her but was able to effectively talk myself out of it each time. I didn’t want to turn into one of those men who had a hard time remaining behind the boundaries of a sexual relationship. However, I usually didn’t have to try so hard not to be.
“Well, it’s low tide,” I replied. “I’ll be back in it soon enough.”
He laughed, one of the first genuine ones I’d seen in the few months since he and his ex-girlfriend Trisha split.
Kellen wore his heart on his sleeve and was attracted to broken women, a combination that was almost always certain to end in disappointment. He was the Donald Trump of emotional foundations. His M.O. was that he would spend an enormous amount of time and waste an egregious amount of money trying to “repair” women who usually had no clue that they were broken in the first place, no matter how obvious the problem was. Trisha, however, had taken the cake.
She’d been a habitual cheater, recreational drug user, and had a personality that rewrote the definition of the word “selfish,” but Kellen had somehow still come to the conclusion that her promiscuity was a result of growing up with an absentee father. So, he’d worked with her despite the relationship being so bad in private that its toxicity eventually seeped out onto the surface and into our faces.
She’d put him down constantly, but he would just laugh off the insults. She would go missing for hours and return without giving an explanation, but his questioning would end the minute her panties came down. More than once, she’d spent over a thousand dollars on his credit card and never revealed what she’d bought. That, Kellen had also laughed off as a negligible expense as long as they were working on her “transformation.” However, not many men existed who could forgive their girlfriend for having a threesome with two men in the expensive bed that they’d bought her, and on the night of the anniversary dinner that she’d claimed to have forgotten about.
That night marked the definitive end to the relationship, and he’d subsequently gotten so drunk that his incoherent text messages had dragged a few of us over to his condo for an amateur wellness check. We’d found him on the ground, face down with only a sip left in a bottle of Roble Viejo rum, listening to Marsha Ambrosius on repeat.
That had actually been the most surprising part of the entire night. We’d already expected to find Kellen piss drunk and depressed after deciphering the texts detailing how he’d caught Trisha in the act. What was surprising was that we’d assumed he’d be listening to a melodic guitar solo reminiscent of his ancestral heritage which hailed from Spain and France. Instead, he’d taken the time to put together a soulful “I’m depressed and my girlfriend’s a whore,” playlist sometime between getting home and passing out.
But, all in all, it was nice to have my friend back…for the time being. There’d be another woman soon enough. I only hoped that he eventually found one that, although broken, still had just enough love left not only for herself, but for him as well.
Someday.
A few more friends maneuvered over to us and before long, we were all caught up in old stories about embarrassing moments from our pasts, both recent and decades old. I listened on, laughing and enjoying a moment to unwind with good people. Yet, even with the professional decorations and large tree in the middle of the room, it still didn’t feel quite like Christmas.
My phone vibrated in my pocket and a picture of Alexandra that I’d taken while she was dozing (I still can’t believe that I did some stalker shit like that) popped up. I excused myself from the group and stepped out onto a nearby terrace.
“Hey Alle,” I greeted, using the nickname that Evelyn had offered. The glaze of her eyes the first time I’d used it had been reinforcement enough for making it a permanent part of my vocabulary.
“Merry Christmas, Ethan,” she answered, with a nervous laugh.
“Merry Christmas to you too.”
“Did you get everything you wanted?”
My dick pulsed awake. “Not…everything.”
We paused, no doubt imagining the same thing.
“I don’t really know why I called,” she admitted, with another nervous laugh. “I’m still over here at my folks’ house. We’re getting ready to watch The Polar Express with Kai.”
“I’m glad you called either way,” I replied. “I’m at a Christmas-slash-friend’s going away party.”
“Oh, please don’t let me distract you.”
“I