"Oh, God! What a nightmare morning!"
These were the words I declared to my roommate in my gravelly, hungover morning voice as I threw open my door.
My head was spinning, my mouth tasted like cotton, our apartment was soaked in a beer and tequila smell, and I had just been dumped.
Like I said. A nightmare morning.
My roommate and I had just thrown a fantastic party the night before. The Dark Horse was there of course, so he got to meet several of my friends and some of my students as well. I had been excited at this prospect all week, mostly because I knew everyone would like him. He's extremely likable and friendly, so I don't have to worry about him at all. No checking in on him to make sure he's mingling or worrying about introducing him to people. He's capable of doing that on his own.
And while I knew he was having a great time and my friends liked him and vice versa, something was just... off. Something had been bugging me all week, even though I really didn't have a reason to think that. Maybe my premonitions are getting scary accurate, or maybe I was just being paranoid about The Curse since I had started and very nearly completed crocheting his hat, but for some reason, I knew something was up. Even after he showed up at the party with a Christmas present for me. (A book. Which he wrote an inscription in.)
By the time the party wound down, we were both pretty hammered. We retired to my room, but instead of commencing with our usual bedroom activities, he pretty much rolled over and passed out, mumbling something about not wanting to get me sick. I was pretty steamed. This was possibly the last time we were going to see each other until NEXT YEAR and he was just going to roll over and play dead? I barely slept. I was still a bit drunk, pissed off (yet I knew something was really wrong), and getting more and more resentful about his snoring.
In the morning, I told him I was angry about it. He apologized. But when I suggested we might want to try to get together sometime before Christmas so I could give him his present, he didn't seem too interested. He got dressed and brought me some water (thank God for that) and sat down on my bed.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"So you know there's something on my mind," was his response.
He went on to tell me that it's been three months and that he thinks I'm wonderful and amazing and beautiful and cute and funny and sexy and smart and adorable and at least 10 other adjectives that describe me. No one says all that without a "but." He started with an "and." As in, "and physically I'm very attracted to you..........BUT emotionally I'm just not there."
I knew it was coming. I don't think I even blinked. He kept talking. He said something about being fine with keeping things the way they are but knowing I want more and liking me too much to do that and of all the women he's ever dated (and there have been a lot) I'm one of maybe two that he actually wants to stay friends with, because I'm just that awesome. And of course there was something about bad timing thrown in there. Because there is always, always something about bad timing. I wanted to scream. Is there ever a good time? Then I gave him his hat and blamed it on The Curse. He loved the hat. He gave me a big hug and told me at least 3 times that he meant everything that he said. I believe him.
After he left, I crawled back into bed for several hours. I was hoping to shut out the world. Ignore my tequila-soaked apartment. Ignore the fact that it's the holidays and I'm broke and still in need of a better paying job. Ignore the fact that I'm 27 years old and am finding myself alone at the holidays again. Ignore the fact that 27 was supposed to be my fucking year. All while Lily Allen's song "Fuck You" played on repeat in my head.
When I finally did crawl out of my cave to tell my roommate what had happened while she was sleeping, she dropped a beer bottle she was trying to clear away, splashing beer onto me. Apologizing profusely, I assured her that having beer spilled on me wasn't even a blip on my nightmare morning radar. "Violet," she said, "there are other Dark Horses out there, who are nicer and funnier, and one of them will absolutely adore you. So put some clothes on, we're going out for a greasy breakfast. And who knows? Maybe I'll give someone your number while we're there."
We didn't distribute any numbers, but the bacon and orange juice and waffle really did hit the spot. And she's right. There are other Dark Horses. Ones who don't come with baggage too big to fit in the overhead compartment. Ones who will truly appreciate me. As for the Dark Horse himself, I do hope that we can be friends one day. But that day is most definitely not today.
