Dear HappyBoy,

I regret to inform you that I must end our ‘secret relationship.’ After careful consideration, I just don’t think I’m getting anything out of this and, well, what’s the point of putting my dignity on the line if I’m not getting anything out of it?

First, it is not even a ‘secret relationship’ because half our high school graduating class already thinks you’re cheating on your girlfriend with me, and now the Internet knows about it too. Soon, you’ll be hearing about this on The Colbert Report (I mean if he can do TWO shows on Rain¹, he can definitely do a show on our drama).

Second, I’m just not the kind of girl who can play second fiddle. Even if I was okay with this whole cheating thing – like if we were back in ancient China when the emperor had twenty concubines – I wouldn’t be happy even if I was your favourite concubine. What can I say, I was born to be Queen.

Third, you’re three years too late. If you had dumped your then-girlfriend to get with me, instead of stringing me along for three years, I could have actually liked you. Because back then, I had not been jaded by all the douchebags I’d be meeting in the next three years. Instead, you acted like there was nothing there, as if it was all in my head, making me feel crazy – and worse, guilty, for liking someone who was in a relationship who didn’t even like me back. You could never take responsibility for your emotions because you have always been the baby brother and you never had to grow a set of balls. And now, guess what? You are ready for your vagina. Congratulations.

So while I never properly thanked you for letting me crash for the weekend, I did let you spoon me two out of three nights. Call it even?

I’m sure we’ll see each other around, but until then, goodbye.

Not Yours,
SassyGirl

P.S. Your girlfriend looks sweet. But I don’t envy her. You are the biggest baby I’ve ever known.
P.P.S. I’d cherish her if I were you. And I’d learn to be more of a man, for her sake.

Of course I’m not going to actually send this letter, but I will be having a stern talk with him soon enough.

It’s a shame though, he was such a good kisser.

1. The Korean singer/actor who Stephen Colbert made fun of – see here.

1. Juicy, emotionally confusing, and morally questionable
2. Sensible, uptight, and boring

You’ll be happy to hear that my post is of the first variety. While it ranks high in the entertaining category, it ranks low in the my-proudest-moments category. So don’t judge, k?

I arrived at HB‘s to find him vacuuming. Apparently, he cared about making impressions, although this was not the first time I’d stayed at his apartment. Neither of us had planned anything for the first night, so we had dinner with his brother at a Korean/Japanese restaurant nearby. Then, we engaged in our favourite activity: wandering around The City. We walked through urban parks and impromptu art displays, we sat down on benches and stone garden walls, we held hands and linked arms. We were completely in-tune with each other, and conversation flowed endlessly. He never mentioned his relationship status and I never asked.

Around 11 pm, I said I wanted to head back¹, but he was hesitant. We ended up going to a dessert place with a huge menu and some quality patio space.

We shared the desserts, which were refreshingly sweet and cold in the warm night wind. There were four Japanese girls chatting away animatedly at the table next to us. I couldn’t help but stare.
“Why do you keep looking at them?” HB asked, giving me a funny look.
“I love the sound of Japanese. Plus, they look so animated.” I wondered if HB liked the sound of Japanese.
“Are you still dating that Japanese girl?” I asked, as nonchalantly as possible.
“Yes,” he said, without hesitation.
I continued to stare at the table beside us. There was a girl with sleek, straight black hair to her waist and a simple fringe, gesturing quickly with her hands as Japanese words spilled easily from her lips. She was very pretty. Is she the sort of girl HB would be interested in? I looked over at him to see if he was as mesmerized by her as I was, but he was looking at me.
“Let’s get the bill,” I suggested.
“Ok,” he said, not taking his eyes off me.

When we got back to his apartment, I started to get ready for bed, but he still hadn’t told me where I would be sleeping. I assumed the couch, so I asked for a blanket.
“Um, this is my only blanket,” he said, gesturing to the one on his bed.
“Oh.” Well, this is awkward. “Then, what am I going to sleep with on the couch?”
He hesitated. “I actually hadn’t thought of that.”
Seriously? I looked over at the bed, with its two pillows sitting neatly side by side. Bullshit. I guess he planned for me to share the bed.
I should have just slept on the couch without a blanket that first night, because then the whole weekend would have been very different. But I didn’t. I slept in his bed.

Of course, all we did was sleep. I stayed on my side of the bed and he stayed on his. At 2 am, we were awoken by the sound of his air conditioner exploding (it did this every five minutes after that), and he got up to get some water. Something must have been in that water because when he came back, he was suddenly lying much closer. He put his hand on my hip (above the blanket) and pulled me closer. Without a word, I let him spoon me. Then I turned around to face him, and he stroked my hair. I fell asleep in the crook of his arm with our limbs loosely tangled together.

Whenever my friends told me about some scandalous thing that happened in the dead of the night, I always wondered how they let it get that far. They were sensible girls, and most of the time, it wasn’t something they necessarily would have wanted, they just didn’t say ‘No.’ I always wondered how it could be so difficult for them to say ‘No.’ Whenever my friends told me they had had sex with someone and “it just happened,” I always wondered how something like that happens without any discussion. But now I know. Sometimes, in the dead of the night, the silence can be so comfortable that you’d do anything not to break it. Sometimes, in the dead of the night, things that you know are wrong can seem so right. Sometimes, it feels like whatever goes on between 2am and sun rise is part of a dream, not reality.

