I mumble something.
“What?”
“I said, it is empty,” I tell him. “Without her here, I don’t give a shit if this place is packed to the ceiling, it’s fucking empty.”
“Yeah,” he says, and that’s all he says for a minute.
Alcohol probably isn’t the best idea right now, but the anesthetic properties are all I’m thinking about at the moment.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.
“Not really,” I tell him. Then I decide I have every right to be pissed off at this guy, “Not with you, anyway.”
“I get that you’re upset—”
“Upset?” I ask. “Did you even consider what this might feel like for me? Did you even care?”
“I know it hurts, man,” he starts, but I don’t let him finish.
“You don’t know a fucking thing,” I snap. “I have never felt what I feel for Leila. Why would she do this?”
“Because it’s her fucking dream job and you need to stop being so goddamned selfish,” Mike answers.
“Boy, you’ve got some fucking balls,” I retort, glaring.
“Yeah, maybe that’s a little harsh, but this whole time, have you even thought about how much this job means to her? She’s been working toward this for her entire adult life, and I’d think for someone who professes to love her so fucking much, you might look past your own shit and realize that you need to let her do what’s going to make her happy. Otherwise, who the hell are you and what the fuck are you doing?”
“Why are you here?” I ask. “Aren’t you doing the same fucking thing: not supporting her? The least you could have done was help her move.”
“I helped her move the stuff down to the car, and does it not occur to you that the only reason that I am here right now is because Leila asked me to be here? She cares about you, dickhead, and she didn’t want you to be alone tonight. So you can be pissed at me all you want. I probably would be if I was in your shoes, but at the same time, you’ve got to pull your head out and realize that if you really care about her, you’ve got to let her follow her dreams, man.”
“I want her to follow her dreams,” I tell him. “But I want to be a part of them, too. Is that such a bad thing?”
“She kind of gave you the chance to do that,” he says. “Don’t you remember her inviting you to move with her?”
“I have a job,” I tell him, and yes, it sounds and even feels weak as it comes out of my mouth. “I can’t just leave my boss high and dry.”
“I get that,” he says, “I really do. But that’s the choice that you’ve made. So, you can sit here and be pissed at me or be pissed at her, but you made your choice. Now it’s time to start living with it.”
“I was going to talk to her tonight,” I tell him. “I was going to talk to her about finding a way to make this work.”
“Don’t you think that’s the kind of thing you might not want to leave for the last minute?”
“Okay, I get that you’re trying to help your friend here, but your folksy advice is really starting to piss me the fuck off.”
“Whatever,” he says. “Look, you had the chance to go with her, to figure something out beforehand, but it doesn’t seem like it was important enough for you to—”
“Get the fuck out of my house,” I tell him.
His mouth is still open, and for a second, it looks like he’s going to start moving it again, but I’m ready to beat the shit out of him, and I think he can see it.
“Fine,” he says. “I told Leila I wouldn’t leave, but I don’t want to make things worse either. Just one more thing before I go?”
“What?” I ask, impatiently.
“Could I use your bathroom? I’ve really got to take a—”
“Get the fuck out of my house,” I repeat.