Plotline

Setting

I was so proud of myself when, while stocking wine on Tuesday, I turned to Irish and said, "Being around all this alcohol is really making me want to go out drinking - wanna go out drinking after work?"

"My shift ends way before yours..."

"So? My shift ends way before stuff closes."

"I guess I could swing back by at 6:30..."

I finished my shift, figuring I'd give him until about 6:40 before I gave up and went home. So I didn't bother telling Lui about the possibility of my getting a drink after work, because I figured it was unlikely. But about 10 minutes before the end of my shift, I saw Irish up front talking to someone at the desk. It was the first time I'd seen him in his own clothes, and God bless him, the boy cannot dress: Chargers jersey, backwards cap, baggy shorts - straight out of Clueless, which, given my last post, seems appropriate.

To stay within walking distance of my apartment, our choices were TGI Friday's and Chevy's, so we opted for Chevy's which I maintain has slightly better food and much better drinks. I texted Lui to tell him I was going out and that we'd postpone the meal I'd gotten the night before - a meal which had already been postponed because he'd gotten drafted into a pool league and stayed late to play at the last minute on Monday.

Conflict

When Lui called me right back, I knew I was in trouble. I told him I was just going out with Irish - who he knew and liked and trusted, right? - and that he could come meet us if he wanted. I also told him that I figured it would be ok since he'd kinda bailed on me the night before. He didn't want to join us. Irish relayed an anecdote wherein his friend/future roommate freaked out when she heard he was going out one-on-one with a girl - but oh, there will be more on that pretty little situation later.

We ate, we talked, we joked around, we had a good time. We drank too much, including double-shots of Tuaca that Irish insisted on buying, joking with the waiter about how he was "trying to get the girl drunk". He ended up more drunk than I was, how, I don't know, and we walked back to my place, giggling, with me physically helping him stay on the sidewalk when cars came by - because he was enough of a gentleman to walk on the outside, but I was more worried about him falling into traffic than I would've been about myself. We got back to my apartment and sat down with Lui to watch the end of a CSI episode. I got us each a glass of water. After the show ended, I walked Irish to the end of the complex, so that he could find his way to his future roommate's current apartment down the street. Then he insisted on walking me back to my door so I'd be safe. Just as we'd turned around, Lui drove up in my car and made me get in so we could go pick up his car from the lot at work (apparently he really had no idea how drunk I was).

Climax

So I drove my car home, drunk, and burst into the apartment yelling about how I'm not allowed to have any friends. Lui followed me into the bathroom while I showered, and we fought through the curtain. We continued fighting after I got out, sitting on the bed yelling at each other, despite the fact that Neuf and Steven were in the next room. Words were thrown around - mostly by me - things like "unhappy" and "used to love you more than I do now" and "only got married because we were too far in it already to get out" and "don't ever make me choose between you & Monica because I'd choose her every time." I don't even remember the context of, or need for, some of these words; I just know that I said them because he, heartbroken, repeated them to me the next morning.

Resolution*

The next morning, Lui and I exchanged hugs and apologies, and I went to BodyPump with a hangover. Stopped by work on the way back to a) get a protein shake, and b) ensure I wouldn't have enough time at home to continue the conversation before I had to leave for work. Once on shift, Irish and I talked across our facing registers: "So on a scale of 1-10, how bad was it last night?" he asked me. I thought about it for a minute. "Ten being divorce papers? Eight-point-five." Probably an exaggeration, or maybe just diluted with retrospect. A few of my customers sympathized with me - one woman, one man - reassuring me that the first year of marriage is the hardest, and that trust is key - the woman even offered that coming from a family of strong women made it all the worse for her husband trying to tie her down, and I agreed wholeheartedly. After Irish's shift ended, he came with me while I took a 10 (which turned into a 20, but nobody noticed), and we gave each other a play-by-play of the disasters our nights had become. (Again, stay tuned for his story.) He suggested that we all go bowling the next night, a supposed group outing - even if it turned out to be just the three of us - to show Lui that he is invited to things, that Irish is not a threat, that we really all can get along - a ploy to give me more leeway when Irish & I want to go out after work in the future. I told him I'd try to get through the rest of my shift, with my lack of sleep and excess of emotion, without crying too much, and he told me not to cry at all (and if he could say that, well...). And best of all, I noticed that when we're one-on-one, talking, things are a lot less flirty and a lot more adult, and that he's turning out to be a really good friend, one that I probably need, or vice versa: I believe that everything happens for a reason, and that somehow this will all play out, as obvious as the sky is blue.

I got home that night and everything was fine. Lui, still a little shaken up from the aforementioned words, didn't harp on the issue nearly as much as he's been wont to do in the past. And I apologized, and hugged him, and told him of course I love him best, and we watched Chasing Liberty with Neuf and Martin.

And the bowling plan? Totally worked.

*I know there's a fancy French term for this, but as I can't think how to spell it, pride is keeping me from using it at all.