Mikey and the Chickadee

Chapter 3 - Part 2

I found Marie about fifteen minutes later waiting for me at the station.

"You could have just gone home," I said as she squeezed me tightly.

"Nonsense," she said. "I haven't been here long. Besides, you never carry an umbrella. I couldn't stand the thought of you out in the rain." She opened hers and pulled me under it. She wasn't very tall, so I had to duck a little until she laughed and handed it to me. "Here, you hold it."

Marie was an only child whose parents moved from Korea when she was very young. We met during the first week of college and had melded together over our tentatively chosen path to an accounting degree. I had been drawn to her initially because of her energetic disposition; people with that kind of unbridled verve and spontaneity often rubbed off on me. Later on she would offer undying loyalty, even during my most self-infatuated period to date, the eleventh hour of my failed relationship.

"You saved me," she said. "Another night alone streaming shows and movies—I would have died."

I laughed. "I was dreading the same thing. That's why I texted you."

"I'm so glad you did," she told me as she surged up the street to her building. Her pace was astonishing, if not unfamiliar to me. "It's been too long," she said as we entered the lobby. "Come into my home and I will tell you what has changed."

"Something's changed?"

"Shhh." She held a finger to her lips, then grabbed her umbrella from me and folded it into her cavernous purse. "Not until we have drinks."

She stamped her feet frantically as we rode to the 11th floor.

"The suspense is killing me," I said, half-sarcastically.

"I know," she said. "Me too." The door opened and she took off down the hall, towing me along with her.

Marie's parents owned the one-bedroom condo and rented it to her at a forgiving rate. She had filled it with mostly modest furnishings, but the unit itself was finished with materials that gave one the impression of lasting quality.

She told me to wait on the couch and then leapt over to the kitchen to throw together two of the strongest Vodka Collinses yet known to the world.

"Let me taste yours," I demanded as she sat next to me. After sipping it I said, "Okay, as long as we're in this together."

"I'm not trying to get you drunk, Wyatt." She slapped my thigh. "Not without me, anyway."

I laughed. "So? Big news?"

"So, I broke up with Anthony last night."

I set my drink on the table. "What? Why didn't you text me?"

"It just didn't feel text-worthy. Besides, I knew we were long overdue for a chat and, well, here you are." She grinned.

Text-worthy or not, she seemed ecstatic to be reporting the news. At the risk of sounding selfish, I had been as bored with her relationship as she was. I dreaded circumstances that would bring the three of us together, such as whenever she felt an obligation to include him on our exploits. Anthony's emotions were delicate and required a certain level of outside care and upkeep during a given evening; this ranked highly on a short list of social traits that I considered unacceptable. I kept this mostly to myself, but when Marie complained, I lamented alongside her.

"Well, you know how I feel," I said. "I'm not going to miss him."

She raised her glass and we clinked them together. After taking a drink she said, "You know what sealed it for me? I gave him an ultimatum for more sex—you know about our dry spell—and he actually couldn't bring himself to do it. He kept ducking around the issue so I just let him have it. I could have internalized it and made it into something I was doing wrong, but you and I have talked about that. If he doesn't want it, he doesn't want it. I'm not going to wait around trying to read into it."