The next day, we met our friend PL for brunch at a little French place that had received rave reviews. I had been excited to check it out, but I was disappointed. The food was mediocre, the portions small, and the place less charming than the pictures.

PL yammered for two hours without coming up for breath, and by the time our bills came, I was bored out of my mind. To my dismay, she insisted on hanging out with us for the rest of the day. We followed her to an urban park she’d found, which had a few interesting water structures.




She spent the entire time yammering into HB‘s ear while utterly ignoring me. At first, I thought it was simply because she had a lot to say, but after being ignored or cut off for the fifth time, I determined she was purposely being rude to me².

HB was still hungry after our brunch, so we went to another breakfast joint for a second breakfast. I was starting to get annoyed with PL, for she was being unbearably rude and obnoxious. She shot me the most offensive look when I said I didn’t like egg yoke, only egg white. When I didn’t feel like ordering a second breakfast, she promptly said, in her loud voice, “I hate people who go to restaurants and don’t order anything!”

After our second breakfast, we went back to HB‘s place and they watched TV in the living room while I studied the LSAT teacher training materials in HB‘s room. PL came in randomly, and started flipping through my teacher’s binder, making me lose my place in my notes. Then she sat down on the bed and asked, “So, where did you sleep last night? On the couch?”
“No…” I said slowly, not turning around to face her.
“Then where?” she asked, in that obnoxiously loud voice.
“On the bed…” I said, even more hesitantly.
Silence.
“So what’s HB‘s girlfriend’s name?”
“I don’t know…”
Silence.
“He just refers to her as friends,” she says, as if to console me.
I said nothing.
She finally left the room.
I let out an audible sigh and continued working, but my mind was elsewhere.
WAF just happened to message me, so I told her what had happened.

me: i just want this weekend to be over, i think i made a huge mistake coming here
PL has been a bitch to me all morning and now i know why
she totally disapproves and thinks i’m a slut
WAF: …or maybe she’s concerned for you as a friend?
HE’S making the choice to cheat.
me: yeah but i’m going along with it
i guess her judgemental-ness kind of makes me see what i’m doing in her eyes and i don’t like it
WAF: oh so it was okay for her to break up a marriage?³
she’s just enjoying that you are feeling like shit

As soon as PL left, I sat down with HB for a serious discussion. I told him what PL had insinuated, and he confirmed my suspicions. Apparently, PL had called him a few days before the brunch and asked whether he and I were in some sort of ‘secret relationship.’

Our serious discussion was extremely awkward. We had never acknowledged our ‘special relationship,’ much less tried to define it. I was so embarrassed I could barely look at him. We still danced around the facts, never mentioning the previous night or holding hands or any of the things we did that indicated we were not ‘just friends.’

“I think I should sleep on the couch tonight,” I finally said.
He nodded.
“Ok, good discussion!” I spun around in the computer chair and continued working. I didn’t know how to bring up what we really needed to discuss: are you cheating on your girlfriend with me?

That night, I slept on the couch, without a blanket. As I was falling asleep, HB woke me up.
“I think we should have our second serious discussion.”
I groggily rubbed my eyes open and turned around to face him. “Ok. I’m listening.”
“Oh, actually, I hadn’t prepared anything to say. I just thought… we should talk about it. Can we do this in my room?”
I rolled my eyes, but followed him to his room.

We sat on opposite sides of his bed, looking straight ahead. By nature, I am the talkative one, but this time, I kept my mouth shut. I wanted to hear what he had to say, I didn’t want him to just piggyback off my sentiments with half-hearted agreements like “me too.” That would be too easy. I needed him to say what he wanted.

“I’m so confused,” was the best he could muster. “What do you want to do?” He asked me.
I knew he was fishing for something, but whatever it was, I didn’t want to give it to him. “I think this is more your decision than mine. I’m not the one in a serious relationship.”
He looked downright anguished. “I think we’ve always been somewhere between friends and more-than-friends,” he finally said. “I did like you, back in high school, but I felt too guilty⁴.”
I didn’t ask him what made him feel less guilty this time. “I wish we’d settled this three years ago,” was all I said.

Our second serious discussion was even more awkward than the first one. There were a lot of silences. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer. I needed my beauty sleep.
“I think we only have two choices. Either we’re just friends or nothing at all.”
“What’s ‘nothing at all’? Are we not allowed to see each other anymore?”
“We’ll still see each other at high school reunions I’m sure, but we just don’t see each other as often.”
“I don’t want that…”
I let him think it over.
“Do you think we could be ‘just friends’?” He finally asked.
“I think so. If we wanted it to work, it could work.”
After an even longer silence, I finally asked, “So, are we cool? Have we decided we’re just friends?”
“I guess so…” He was very hesitant. “Why are you so indifferent about this?” He seemed offended that I didn’t care more. I knew what he wanted. He wanted me to tell him I liked him, to tell him to cheat, to fight for ‘us’ – whatever we were. But I could never do that. I could barely fight for my relationship with MFL when I was in a real relationship, why would I fight for this murky, undefined ‘us’? Personally, I just wanted to finish this discussion and go to bed.

