairs, and I followed. When I caught up with her, she was sitting in her crate, awaiting her reward. I fastened the latch as I fed her through the crate’s bars. While she chewed as though she hadn’t been fed in weeks, I took a deep breath, grabbed an expensive bottle of Rosé of Pinot Noir in lieu of the gift Jack begged us not to bring, collected my keys, and locked the door behind me.
When I got to the party, I was relieved to find I wasn’t the first to arrive. Also, Freddie and his new paramour were nowhere in sight. As I set the wine on his kitchen cabinet, Tucker entered.
“Oh my God,” he said. “You look great.”
“Don’t sound so shocked. It’s bad for my brand.”
“C’mere, sugar,” he said, stepping forward for a warm hug. I obliged. When we separated, he noticed the wine. “You shouldn’t have, but thank you. Should we open it?”
“It needs to be chilled.”
Tucker obliged, grabbing the bottle and putting it the fridge. “He’s not here yet.”
I smiled. “I can’t imagine who you mean.”
“Don’t be such a WASP.”
“We all cope in our own ways. I WASP. And drink.”
“Coming right up,” he said.
As Tucker uncorked a bottle of Pinot Grigio he’d found in the fridge, Lee sailed into the room.
“Hostia puta, you look amazing,” he said, hugging me tight. “You smell good too. But you should have told me you were dressing for revenge. I’d have brought my palettes. Nothing says ‘I Will Survive’ like a good smoky eye.”
Tucker poured me a glass of wine, and I smiled, hoping I could handle whatever the day would bring.
By the time Freddie appeared two hours later, I was halfway through my second bottle of wine. At first, it appeared he had come alone after all. I noticed he was wearing the same seersucker shorts he had worn on the day we met. Sadly, Edwin could be seen just outside. He had stepped in something and was scraping whatever it was all over the uppermost porch step, much to Jack’s chagrin. I’m not sure Edwin appreciated the power of this particular metaphor, but I sure did.
“Sorry we’re late,” Freddie said. “Church ran long.”
I couldn’t help myself. “Church?” I whispered, so only Lee could hear me.
Lee sighed. “Apparently, Edwin has shown him the way and the light.”
“But Freddie’s a bigger atheist than I am.”
“Was. Besides, if anyone needs Jesus…”
When Edwin finally entered the house, he was truly everything I hoped he’d be. And by that, I mean too young for Freddie but already balding, with few if any discernible social skills. What hair he had left was the color of dishwater, and he seemed to have spilled something—ketchup, perhaps?—on his ill-fitting white button-down shirt. To be fair, he seemed nice enough. His smile was wide and bright, and he seemed genuinely happy to be here and meet everyone.
But he was either too kind or too stupid to notice the shocked looks on the faces of the people he was greeting a bit too effusively. Meanwhile, Jack was following him around the room, making sure whatever he’d stepped in wasn’t being tracked all over his hand-knotted Persian rugs.
When he approached Lee, whom he had met two days before, he opted for a hug instead of a handshake. Trapped in Edwin’s clumsy embrace, Lee shot me a look that was one part “I’m sorry” and two parts “Help!”
And then it was my turn. “Hi,” he said, thrusting a clammy, moist hand in my direction. “I’m Edwin Gooch. I’m Freddie’s boyfriend!”
The room fell deadly silent. Nearly everyone in attendance knew more about this explosive circumstance than Edwin did, poor bastard.
“Hello,” I said. “I’m Charlie. I’m Freddie’s ex-boyfriend.” Edwin’s big, dumb face fell, and I felt sorry for him despite myself. “It’s very nice to meet you,” I said, with a smile and what I hoped was an air of sincerity. I will admit to turning my back on him without shaking his hand, leaving him standing there to cringe in silence.
I returned to my familiar post in the kitchen where Tucker was waiting for me with a bottle of now-chilled Rosé of Pinot Noir in his hand.
“Unbelievable,” he said.
“It’s fine.”
But it wasn’t fine. Tucker uncorked the bottle and procured a new glass from the cabinet above the stove. He poured the pink wine into the glass and handed it to me, but before I could take a sip, Freddie stormed into the kitchen without so much as a hello. “What the fuck did you say to him?”
I took a sip anyway and took my time. “Trouble in paradise already?”
“He said he wants to leave.”
“If he wants to leave, you should probably let him. After all, Freddie, you’re not Yoda.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? What did you say to him?”
“I believe my exact words were ‘It’s very nice to meet you.’”
“That’s bullshit.”
