Thick Ice

Wall-E's Ice Rink

"Alec threw a plate?" I exclaimed, my jaw practically in Hell. "Holy shit, I knew the guy had anger issues but throwing a glass plate?"

I hear Addy sigh loudly into the receiver. "Yeah, I know."

As soon as I got home from Chandler's, about an hour ago, I did my usual night routine and then immediately dove under my covers. I was excited to start a new episode of my favorite Netflix show, Stylist Fixer Upper. Right when Imogene Devani, one of the best hair dressers on the show, was about to reveal the finished product of a failed 'I-Cut-And-Dyed-My-Own-Hair-Because-I-Was-Bored-At-Home' case, I got a text from Addy telling me to call her. 

She never responded to me when I was asking about how her night with Alec's parents went, so my mind jumped to the conclusion that whatever it was, it was too chaotic to simply text.

The tea had to be piping hot, and oh my god, was it absolutely steaming.

I roll onto my stomach and rest my chin in my hands, trying to imagine the violent scene. "How did you react?"

"At first I froze, because how are you supposed to react?" she questions. The rhetoric stings the air. I mumble a sound of agreement before she continues, "And then I started to help his mom pick up the pieces while his dad tried to calm him down."

"And?"

"Well, you know Alec..."

"Yeah," I chuckle, "I'm sure trying to calm him down went so well."

Addy lets out a low laugh, which I'm sure is only half-hearted. "His mom thanked me for helping clean up and that I should go check up on him, so I did. It was honestly like talking to a brick wall. He was just so- so angry."

Her voice sounds distant, as if she's reliving the events of the night through her head. I don't blame her either. I'm pretty sure that when you picture the first time meeting your boyfriend's parents, broken glass isn't part of the painting.

"So all of this started just from his dad bringing up..."

"His plan's for after he graduates," she finishes, her words soft.

"Wow." I want so badly to tell her what I really think– that her boyfriend is throwing so many red flags he has basically morphed into one. But this isn't the first time she's been apart of the collateral damage of his anger. No matter how many times I try to gently push her into getting him some help or, I don't know, doing something other than soothly calming him down, she's quick to disagree. Apparently, she suggested it to him once, and it just blew up in her face.

"I know." She pauses. "It's just... I wanted this night to go so well, you know? And it just– I don't know– didn't." Another loud sigh. "Anyway, how was dinner with your parents?"

It takes a second for me to focus on the question and register that the topic had switched to my own dinner. After such a heavy conversation, it seemed trivial to even think about me.

Still, I think it may help take her mind off the night, so I start by blatantly telling her the obvious, "They argued a bunch."

"When do they not?"

"Well, that's the thing," I say, staring at the lamp on my desk. "They're getting a divorce."

It's silent for a few beats before she gives a sarcastic laugh. "About time."

Exactly my reaction, save for the dramatics. I can't help but draw attention to myself in public. I mean, what can I say? The people love me.

"Are you okay, though?" she asks.