He finally agreed to do the sensible thing and I escaped to the couch. The couch was too short and too hot, but ironically, it was the best sleep I had all weekend.

The next morning, we stuck to our “just friends” pact and didn’t hold hands once. We had a huge breakfast, strolled through a street festival, and then he accompanied me in my last-minute frenzy to buy a business casual outfit (I’d forgotten to bring one, and I needed it for the training session).

After my training session, we celebrated by going out for martinis at a cute little whole-in-the-wall joint in the heart of the martini bar district of The City.

As martinis with metrosexual names arrived one after another, he seemed to forget our pact and started reaching for my hand on the table. By the fifth martini, he was drunk. I was only tipsy, so I had to take care of him all the way home.
He was more aggressive as a drunk. This was a side of him I’d never seen. He was normally very passive and even shy; he never made the first move and always seemed to care about placating others. But as a drunk, he was completely uninhibited. While we waited for the streetcar, he pulled my body against his and locked his arms around the small of my back. I felt embarrassed – there was another girl waiting for the streetcar and I knew she knew we were drunk. I tried to get away but he wouldn’t let me go.

When we got home, I put him to bed, and as I turned to leave, he tried to pull me into bed with him. I reminded him of our serious discussion, our decision to be ‘just friends.’
“I don’t think we can do that,” he said, this time with no hesitation. “It is clear we like each other. I don’t want to be just friends.”
His straight-forwardness took me by surprised, but I had some liquid courage myself. “Do you know what you’re saying? Cheating is a slippery slope. Are you sure you want that?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t believe he really understood, and I told him so. “I don’t want you to regret this in the morning.”
“I’m not going to.”
I tried a different tactic. “I would not recommend this if you think you have a future with your girlfriend. If you’re serious about her, don’t do this.”
“I don’t know whether we have a future or not. But I know I can’t just be friends with you, and I certainly don’t want to lose you.”
In the end, I agreed to be more-than-friends⁵. Though I had been fine with the sensible decision we came to earlier, this sounded far more exciting.

We shared our first kiss. I was happy to find he was an excellent kisser. As he caressed my bottom lip, and then my top, I felt tiny little explosions all along my spine. This was a kiss three years in the making.

However, the euphoria from the kiss and the excitement of a ‘secret relationship’ did not last long. As soon as we decided to go down the slippery slope, his whole demeanor changed. The power dynamic shifted. Suddenly, I was the one in control and he was this clingy, needy, pathetic little boy. I was quickly starting to regret my decision.
He kept asking me questions to reassure him that I liked him when, in fact, I wasn’t sure that I did. He even alluded to love at one point, but I cut him off because I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to know how he felt about me (“Aren’t you the least bit curious?” I wasn’t). He asked me a million questions about my love life (“How many guys have you dated since high school? How many serious relationships?”). When I didn’t want to tell him, he got a little angry. He told me he felt like he could tell me anything, but when I told him I didn’t want to know, he got suspicious (“Are you letting me off the hook so that you can refuse to tell me something later?”). I had never seen this side of him. All the emotions he’d held back for the last three years came spilling out. Not only did the power dynamic completely shift, but it was completely unattractive. He was smitten and curious to know everything about me, and I was disinterested and just wished to be left alone. Was this what I had waited three years for? I felt like I had been tricked, tricked into agreeing into something that had been kept hidden from me all this time.

He became so unbearable that I kicked him out of bed. There he was, more vulnerable than I’d ever seen him, and I was so cold to him, more emotionally detached than I’d ever been around him. He thought I was mad at him, so he spent the rest of the night on the couch while I slept in his bed. Although he didn’t bother me the rest of the night, something scared me awake at 6 am (he had left at 5 am). I heard the TV on in the living room, but I didn’t go out to check on him.

In the morning, we went for breakfast⁶ and HB was back to normal. The controlling, clingy, insecure boy of the previous night had almost completely disappeared.

Then I went to a meeting with some clients for a consulting project, and by the time I was done, it was about time for me to go back to University Town.

HB wants me to go see him again in two weeks, but I’m considering calling off this whole thing. After his emotional gates opened, I realized that he likes me more than I like him, and I don’t think I can handle that.

Besides, I’m a fabulous girl. Why should I play a supporting role in his life when I can be the leading lady in someone else’s?