“I’d swear on the Bible, but I know how little that means to you.”
“Charlie, you’ve got some fucking nerve—”
Tucker moved to my side. “Could you keep it down?”
“Mind your own business, Tucker.”
“It’s his party, and it’s his business. Lower your goddamn voice or get out of here, Freddie. Nobody wants a scene but you.”
Freddie looked at Tucker, then at me, and then at Lee, who I noticed hovering in the doorway. Freddie wanted an ally but was not finding one. “We’re not leaving,” he said.
“Suit yourself,” I said, then added, “Go with God!” because I felt petty.
Freddie stormed out with the same force he’d stormed in with. Tucker, Lee, and I regarded each other and our new reality.
Not knowing what Emily Post would advise, I began to apologize. “Guys, I’m really sorr—”
“Cállate, Carlito. We know you’re not making us choose between you.”
Tucker took my hand in his. “We’ve already chosen.”
I squeezed it and suppressed a laugh. Nothing struck me as particularly funny, but I didn’t know until I’d heard those words how relieved I’d be.
Lee regarded me tenderly. “Need me to cut a bitch?”
“That won’t be necessary, but keep the wine handy.”
I kept my distance from both Freddie and Edwin for the next hour or so. Not so coincidentally, either Tucker or Lee was nearby every time I looked up. However, just as I was feeling as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, Lee and I ventured out onto the deck Tucker and Jack had attached to the house the year before. A few smokers were getting their nicotine fix down below as Jack held court with some mutual friends, and standing in the corner were Freddie and Edwin, making out like a couple of horny teenagers at Bible camp.
Oblivious to everyone around them, they performed their own private love scene, complete with longing gazes into each other’s eyes, punctuated with slow, languorous, very wet kisses. It was nauseating.
When I met Freddie three years before, I told him I thought public displays of affection were tacky. Holding hands was one thing, and the ways well-established couples would take care of each other by wiping a crumb from the other’s chin or removing a bit of lint from a shoulder were charming and sweet. But makeout sessions bordering on public sex were, to my mind, best reserved for private moments.
Freddie assured me he agreed completely, and indeed throughout our entire relationship he acted in complete accordance with his professed stance on the matter. So, it was a bit of a shock to witness him slurping at another man’s open maw in broad daylight less than a month after announcing our breakup to the world. All four of their hands were clutching asscheeks, and their mouths resembled leeches sucking the life out of each other.
“Seriously?” I heard someone say, realizing seconds later that someone was me.
Edwin and Freddie broke apart. Freddie looked mad, then guilty, then mad again. There was no telling what Edwin felt, other than unmoored by the sudden absence of Freddie’s tongue from his oral cavity.
Everyone on the deck became quiet. Most of them knew Freddie and me as a couple. The others were people I didn’t recognize, but who certainly knew drama when it was happening in front of them as their eyes and smiles were wide.
Freddie cocked his head back in an effort to look cool. “Can I help you, Charlie?”
“Yeah, you can start by wiping your chin. You’re drooling.”
He looked a little less cool as he wiped Edwin’s saliva off his face. “Look,” he said quietly, as though all eyes and ears weren’t riveted to us and every word we were saying, “you always take everything so personally. This isn’t about you.”
“Oh, I’m quite clear on that score,” I answered, ignoring his request for quiet. “Nothing you do is about anyone but you, Freddie. I understand that perfectly.”
I’m guessing Edwin Gooch was new to the role of the other woman, or else he might have known to remain silent. “What do you care anyway?” he asked me. “You guys haven’t been together for, like, six months.”
Lee, who’d been very quiet until now, uttered an involuntary “oh snap.”
I said nothing at first, but regarded Edwin through narrowing eyes before returning my gaze to Freddie.
“Six months, Freddie? That’s your story?”
“Charlie, I—”
“That’s fascinating. Do you know why? The University of Maryland called the house yesterday, wondering if you’d be coming back next semester. It seems you stopped attending classes about…six months ago.”
“So what?” Freddie bellowed. “I never cared about fucking college. That was all your idea anyway.”
I took a deep breath. “Freddie, I have something to ask you.”
As Freddie and I eyed each other, no one made a sound. We could hear the hum of traffic in front of the house. A half mile away or more, a siren wailed and dipped and wailed again. Silently, I catalogued everything Freddie had ever said to me, acknowledging for the first time that any one of those statements could have been a lie. Even Edwin seemed interested in what question I might put forth, and he took Freddie’s hand, giving him a nudge.
