23. Sebastian
TWENTY-THREE
SEBASTIAN
I look and feel like death as I drag myself into the office the day after Ashley’s confession.
The whole night is hazy. After she splashed cider all over me, the logical thing to do would have been to go home.
Instead, I drank several glasses of whiskey to avoid thinking about what happened.
Then I exchanged some flirtatious looks with a hot turquoise-haired woman who saw me sitting alone.
That looked promising until she came over and swiftly decided to cut her losses, likely due to my slurred words—should have ordered those appetizers after all—and the fact that I smelled like a delightful combination of stale cider and whiskey.
I don’t even know why I did it. I had no desire to hook up with anyone.
But my thoughts were all over the place, and when she looked my way, my Pavlovian response was to smile and flirt back even while my brain screamed Is this where your focus should be right now?
So anyway, I had to leave pretty fast after that disastrous conversation.
Unable to bear sitting on the subway smelling like I bathed in Strongbow, I caught a rideshare downtown and asked him to stop along the way so I could get fries and an enormous cheeseburger at a drive thru.
When I got out of the car, the driver told me he hoped things pick up for me soon, making it crystal clear that I was a total mess.
Anyway, the rest of my night included more whiskey and drunk texting several former flames, so the awful headache I woke up with was made even better when I saw the replies telling me what a dick I am.
Except Missy from spin class, who said she’d light a candle for me, whatever that means.
Seth doesn’t look up as I take my seat. “Did you see this email from Ashley? I hope she’s okay.”
I didn’t read it. I saw her name in the inbox and couldn’t bear to open the message.
I’m assuming it’s about a hiatus from social media posting, like she told me.
Since Seth hasn’t torn me a new one, I gather she didn’t mention my role in her decision.
I owe her one. Who am I kidding? I owe her so much I can’t think about it.
I grunt in reply. Seth glances up, then does a double take.
“Bro, what the fuck happened to you?”
“It’s nothing,” I say, as though that will fool anyone. Instead of grilling me, he gets up and walks towards the door without explanation.
“What are you doing?” I call after him.
Seth sighs. “Keep your pants on. I’m going to the machine to get you some coffee. You clearly need some.”
“That stuff is—”
Before I can complain about the low quality of the office coffee machine, he pops his head back into the room and silences me with a glance. “You’re going to be a caffeine snob right now when you look like you rolled out of a ditch this morning?”
“I don’t look that bad.” I glance down and realize this shirt was from the hamper and it’s wrinkled, plus there’s a mustard stain. I do, in fact, look that bad.
He returns with a large cup of something that claims to be coffee and tastes like watered-down tar. I try not to make a face. He’s right; it’s better than nothing.
“Spill.”
“Don’t we have work to do?”
“Yes, lots, so tell me what’s up so I can get back to it.” He pauses and looks at me. “I’m not letting it go, so it’s up to you how much time we waste while you pout like a toddler.”
“Fine,” I spit out, sounding like the whiny child he accused me of being. Then it all pours out. To his credit, Seth doesn’t react when I tell him how Ashley and I have been hooking up on and off for weeks, and that I broke her heart and I’m not sure any of this can be redeemed.
“I’m so sorry, man,” I say finally. “I didn’t mean to do anything that could affect our bottom line. It just happened, and I shouldn’t have let it come to this. And now I’ve fucked it all up.”
I can’t see Ashley going public to slam us. She’s angry at me, not at Seth, and she isn’t petty or vindictive. Still, knowing I’ve not only kept something from my friend but also jeopardized our company’s reputation makes me want to hang my head in shame.
Seth keeps staring as though he’s waiting for me to continue, but I’ve got nothing left to say. Finally, I can’t stand it any more. “You’re not saying anything. Are you that mad?”
He sighs. “I could tell something was up with Ashley. I might be hyper focused on wedding stuff, but I’m not completely obtuse. I wish you’d told me so we could strategize about how to handle this, but I’m not mad at you.”
I stare at him, surprised. I never considered confiding in Seth, that he’d want to know and help me navigate this. I’ve underestimated him and our friendship, and that realization leaves me humbled. Maybe I’ve messed up in a lot of ways by holding my cards too close.
“Look, Diana and I met on a project at work, right? She was my team lead. We weren’t supposed to get together, but it happened. Sometimes this stuff isn’t convenient. That’s why there are policies about workplace relationships.”
“So why were you so quiet just now?”
He stares at me as though the answer is obvious. “I was waiting for you to finish the story.”
“That’s the whole story,” I reply, confused.
His brow furrows. “That’s it? She left you at the bar and you didn’t reach out at all? You didn’t tell her how you feel? She walks out of your life and you’re going to let her?”
“Well, I’m hoping we can be friends again when all this passes.” I’m dimly aware of how ridiculous that sounds.
Seth gives a sharp laugh. “It’s not a fucking kidney stone. For a smart person, you can be incredibly stupid.”
“What was I supposed to say?” I sputter.
He shakes his head at my confusion. “That you’re crazy about her?
That you get a goofy smile when you talk about her?
That you grit your teeth watching her dating reels because you secretly hate the idea of her ending up with someone else?
That you’re so bent out of shape over possibly losing her that you didn’t sleep and woke up smelling like you showered in whiskey?
That you’re obviously in love with her, Rossi. That’s what you should have said.”
It makes sense, but it’s not supposed to make sense, because I don’t fall in love. “It’s not like that.”
He surprises me by raising his voice. “It’s exactly like that! It’s so obvious, even I knew. You can’t expect her to have missed it.”
“I don’t do love, Seth, you know that.” I’m almost shouting now too. “I don’t do relationships. It’s not who I am. I admit I screwed up, but don’t expect me to change who I am because I let one person get too close.”