1. I still had a lot to prepare for my LSAT teacher training session on Sunday, and we had to get up to meet our friend for brunch the next morning.
2. On Twitter, I refer to her as Obnoxious Girl.
3. The short story of PL‘s background is that she started dating our economics teacher in the final year of high school, and by the time she graduated, he had divorced his wife, changed his style to look 10 years younger, and was officially dating her.
4. He had been dating another girl at that time, too.
5. Is there a better term for this? I’m not his mistress, since he’s not married. We’re not lovers, because we’re not having sex. What other terms can be there be for this sort of infidelity?
6. Number of breakfasts I’ve had this weekend: 4.5

Traveling is never my favourite part of these stories, because it’s hard to recreate the anticipation of an event after the event has already occurred. So I’ll skip over the part where I woke up at six am in order to catch a bus to the train station only to realize the bus was never going to come and then selling an organ and a limb in order to pay the taxi fare to the train station and then being literally one second late for the train I was supposed to go on. Skip all that and fast-forward to when I finally arrive in The City.
I was picked up from the subway station by WAF, WAF‘s boyfriend, who I will now call SubduedRageBoy (this will make sense later), and their friend, PotentiallyGayBoy. and whisked away to lunch. In the car, I changed into my new stilettos and used lunch as an opportunity to practice walking in them.
The food itself was not impressive, but the four of us had a good talk over lunch. PGB and I realized we had a lot in common, and if it wasn’t for the fact that we strongly suspect him of pitching for the other team, we probably would have made a really cute couple. Still, I can always use a gay friend; they’re usually the loveliest anyway.
After lunch we went back to SRB‘s house mansion and I started drinking. We still had a lot of alcohol left over from last weekend and I was determined to at least make a dent in the stash. Meanwhile, SRB and PGB were looking up hotels and planning our getaway to Montreal in two weeks time. Somewhere between my first and second glass of wine, I had donned a pair of rose-tinted glasses and felt as if the world was spinning with me at its center, that everything was right and perfect and everyone was lovely and sweet.
The rest of the afternoon seemed to pass at lightning speed (doesn’t it always when you’re drunk having a good time?). I must have been more buzzed than I thought because I almost sprained my ankle trying on WAF‘s heels and then laid down on the marble floor in SRB‘s foyer and pretended to swim. WAF reminded me that we were supposed to go shopping before meeting the girls for dinner, so I tried to sober up. But it was a long and difficult ordeal.

Finally, finally, when I was sober enough to walk on my own, WAF and I changed into our evening gowns cocktail dresses and headed downtown¹. We went to Forever21 and H&M and only ended up buying accessories, then clicked down the street in our heels toward dinner.
The restaurant we were meeting at was famous for their wine list, which was why I had picked it. The girls I’d invited were all chronically late, always, so I had figured we could just hang out at the bar and drink wine until everyone arrived. Unfortunately, the bar was closed (on a Saturday?!?! Do they not want business?), but fortunately, all my friends arrived relatively on time²! We ordered a bottle of wine, had an excellent dinner, and discussed politics and world issues school and boys and our futures as the most powerful women in the world.
At one point during the dinner, SSS mentioned something about MFL.
“It’s cool that you’re still friends with MFL even though he cheated on you.”
“What? He didn’t cheat on me… Did he?” I added uncertainly.
“Oh, I guess not. They got together after you two broke up, right?” She knew she was treading on dangerous ground.
I tried to pry some information out of her without being too obvious. “Do you know what happened at Costa Rica? I heard some things after they came back from the trip but…”
“They just crushed on each other. Nothing happened.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. The Other Girl told me in confidence.” SSS nodded knowingly and that was the end of that. I didn’t want to press further because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to maintain my composure if I did, but I did not take this as well as I wanted them to believe. So there had been developments between them during Costa Rica. He lied to me about more than one thing then!

After dinner, we headed to a nearby lounge where the boys were waiting for us. We started off with fruity summer cocktails (which I did not enjoy so much; I think I am just too manly for fruity cocktails, even though I love the glasses they come in and the colours and the little garnishes), and then ordered a bottle of ridiculously overpriced champagne because what the heck, I was turning the big two-oh, and if that wasn’t worthy of celebrating with a little bubbly, what is?
The champagne seemed to disappear incredibly quickly, and I was well on my way to Embarrassing Drunkard by the third “A toast! To SassyGirl! The most awesome person in the whole wide world!³”
When the champagne was done, three of the girls left, and I was officially drunk. The next part of the evening is kind of blur, except I remember wobbling around in my stilettos feeling very sexy and being checked out by the older men at the bar every time I went to the washroom. Although I didn’t enjoy their appreciative glances, I did kind of enjoy feeling young and much more alive than they were. Apparently most of the rest of the night, I was talking almost exclusively to HB, and he had his arm around me the entire time. Since HB has a girlfriend, WAF was quite alerted by his flirty behaviour, and told me so the next morning. But the truth is, HB has always been dead set in AmbiguityLand. It seems like when he met me, he decided to buy real estate in AmbiguityLand and became a permanent resident. I can’t say I like it, but when you’re drunk and a cute boy is offering to buy you any drink you want, these little details don’t seem to matter anymore. By the way, I ended up asking for Grey Goose. What? If he’s going put his hand around my waist and breathe against my ear, knowing full well he has a girlfriend and has been leading me on for years, then asking me to order anything I want, I might as well order the most expensive thing on the menu.
The other boys were not helping my drunken state either. WittyIrelandBoy and GrammarPoliceBoy both kept asking if I wanted more, if they should order another round of drinks. I couldn’t tell if they were trying to get me drunk (yes), but after we finished the Grey Goose, they ended up ordering another round of shots.
I don’t remember what our tab came out to but with the Grey Goose and the champagne and the shots and the other individual drinks we ordered, I’m sure it was an impressive figure. However, the boys insisted on picking up the tab (I love having rich friends – remind me to invite them to more events), and refused to take my money on account of the fact that I was the birthday girl (I ended up slipping in a $50 just because I felt bad and because I was too drunk to remember how broke I actually am).
Eventually, SRB arrived and we left the lounge. They asked me what I wanted to do next. I looked around and shrugged, “What do you guys want to do?” I asked back. “Anything you want,” they said. I don’t know if it was the booze or what but right there and then, on the street in front of the lounge, in my sexy black stilettos and Victory Ford dress, I felt like a princess. A real life verifiable princess.
How many times have I heard that in my life? “Anything I want.” Probably about three times, and once was in first year when a guy wanted to get in my pants.
And today, today I’d heard it at least five times. FIVE.
I suddenly realized how the entire day was about me. Nay, the entire weekend, was about me and my happiness and nothing else. As if, for July 19, 20, and 21, the rest of the world did not exist. And these people, my friends, were gathered here to celebrate with me and cater to my every whim.
“Korean food,” I finally said. “I want dukkbokki.”
So, off we went to find the finest Korean food The City had to offer at 2am. SRB drove us to Korea town, which was surprisingly busy considering the hour.
Three of us got out of the car first, then SRB and WAF drove off to find parking.
And that’s when it all went wrong.