“Wh…What is it?”
“Arthur,” I said. “Let’s talk about your ex-fiancé Arthur.”
“What about him?” Freddie asked, nervous.
“Arthur isn’t HIV-positive, is he?”
Freddie’s jaw clenched with rage. I had my answer.
“Who’s Arthur?” asked Edwin, and Freddie suddenly gripped his hand so tightly it caused the poor boy to squeal.
I should have enjoyed the moment more, but I was presently drowning under the weight of how much and how often I’d been lied to by a man I’d invited into my home and my bed for more than two years. Had it not been for those goddamn seersucker shorts, I might not have recognized him at all.
“We’re going,” Freddie announced.
“Yes,” I said. “I think that’s best.” I moved to the side so Freddie could reenter the house through the sliding glass door, dragging Edwin behind him. I stood outside, soaking up the sunshine as Freddie made his noisy exit. As Freddie was racing out of the house, dragging his boyfriend of six months behind him, I heard Edwin ask again, “Who’s Arthur?”
And then there was silence.
Lee gave a half-hearted smile. “Another glass of wine?”
“No. I think I’ll be going too. Thanks, though. Happy birthday, Jack. And…sorry.”
“Are you kidding?” Jack said. “That was awesome.”
Lee’s lower lip curled in exaggerated disappointment. “You sure?”
I nodded. I was sure. Wine sounded lovely, but what I really wanted were my couch and my dog.
* * *
The next two weeks were quiet enough. It was important to feel my feelings, I said to myself, but I honestly didn’t know what my feelings were. The more I understood I couldn’t believe a word Freddie had ever said, and I truly didn’t know who this man was, the harder it became to miss him. I had moments of righteous anger, but they were balanced by other things. I was relieved he was gone, I wondered if he even knew himself under all those lies, and I was grateful not to be as lost as he clearly was. I kept waiting for Mamie to show signs of missing him, but either she didn’t or she only let herself be sad when she was alone.
Then, on a Tuesday in the middle of the workday I received an email from Freddie.
From: Freddie
To: Charlie V.
Subj: Moving Forward
Dear Charlie,
I’m writing you instead of calling because there’s a lot that I need to say and I don’t want to fight with you.
I’m sorry if I hurt you in any way at Jack’s party. It’s important that you know that it was never my intention to hurt you with Edwin. He actually came as a surprise after we broke up. I honestly just wanted to enjoy being single, but then something changed and we became more than that really fast. Neither of us knows what will happen in the long run, but for now we are enjoying each other’s company. Also, I only told him that we had been broken up longer than we were so he wouldn’t feel like a rebound. Once I explained that to him, he understood.
At Jack’s party, it was hard to avoid each other, but it was never my intention to throw him in your face. I don’t want to tiptoe around you with him, but I understand if it made and makes you upset or uncomfortable.
My life is changing and I’m becoming happier, less bitter, and less sarcastic than I was. One major shift during this time has been my need for inspiration, and I’m finding that through going to church again. I still don’t believe all the supernatural stories, but when I think of a life filled with joy, peace, and love, all I can think about is the existence of God.
But I’m mostly writing today about Mamie. I know and you know that she is my dog as much as she is yours and I’ve missed her very much since I moved out. I think it is only fair that when I have a new place, we should both get to see her in equal amounts. I think that we could do a hand-off on Saturdays; you could either be home when I drop by or if you want I could let myself in (I still have my key).
I should be ready to take care of Mamie every other week, in about a month or so, once I’ve saved up enough for a security deposit on a new place. I’ll let you know.
Sincerely,
Freddie
I sat at my desk, mouth agape. I knew the smart thing to do would be to close my email, take a walk, collect my thoughts, get back to work, go home, drink a glass of wine, sleep on it, and then respond to Freddie. That would be the intelligent course of action.
Naturally, I began typing immediately.
From: Charlie V.
To: Freddie
Subj: Re: Moving Forward
Dear Freddie,
I received your note. And I thought you deserved a response, and so I’m responding by telling you that you are a fucking liar and a cheating asshole. Fuck you, fuck your stupid fucking boyfriend OF SIX MONTHS. So I suppose that every Tuesday and Thursday of the past six months when you told me you were in class you were with Edwin Gooch—which is not only gross and cruel, but also totally fucking insulting. Do you know what it’s like to be replaced by someone who looks like he eats his own toenails during recess? Anyway, fuck you both. If he believes anything that comes out of your mouth, he’s as dumb as he looks. Also, please stick your goddamn Bible so far up your ass that it takes a team of proctologists to retrieve it.
