by Amy Daws
I sip it gingerly at first and immediately taste the chocolaty-coffee richness to it. Yes. Yes, I like dark beer. I take three large gulps, wincing slightly at the lack of coldness as it travels down my throat. Beer in America is ice cold, which makes it so easy to drink. Maybe dark beer isn’t served cold?
Leslie and Frank’s eyes are glaring at me with anticipation.
I can already feel the effects of the beer in my head, so I know it’s time to spill.
“I’ve left Brody,” I say, before losing my nerve.
“What. The. Fuck?” Leslie asks, slowly, her auburn bob framing her face closely as her jaw drops.
“It’s over, we’re done. I’m done. I can’t do us anymore,” I reply, taking three more large gulps of my beer as Leslie and Frank gape at me.
“Wait, you dumped him, or he dumped you?” she asks.
“I don’t know why that matters,” I reply.
“Just fucking tell me, Fin!” she throws at me, angrily.
“I ended it, okay? But it doesn’t matter; it would have ended anyway. There’s no point in continuing things,” I say, as I take another gulp.
Frank clears his throat, “So you’re moving here—to London? You want to live with us?”
“I mean, yeah, if you’ll have me. Er, I mean, if there’s room. But if not, I’ll find another place if I need to.”
“What about your job, Fin? You love your job.” Leslie asks, with a hint of alarm in her voice.
“Well, technically, I’m just taking a leave of absence right now. I have four weeks of paid vacation banked, and then I’m on my own. Val’s company has a sister agency here I’d like to get involved with, but I don’t really know anything about them yet, and I really don’t want to bring it up to her. She’ll probably lose it on me.”
I work as a creative director’s assistant for an advertising agency. They do TV, radio, web, and literary marketing for high-profile clients. I was in the process of being primed to be creative director and take over for my boss, Val, so she can fill the shoes of the vice president who is looking to retire in a few years. It’s an incredible opportunity, and I’ve networked my ass off to get it.
“Well, no shit she’ll lose it on you, Finley! You’re blowing the opportunity of a lifetime by leaving! You’re lucky she hasn’t fired you!” Leslie spits out.
“Val’s fine with it. She understands.” I reply back, “She hired two interns for the fall and is demoting one of the sales executives to help her out for the next couple months. She said I can do copy editing and write from here, and she’ll pay me as a freelancer until I come back.” I pause, “She still thinks I’m coming back. I didn’t have the balls to tell her I’m not.”
Frank looks to Leslie, gauging her reaction. Leslie’s face is covered in disappointment. I can’t stand it.
“You’re a fool for leaving that job, Finley,” she says, shaking her head.
“I can’t fucking stay there, Lez!” I croak, a sudden onset of tears filling my eyes. “I can’t be that girl for him anymore. It was killing me, Leslie! Killing me. I can’t walk around anywhere back in Kansas or Missouri without a baby. You know what it’s like there!”
Leslie makes a motion like she’s going to interrupt me, but I don’t give her the chance, “I can’t give him what he wants, and he won’t want me without it. I know him, Lez, I know us. It won’t be us anymore without creating a mini-us. We are wrecked. I refuse to sit there waiting for Brody to wise up and leave me for somebody more…more…fertile.” I turn my face away and wipe the tears off my cheeks, quickly. “It was only a matter of time, I’m just beating him to the punch. I’m not sure it’s even the life I want anyway.”
“Fuck me. Don’t let the old blokes at the bar see you blubbering, they’ll get all awkward and call a doctor. Brits don’t like emotions,” Frank says, trying to lighten the mood.
I look back at Leslie and see her eyes welling with mine.
“Fucking Americans,” Frank whispers under his breath, looking at the two of us.
Leslie sniffs and reaches her hand across the table, “I wish I knew how to fix this, Fin. I’m ill-equipped!” she says, her voice trembling. “This is a lot different from our problems as kids.”
“I know,” I groan, tipping back the remainder of my beer, savoring the feeling of numbness crawling over my skin.
“Well, fuck it! The flat is yours if you want it,” says Frank. “You’ll get the shit room because it’s all that’s bloody left. But who knows, you’re American, you might think it’s quaint.”
I look at Frank, wide-eyed, as realization sets in that he’s offering a room to me, indefinitely. Thank God. This is a huge load off my mind, knowing I at least have an affordable place to live while I figure my damn life out.
Suddenly Frank stands up on his seat and shouts, “Zoey, another round! We’ve got a new roommate to toast.”
“Get the fuck off that chair er I’ll rip your bloody arse off there myself!” Zoey shouts back at him with a thick dialect I barely understand. Maybe Irish?
“My arse hasn’t bled in years, you wench!” Frank shouts back. Leslie and I burst into a fit of laughter at Frank’s announcement in a room full of strangers.
I think I’m going to like it here. I think I’m going to like it a lot.
***
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