Minutes later, WAF was running down the street swearing and holding her mouth with both hands. It was dark, rainy, and I was drunk, and even when she neared, it didn’t register – she was bleeding. A lot.
“What happened?” HB immediately asked her as she got closer.
In between bursts of tears she started saying something about how the fucking Korean guys outside the car fucking did nothing while she screamed for help as SRB hit her. She swore a lot. She cried a lot. She was also still bleeding a lot. The mascara was running down her face like a black waterfall and mixing with the blood and the rain. It was surreal. I was in shock, and suddenly felt completely sober. As HB continued to ask questions, I held her and navigated her toward a seat in the restaurant.
Once we were inside, we asked for water and napkins and she started to clean up, but then would break down into sobs again.
“Tell us exactly what happened,” HB said again. We all perched on the edge of our seats, watching her with confusion and shock.
“He hit me,” she finally said. “He hit me and I was screaming for help and the fucking Korean guys outside the car did fucking nothing. Aren’t you supposed to fucking do something if you see a girl screaming for help?” Again with the Korean guys.
“Wait, SRB hit you? Why?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know. He wouldn’t let me out of the car. He just kept hitting me. And I was screaming for help and the Korean guys -”
“He hit you for no reason? He just started hitting you?”
“-I couldn’t get out of the car. He wouldn’t let me out. And I was screaming for help, and then he noticed the blood, and he said ‘WAF, you’re bleeding,’ and that’s when he stopped and then I ran out of the car and the fucking Koreans -”
“Why did he hit you? Why wasn’t he letting you out of the car?”
“I don’t know! When we were leaving the lounge I noticed him check out these two girls so I just made a comment like ‘Oh, I saw you checking out those two girls,’ and then I don’t know…” She broke into sobs again.
We fell silent, unable to digest what she’d told us. Our mouths were agape and we looked at each other frantically.
“Do you want me to call the police?” HB finally said. He really seemed like he was going to, he even pulled his phone out. But WAF stopped him. I wasn’t surprised.
“Has this happened before?” HB asked after a pause. I stared at him incredulously. How could he ask such a thing! Of course not! Of course he wouldn’t – but my thoughts were cut short as I saw her nod.
“Once.” WAF blew her nose into a bloody napkin and picked up another one. “But it was a year ago and he promised he’d never do it again.” There were about a dozen scrunched up napkins on the table now. Our stock was running low, so I asked the waitress for some more.
Then, GPB nodded toward the door and said in a low voice, “He’s here.”
I didn’t even turn around to look at the door. I just put my arms around WAF and held her while she cried. “Is he gone?” She asked a moment later. GPB nodded, “He seemed to make a motion to ask whether he should come in, and then he walked away.”
We sat in silence for a long time. WAF continued to cry quietly. None of us knew what to say. I was still in utter and complete shock. HB and I made comments about how we couldn’t believe it, because SRB seemed like a very normal guy, and from what I saw of their interaction, he seemed to really care for her. How could he do such a thing? How could he do such a thing?!
Eventually, WAF stopped crying. I went to the washroom with her and helped her clean up.
“I’m sorry about this,” she said to me as I wiped streaks of mascara off her face. “I’m so sorry. I’ve ruined your birthday.”
I set my napkin down and gave her a hard look. “WAF, that is the last thing you should be worried about right now. Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry about.”
“No, but I do. I’m sorry. Everything was fine and look what happened. I’ve ruined your night.”
“Stop. Stop talking like that. You have nothing to be sorry about. We’re all just very concerned about you right now.”
She fell silent and let me finish cleaning her up. When we came out, I suggested we order to lighten the mood. But she said she didn’t feel like eating.
We ended up ordering a full table of Korean dishes (which tasted absolutely amazing despite the somber situation) and a bottle of soju. WAF worked on drinking the soju and we all pretended not to notice. I was still far from sober and suddenly felt ravenous. I ended up burning my mouth quite badly as I stuffed my face (the fact that the dishes were a little too hot to eat never crossed my mind at that moment). HB and GPB did the same.
When we had finished eating, we sat back and were reminded of the situation we were in. What now? WAF and I were supposed to go back to SRB‘s house for the night. My stuff was still there.
“Can we stay with you tonight HB?” WAF asked. HB agreed immediately. What else could he do? “We can get your stuff tomorrow,” WAF said to me. I nodded. What else could I do?