You will never see Mamie again as long as you fucking live if I have anything to do with it. I’m sorry if this hurts you, except you know what? I’m not sorry. I’m glad if it hurts. I hope it hurts. Cry about it to Edwin, you goddamn fucking fuckwad.
I, too, am happier since we parted ways. I sleep well, probably because I’m not fuming with anger due to all the ways you found to be small and cruel and selfish and petty during the past year of my life with you. I don’t miss you.
As the vitriol poured forth, I could hear the voice of a woman calling out to me, as if from a long distance. “Hey.”
I don’t miss your sullen attitude. I don’t miss the way that all your stupid fucking insecurities became my character flaws (hint: I don’t care that you don’t have a degree. YOU care you don’t have a degree. That’s your shit and you need to own it).
The strange, disembodied voice was a little closer now, but I paid no heed. I was on a roll. “Charlie?”
One thing I definitely don’t miss is doing your goddamn laundry, particularly the tighty-whities that you didn’t even have the decency to put in the hamper. You know, the ones with the skid marks in the crotch? Honestly, Freddie, what kind of grown-ass adult man has never learned to wipe his ass after he takes a sh—
“Charlie!”
I looked up. Someone was hovering over my desk. When she came into focus, I could see it was Agnes Roche. Agnes, my friend, but also my boss.
“Charlie, you weren’t at the three o’clock. Are you okay?”
The way she asked the question, it was clear she knew I wasn’t. I fished my phone out of my pocket. I found Freddie’s email, sent two hours before. I handed the phone to Agnes and watched as she read it.
Agnes and I had gone out for drinks the Friday before, and she had been thoroughly briefed on the breakup, the new boyfriend, Jack’s party, the pathological lying, all of it. Therefore, nothing in Freddie’s note prompted a question or required an explanation. Watching her face as it registered shock, then disbelief, on to indignation, and finally settling on a quiet, murderous calm was equivalent to a month’s worth of therapy. Yes, I might be out of my mind with rage, but it was justified, and I wasn’t crazy.
“I’ve been working on a response,” I said.
“Good. Get it all out. But don’t send it.” I was about to protest, but she quieted me with a shake of her head. “You know I’m right.”
She began typing something on my phone.
“What are you doing?” I asked. She said nothing, but her thumbs were racing. “Agnes, seriously, what are you wr—”
“Shh, hold on. I won’t send it.”
She jabbed my phone with her thumbs for another fifteen seconds. “Here,” she said, admiring her handiwork for another moment before handing the phone back to me.
From: Charlie V.
To: Freddie
Subj: RE: Moving Forward
Dear Freddie,
Don’t worry about Mamie. I’ll take very good care of her.
Sincerely,
Charlie
P.S. I’ve changed the locks.
“That’s perfect,” I said, hitting the send button without giving it another moment’s thought.
When Freddie wrote back within minutes threatening to sue me if I didn’t allow him to see Mamie again, I forwarded the entire email chain to Lee and Claude. I asked Claude if he’d like to represent me on the off chance Freddie took me to court. I received a call from Lee about two minutes later.
“Oooh, I could just wring his cuello flaco.”
I took a deep breath. “I can’t believe he fucking threatened to sue me.”
“Claude says not to worry. One, people threaten lawsuits all the time just because they’re pissed off, and two, Freddie doesn’t have the money for a lawyer. Also three, no one would take his case.”
“Still, I was hoping I could refer any future messages to Claude to shut him up. I don’t suppose he would do me the honor?”
“Oh, you bet your ass he will. That bitch is not getting near Mamie. He doesn’t deserve her. I didn’t tell you this before, but when you took that business trip a week after Freddie moved in here? He was barely home. Claude had to walk her twice a day, and I fed her all her meals because Freddie was practically living with that hijo de puta.”
So, before leaving the office on an otherwise uneventful Tuesday, I informed Freddie it would be unwise for us to communicate directly for the time being and his attorney could speak to my attorney if necessary.
Also, my attorney was Claude Williams.
Boom.
I never saw or heard from Freddie again.
I would hear about him occasionally, mostly from Jack, who would sometimes see him at Pansy’s or Town, but less frequently over time. By the time I learned he and Edwin had moved to New York City, they’d already been gone for three months. I had not personally heard Freddie’s voice or laid eyes on him since Jack’s birthday party, and that was fine with me.
That is, until he showed up at my front door, a year and a half later.