Page 112 of Santa Has a Six-Pack
“You do realize your usual ‘seven minutes in heaven’ respites have turned into multiple hour-long snooze fests, yeah?” he says. “Just out of curiosity, how many of your classes do you expect me to cover this week?”
“Shit, what time is it?” I pat around the pillows looking for my phone.
“I just taught your four thirty.”
“Argh. Sorry about that.”
I groan some more when Gene flicks on the light, blinding me, but I do find my phone. I check my missed calls for at least the tenth time today, hoping for a message from her, but… no.
It’s been two days since I told Gene about Elinor cheating on him.
Two days since I’ve had any contact with Penny.
I should be focused on making sure Gene’s okay, but I’m not proud to say, I’ve been caught up in my own misery instead, wallowing over my breakup with my not-real-girlfriend. Can you even call it a breakup if we were never officially together? Probably not.
Come on, man, be the solid friend you say you are.
“What’s the latest?” I ask. “You doing okay? Talk to me.”
Eugene sits down on one of the pillows, then flops onto his back.
I do the same. I wasn’t ready to go downstairs and face the world—or our gym members—yet anyway.
“Welp. Wedding’s officially off.” He exhales heavily.
“Did you just say ‘welp’?”
“I did.”
“I didn’t know people actually said that word in real life,” I mess with him. In times of trouble, I think keeping one’s sense of humor is important. If I can make my buddy laugh while he’s going through this shitstorm, then I’m going to do it.
Gene smiles, but there’s a sadness behind it. “If ever I was going to ‘welp,’ this seems like the right time to do it.” It’s silent for a moment. “I see why you like it up here. It’s cozy as fuck.”
“Yeah. I do my best thinking up here.” I turn my head to look at him. “I am sorry, man. About the wedding.”
“I’m not,” Gene stares up at the ceiling. “I knew things weren’t right between us.”
“You did?” I say, surprised.
“Of course I did. I mean, all the signs were there, but I just… didn’t know how to deal with it, I guess? We’d been together so long, I think we just became a habit.” He snorts. “Not exactly the most romantic reason to get married, huh?”
“Not really, no,” I chuckle. “But I get it. You wanted things to work with her. I’m sorry she didn’t treat you better.”
“Thanks, man.”
“So what happens now?” I ask.
“Well, the wedding isn’t happening, but I still have a Times Square-facing bar/lounge at my disposal for New Year's Eve.”
“Wow! What are you going to do with it?”
He shrugs. “I think I’m going to throw an Ugly Christmas Sweater New Year's Eve Party.” He says it like that’s a totally normal thing for him to say.
“Excuse me, sir? Why?”
He shrugs again. “Because I’ve always wanted to throw an Ugly Christmas Sweater New Year's Eve Party.”
“You have? PS, why are you shrugging so much? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you shrug in all the years I’ve known you, and you just did it twice.”