Just as I paid the bill, SRB appeared beside our table. He was soaked through from the rain and had an anguished look on his face. HB, GPB, and I silently shuffled out of the restaurant and waited outside.
We saw WAF get up to leave too but SRB had dropped down on both knees.
“It looks like he’s proposing,” HB joked as we watched discreetly through the front door. SRB was saying something but WAF was looking away.
After some agonizing minutes, they came outside. It seemed WAF still wasn’t acknowledging him. We milled about awkwardly on the front steps of the restaurant. Once again, SRB dropped to his knees. He apologized in hushed tones, and we pretended not to listen. We were there for what seemed like an eternity. SRB looked pathetic, he was kneeling on cement and being drenched in the rain. I might have felt sorry for him but every fiber in my body was still bristling in shock and indignation at what he did to my friend. I couldn’t get the image of her bleeding mouth out of my head.

Finally, WAF spoke to us as if he wasn’t there at all. “SG, is it ok if you stay with HB tonight? Would that be okay?” She asked lightheartedly. HB and I darted nervous glances at each other, and then at the dripping form of SRB on the floor. “Of course,” I said. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Are you sure?” She kept asking and apologizing.
“Yes, yes, I’ll be fine,” I reassured her. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I think we’re just going to go… talk.”
“Ok,” I nodded. SRB didn’t seem like he was going to hit her again, at least not tonight.

So, in the pouring rain, I limped in my stilettos the three and a half blocks to HB‘s apartment. When we arrived, he found some clothes for me to change into and we both collapsed onto the sofa. It had been an exhausting night, both physically and emotionally. We discussed what had transpired, analyzing the incomprehensible.
“Do you think she’s going to stay with him? I think she’s going to stay with him,” I said, chewing on the end of a finger nail.
“Yeah, she didn’t seem like she was going to break up with him.” He sighed. “But this isn’t the first time this has happened, what if it happens again?”
“Exactly. I don’t trust him,” I said, and I felt a swell of animosity against SRB in my chest that appeared out of nowhere. All of a sudden, I saw SRB as a raging, violent brute, and why hadn’t I noticed this before? But of course, how could I? He’d always been quiet and reasonable, responsible and sensible. He’d put up with WAF‘s antics with unending patience, and seemed to be quite protective of her. How could he be the one who hurt her?
“I just can’t believe it. I can’t believe it!” I said, over and over again, staring into a blank space on the floor.
HB nodded silently.
“But she’s going to stay with him. I know she is. Did you notice how the whole time she was screaming and swearing, it was about those Korean boys and not him? She said nothing about him.”
HB agreed. I continued, “The worst part is, there’s nothing I can do! I mean, what can I say? It’s not my place to interfere with the ins and outs of their relationship. There was obviously stuff she wasn’t telling us. It’s not my place to tell her to leave him. If she really loves him, I don’t think she’ll leave him even if her logical side tells her to.”
“Maybe you can talk to her, coax her.”
“What if she says ‘I love him.’ What if she says, ‘SG, I love him.’ I can’t argue with that.”
“True,” HB conceded. “This is a terrible situation. But he seemed so -”
“Exactly. I can’t believe it. I just cannot believe it.”

We chewed over the details again and again, but concluded that there was little we could do, and interfering would not necessarily help. We waited until 4am for her to call (she had said she would when she got home) but eventually gave up waiting and drifted into a restless sleep.

At 8am, I woke up. Immediately, I sat up on the sofa and peered around the unfamiliar living room. I was disoriented, and had temporarily forgotten where I was or what I was doing here. Then, the night’s events came flooding back like a horrible nightmare.
“Ughhh,” I groaned, as I fell back into the sofa. But I couldn’t fall back asleep. I felt gross. I was wearing an oversized t-shirt and boyshorts, I hadn’t showered, I hadn’t removed my make-up, I hadn’t even brushed my teeth before passing out the previous night. And I didn’t have any of my toiletries, which made cleaning up a bit of a problem.
I got up and walked around the tiny apartment, examining pictures and figurines here and there. I found a keyboard and played Fur Elise for a while, until I got stuck at one point in the song and I couldn’t remember what came after.
Eventually, HB came to.