Instead of yelling again, Seth sighs and shakes his head.
“You’re not your dad, Sebastian. I thought eventually you’d grow up and realize that.
Look, my father is a hoarder and sends me print-outs from conspiracy sites about the dangers of 5G.
Diana’s parents don’t even remember her birthday.
We can choose not to be like our parents. ”
“It’s different.” I want to explain, but I don’t know how or why it’s not the same. It just feels like it is.
“Bullshit,” Seth replies. “I’m not saying it’s easy.
Go to therapy. Read self-help books. Do whatever you need, but stop telling yourself you don’t have a choice.
I’m not saying you have to settle down and get married.
But don’t let your dad’s example convince you that you aren’t allowed to want those things. That’s a cop-out.”
I stare into my mediocre coffee, at a loss for words.
I suppose he’s right. I’ve always told myself that I won’t be like my father, and the only way to do that was to avoid any real attachments.
But maybe there’s another way. Maybe I don’t need to close off my feelings all the time. The idea is terrifying.
But what’s more terrifying is the idea of never laughing with Ashley again.
Never seeing her eyes light up when she’s scheming about something.
Never hearing her belt out show tunes at an obnoxious volume.
Never texting her stupid memes that remind me of her.
My mind has been spinning for days, but clarity hits me like a medicine ball to the stomach—losing Ashley is scarier than the idea of commitment ever was.
Seth is watching me like he’s been waiting for me to catch up. When it’s clear the message was received, he says, “Call her,” and goes back to his computer, the conversation over.
I nod and walk into the hallway, dialing Ashley’s number without a second thought about what the hell I’m supposed to say, but it goes to voicemail. My heart sinks. She’s likely either screening her calls or she blocked me. I go back into the office and shake my head when Seth looks up.
“I can’t reach her.”
He looks sad but not surprised, then turns back to his monitor. “Well, man, you’ve got some work to do. Let’s talk through our summer advertising budget in the meantime.”
The day plods on. I do my best to run numbers with Seth and finish my to-do list, but my brain is mush.
I call Ashley a few times, but it goes straight to voicemail and my text doesn’t go through.
Yep, blocked. I consider emailing her, but it seems a little underhanded to go through my work address, so I leave it as a last resort.
I don’t know how this works. I try to recall all the stupid romantic movies she made me watch over the years and consider my options.
Stand outside her window with a boombox: That’s creepy in real life, and besides, she lives on the tenth floor. Not to mention, where does one get a boombox nowadays?
Run through an airport after her: This has a high potential of being arrested.
Song and dance routine with a marching band: Where would I get a marching band?
Pay off the man who ran off with her sister: Her sister’s already married, I’m not rich, and it’s not 1815.
A lot of the movie scenes involved breaking into song, but doesn’t work so well if she won’t let me into her building.
For now, I order a dozen roses and a card that says “I’m a huge asshole.” It’s not enough, but it’s all I can do right away. To make matters worse, the florist calls me later to let me know she refused delivery, saying she was out of town and can’t receive it. So I’m back to square one.
I’m sitting on my couch later, mindlessly scrolling my tech news app, when a notification for my Mr. Six account pops up.
A tiny spark of hope ignites at the idea that she may not have blocked me there.
I open her profile, and oh God. There she is with her ridiculous sunglasses, playing Fallout Boy and talking about how she put her heart out but her feelings weren’t reciprocated.
It’s all I can do not to scream at the phone that I’m an idiot, that of course the feelings were mutual.
I always thought people were being dramatic when they talked about broken hearts, but I get it now because seeing Ashley so sad makes me physically ache.
I want to reach through the screen and take her in my arms, but now I can’t even call her.
And then I get an idea. I can’t talk to Ashley, but I can at least be honest with the rest of the world. I need to try to be the person I should have been all along.
Mr. Six Reel (with transcript)
Mr. Six appears in his ball cap and Groucho Marx disguise. Joni Mitchell’s “Big Yellow Taxi” is playing in the background.
“Hey there! It’s me, Mr. Six. I usually come on here and talk about the fun dates I’ve been on, or the disastrous dates I’ve been on, or my tips for dating in the city. My number one tip is still check the weather report and plan your wardrobe accordingly.
“But anyway, today I don’t have a good story.
Instead, I’m going to tell you a bad story.
Because the truth is, as much as I’ve generally excelled at first dates, I’m not good at second dates.
I’ve always said I don’t do relationships, that I like to keep things casual, and there are reasons for all that which I’d rather not tell the whole internet.
But I’m starting to realize [pauses to clear throat] that I might have been wrong.
“Maybe closing myself off from any real relationships was a way to keep myself from disappointing other people and not what I actually wanted. I’ve been so afraid of hurting others that I closed people out and ultimately, caused them pain anyway.
Unfortunately, I realized this too late, and I hurt someone that it turns out I cared about, maybe even loved.
“I don’t know if you’ve been in this place and how it worked out for you, but if you have any tips, let me know since I’m at a loss. [takes a deep breath.]
“Anyway, maybe I’ll be back to my regularly scheduled programming soon, unless I can convince this person I’m worth a second chance. We’ll see. Until then, my tip for you today is if you love someone, let them know before they walk out of your life. Take care, everyone.”
Comments:
Aw, I’m sorry man. I hope you work things out!
Typical. The player gets played and suddenly it’s a tragedy. Too bad so sad, dude.
Wait, wait, wait, did anyone see Miss Midtown’s video yesterday? Are those two an item or is this some manufactured social media drama? Either way, I’m hooked. Pass the popcorn.