For the first couple of weeks, right after a break-up, the world is your oyster. Friends aid you in your sloppy fits of emotion, always taking your side, agreeing to your blubbering “why me’s” with silly antidotes of wellness. You almost indulge in the attention, as spirited outings come by the truckload, and your once pre-relationship social life is abuzz.
I don't know the precise moment it takes a spiral decline and the same friends who just held your soggy Kleenex, are now sitting cocktail-side, shucking salty- jaw.
“I mean really, chicken soup. He actually asked me to bring him chicken soup. It’s not typhoid—it’s a breakup.”
“At least he is speaking to you, Luke. After I spilled the beans on Thanksgiving, it’s been the cold shoulder ever since,” Grady said.
“Cut some slack,” Marc, Grady’s boyfriend, said, giving Grady a quick stink-eyed stare. That was also the same bean-spilling of Grady’s make-out session with another.
“It’s Christmas. Breakups suck, but at Christmas they’re even harder.”
Will found his way to the table and made a quick scan of the crowd. Before unzipping his black puffy vest, he downed the last of the drink that Luke set on the table.
“No, go ahead” Luke said, ordering another round. He knew. He just came from my apartment and another set of drinks would help in hearing the outcome of Will’s visit
“Is he at least jerking off?”
“Sitting with Jinx,” Will replied, answering Luke’s question.
“Is he out of bed?”
“Oh, that he is.”
“Eating?, Crying? Or what?”
“Just him and the cat and a pile of old Christmas DVDs: ‘White Christmas,’ ‘Holiday Inn.’”
“It’s…,” Will hesitated to finish, “…a ‘Wonderful Life.’”
The gasps all came at once, fast and violent. Grady tossed back his drink and Luke, gestured a disgusting gagging reflex.
“Okay, fellas,” Luke announced brightly, like a flash of genius hit his brain.
“Santa Clause just came to town.”
“That is a bit premature ejaculation: doesn't Santa usually come on the twenty-fourth?” Marc whispered, as the guys followed on Luke’s heels….