“Hullo!” He greeted me sleepily, as if he too had forgotten the previous night’s events.
“Hi,” I replied, watching him from across the room. He was beautiful. Even with the rumpled hair and the improptu pajamas, he looked gorgeous.
He rubbed his eyes, sat up and looked at me, as if he might be thinking the same thing. I hoped. He walked over and sat down frighteningly close behind me, and put his arm on the back of the couch, as if inviting me to lean into him. Was he asking for a cuddle? My heart lept. I wanted to lean back into his arms but I was at the same time afraid. He was a permanent resident of AmbiguityLand after all. He had a girlfriend. He’d been touchy and cuddly with me years before, after I broke up with MFL and he still had a girlfriend. I’d been naive and hopeful at the time that he might break up with her and choose me, but it never happened. When he finally did break up with her, it wasn’t me he chose either, so I wrote him off as another impossible.
But now, what was this? HB doing another ambiguous move. Why? Why me? I cried to the gods above.

I decided to risk it. If he was going to flirt with me all night and take advantage of the fact that I was drunk, why not when I’m sober? Besides, I was upset about my friend! I needed comforting.
…
I’m terrible, aren’t I? My friend was probably living through hell (either that or having make-up sex) and I was flirting shamelessly with a taken boy. Bad SG, bad!

We cuddled for a while, flirted back and forth like a courtship ritual of butterflies, and I really felt the bliss of waking up and spending a lazy Sunday morning with a boy who could make you smile with just a glance. Of course, it was all wrong, it was all a horrible illusion that would disappear if I so much as breathed too loudly, but still, it was blissful all the same.
He found me some clothes that almost fit, so I wouldn’t look like a hooker walking down the street at 10am in stilettos, a cocktail dress, messy hair and smeared make-up. So we walked, arm in arm, to a brunch place, me wearing a pair of his jeans that were slipping down my waist and obviously too long for me, a shirt that said “I’d fcuk me,” and a pair of flip flops that were twice the size of my feet. Yeah, we really pulled off the not-a-hooker thing well. I got more than a few stares walking down Bloor St.
None of this mattered though, when I saw the breakfast platter that could feed a few hundred men arrive at our table. We devoured it in minutes, as well as a stack of crepes and a basket of toast. After brunch, the pants fit better, and we walked around downtown while I tried calling WAF every half hour. She was not picking up her phone and still hadn’t called me back. I started getting worried. My train was leaving at four and all my stuff, including the train tickets, were at SRB‘s house. I felt distressed and displaced. What was I going to do if she didn’t call me in time? I had nothing, not even the clothes on my back, and I was stuck in downtown with an ambiguous boy who threatened to steal my heart.

Eventually, finally, she called, said she was sending SRB with my stuff, that he’d be there within the hour, and that she was sorry. Again with the apologies. I tried to ask her about what happened last night, but she was tight-lipped. Said they didn’t talk much, said she hadn’t decided what she was going to do. She also admitted that this wasn’t only the second time it’s happened. It was the fifth. She had decided after the last time that this was a deal-breaker, and now that it’s happened again she can’t forgive him so quickly. I was relieved to hear they weren’t already having make-up sex, but nonetheless, I felt like she’d end up giving him another chance. I told her so. “If you keep thinking it’s the last time every time it happens, you’re going to spend your entire life waiting for the last time and it will probably never come.” She grunted something unintelligible and vaguely agreed with me. In my heart, I had a sinking feeling she wasn’t going to leave him.

SRB did arrive within the hour, just as she’d promised, in front of the apartment in a BMW convertible and clean new clothes. I envied him and his clothes, while everything I was wearing belonged to someone else, and was relieved to finally get my stuff back (especially my running shoes! I could not take wearing the stilettos or the oversized flip flops for another minute!). As he handed me my backpack and my bag of presents (I had left them in his car the night before, just moments before The Incident), he looked at me the same way he’d looked when he came into the restaurant dripping wet the night before and said, “I’m so sorry I ruined your birthday, SG. I know you guys think I’m horrible. I have no excuse. I’m really sorry. I’m… really sorry I ruined your weekend.”
It was literally the most awkward moment OF MY LIFE. There he was, dressed like he stepped out of Harry Rosen, having driven across the city in his sports car with European engineering to return to me my backpack and running shoes. I seriously thought he was going to get down on his knees and propose to me, too. To my relief, he didn’t. But he did put his hands together as if in prayer and bowed his head as he continued to apologize. I was speechless. What could I say? He had beat up our friend practically in front of us.
Without thinking, I opened my big fat mouth. “It’s ok,” I said, “It’s fine.” Seeing as how he still didn’t stop apologizing, I tried again, louder. “It’s ok! Don’t worry about it! My weekend was fine. I just hope you and WAF can work it out.”
Eventually, he stopped apologizing and left, and we walked back into the apartment. HB and I started laughing out of awkwardness. “Did you see his expression? Oh my God. I felt terrible!” HB exclaimed.
“Yeah, I thought I was going to cry. I really thought I was going to cry,” I said, unsure myself if I was joking or not.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” I finally commented, as we waited for the elevator. “It’s not ok. It’s not fine. Why did I say that? Why did I have to say anything?”
“There was nothing you could do, the poor guy looked like he was going to get down and propose again. You had to make him stop. It was the standard response.”
I shrugged. “But, I don’t wish they’d work out! I wish she’d leave him because he’s dangerous and has suppressed rage!”
“Well, you can’t say that. He might turn into the Hulk⁴ again and beat you up!” We laughed awkwardly, then HB said, “It’s too soon, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it’s too soon. Maybe in a few years we’ll be able to joke about this but… it’s too soon.”
We stepped into the elevator in silence.

Several hours later, I got onto the train and returned home. Home, sweet home. And now, as I type this, I still can’t believe what happened in the last 24 hours. It feels completely surreal, and I want to pinch myself or ask someone if they saw the same things I saw at 2am this morning. Did my friend’s boyfriend really beat her up? Did she really come screaming out of the car in tears?

I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.

1. We got a lot of stares on the subway and on the streets. Clearly we were over-dressed for shopping. Maybe they thought we were escorts?
2. Except SSS who arrived dripping and cursing because she got lost and it was pouring outside and she didn’t have an umbrella, the poor thing.
3. I am not sure that they actually said this because quite frankly, I can’t remember. But I’m sure it was something to this effect.
4. We’d started referring to him as the Incredible Hulk.

You see, a couple weeks after the end of school, we had a “grade trip,” a five-day camping trip. Technically, only a third of the grade went on this trip, but it happens annually. Anyway, it came at the peak of my dangerously flirtatious friendship with HB. So the memory that jerked me awake was from the second night of the trip, when HB and I had gone for a walk while everyone else was at the campfire. During our walk we came upon MFL and The Other Girl. They had shined their flashlights on us, so for a while, I couldn’t tell it was them. I think HB and I were holding hands. Anyway, it ranked pretty high on the awkward scale, but at the time I was too alcohol-happy to care (I wasn’t drunk, I swear!).
So I guess it didn’t hit me until now what it must seem like to him, since we never talked about our love lives after that awful day…

I marched up to him in the hallway and spun him around. “I need to talk to you,” I demanded, then started marching ahead before he could reply. He followed me silently to the parking lot.
“Are you going out with The Other Girl?” I practically shouted as soon as we got outside.
“Oh god…” He muttered underneath his breath, then leaned back on the wall, maybe to brace himself for what he knew was coming. “Yes.”
Awkward silence.
“Look, I wanted to tell you, I did! You know I just got back from Saskatchewan. Actually, I was going to talk to you sometime today about it. But I just haven’t had a chance,” he pleaded.
“Well you have a chance now. Talk.” I was clearly not buying his bullshit.
“Ok… well… The Other Girl and I are going out.”
“Ok.”
Another awkward silence.
“Who told you?”
I didn’t respond.
“It was J, wasn’t it?”
“Why have you been keeping this from me? You two have been going out for, what, a week already? You think I wouldn’t find out? Hello, we’re in high school!”
“We weren’t trying to hide it from you, I swear!”
“Then why did I have to find out from someone else? You could’ve called me before you left, or from your hotel while you were away. And The Other Girl’s been here all along.”
“She wanted me to be the one to tell you. She wasn’t trying to hide this from you! And I… I wanted to tell you in person. But I haven’t really had a chance since I came back.”
Bullshit, I thought. Inside, I was screaming with frustration and anger, but on the outside, I was made of stone. Remember what J said. Beating him up will not help. Don’t hit him. Don’t. So instead, I just stood there, my body completely rigid.
“You lied to me,” I hissed, my voice shaking.
“Yes… I know. I just didn’t know how to tell you! It seemed too soon, and I thought you would take it badly…”
“Maybe, but did you really think lying to me was better?”
“I’m sorry.”
Silence.
“Ok. Whatever,” I finally muttered, and stalked away, my mind still running at 100 miles per hour.

For a long time, I didn’t talk to him. In fact, he pretty much didn’t exist to me anymore. But after I found out he was going to the same university and same program as me in the fall, I decided we should be on somewhat decent terms so there aren’t any more super awkward social moments at university. That’s when I started talking to him again, and by the time we went on the grade trip, he’d recognized the fact that I had basically put it behind me. Now, we’re okay friends again. It’s hard not to be when you know someone so well. It’s either we’re not speaking or we’re friends. There’s no middle ground. How can there be when you know everything about the other person? Our conversations can’t be impersonal. But one thing we avoid is our love lives. I’ve only asked him about The Other Girl once, and he seemed very uncomfortable answering, even though I was laughing. I don’t think he even knows I went out with BBB for a week.

Do I still love him? Yes, platonically. I think I will always love him, but I could never fall in love with him again. What I mean to say is that, I will always love the man in my memories, and I will always care about the man in the present, but my heart is not his anymore. I have moved on.
Similarly, I think he will always care about me. I was his first love, after all. So, in that way, he will always belong to me, and I to him. Because what we shared was a raw, virgin love that can never be repeated with anyone else. Add that to the fact that we’d always been best friends to begin with, and you get a bond that is untouchable.

Now, about those chicken wings…