I was livid. 

I have enough self awareness to know that I shouldn’t have made that comment about Brady being a cheater, but I didn’t realize that it would blow up so quickly and so badly. It was a flippant, snide remark — I didn’t even really think about it before I said it. It was wrong, I get that.

But I was mad at Brendan for making assumptions about what I said, accusing me of being mean and then fucking off to Montreal with his stupid friends and then ignoring my entire existence while he was there. He texted me when he landed, I said, “K,” (I was mad!) and then I didn’t hear a peep out of him all weekend. He posted a ton of Instagram stories: video of the sick ass hotel lobby, the view from his room I guess, Kendall, a poker table, an enclosed rooftop pool overlooking the city, the gym, etc. Like he was having a great time. Eventually I deleted the Instagram app on my phone so I wasn’t tempted to check his story every hour. I didn’t want him to get the false sense that I cared. Because I didn’t. And I hoped he wasn’t having that much fun.

I was mad at Caroline for immediately telling Brady what I said. Like I said, it was a flippant comment. She could’ve waited until they were alone to tell him or she could’ve asked me later for clarification or she could’ve said nothing at all! That would’ve saved a lot of drama. Sure, I could’ve not said it, but she could’ve also not run to tell Brady. It’s like she was looking for a moment.

Most of all, I was mad at Brady. What an asshole. He’s blown up at me before, but not like that and not so publicly. He basically insulted me — calling me a child and a liar — and made us both look bad. What happened to being cordial? And if he wanted to yell at me, he could’ve done it when we weren’t in front of people. I was truly not expecting that, hence why I didn’t have much to say back. Mr. Scared of Drama sure caused a scene.

I was still pissed when I dropped Winnie off at Brady’s on Saturday morning. Mainly because I hadn’t spoken to my boyfriend in two days and it was all Brady and Caroline’s faults. And I’d had time to think so I was just waiting for them to come at me.

The house was quiet and dark when I let us in. Usually Caroline popped up out of nowhere to greet us at the door, like she lives there.

“Daddy?” Winnie called, clearly creeped out as well.

Brady was standing in the kitchen on a phone call using his work jargon like “fluid” and “milligrams” so we went around the house finding all of Winnie’s favorite things that she’d missed during the week. I don’t typically go anywhere besides the kitchen or living room, but noticed that all of the artwork, mirrors and decor had been taken off the walls. Once I got Winnie settled on the couch with a YouTube playlist going on her iPad, I went back to the kitchen. Brady was no longer on the phone, but was texting or something.

“Are you happy with yourself?” I started to say, but Brady put his hand up.

“I have no desire to talk to you,” he said.

“I have no desire to talk to you either, Brady, especially after the way you spoke to me the other night,” I said.

“So unless it’s about Winnie, then I don’t really care,” he continued, ignoring me.

“And now everyone at Winnie’s school is talking about her scary dad.”

“Are they talking about her psycho mom as well?”

“So I hope you’re embarrassed.”

“I’m not.”

“You are a cheater, by the way. You’ve been with Caroline for over a year apparently and you definitely kissed me and who knows who else during that time…”

“Then what does that make you?”

“And if I’d gotten the chance I could’ve explained to her that not only did you kiss me, but you were the one trying to get back together with me while you were with her…”

“I’m serious, Reese. I don’t want any relationship with you outside of Winnie. I’m done,” Brady said.

“Same! Done!” I said.

“Good,” he said and then went back to his phone.

I expected more of a blow up honestly, or for him to yell at me again, but neither of us even raised our voices. On my drive home, I kept thinking of other things I wish I would’ve said since obviously we wouldn’t be talking about the situation again.

I tried to keep myself busy over the weekend, but I can’t even lie, I spent most of it in bed. I went to a couple workout classes and brunch with Lola, but spent most of my time pretending not to check my phone for messages from Brendan. Or even Brady, to be honest. I thought maybe he’d come to his senses and apologize for being an asshole. Not a chance!

I knew Brendan was getting back from his trip on Sunday evening and I thought he might text me to let me know he was home, but nothing. Hmm, maybe his plane crashed.

On Monday morning I got back on Instagram and saw that Brendan had gotten home and immediately went to hang out with his sister. And he was actually working and replying to emails on Monday (which he hardly ever does anymore) and to me it seemed like he was doing it so I knew he was ignoring me. Then that night, he sent me one of those ASMR videos of a dog getting groomed on Instagram.

I. Was. Fuming. Now I was mad at him for essentially defending Caroline the other night before even asking for my side, for the way he left, for not speaking to me while he was on vacation and now for sending me a dog video like I gave a FUCK.

On Tuesday morning, Brendan texted me saying, “I’m back from my trip.”

OBVIOUSLY. I texted back, “K.”

He waited until way later that night to say, “And I brought you something back.”

Brendan usually brings me something from the various trips he takes: something small and thoughtful, but ultimately inconsequential. Like artisan chocolate.

“Oh, thanks,” I said back.

Clearly we were in a fight so I wanted him to talk to me about that — not pretend like everything was fine and he hadn’t ignored me for like 5 days straight. If he wasn’t going to bring it up then I’d confront him about it eventually…but I was still holding out for now.

We’ve been shopping around for this certain software at work to replace the old, outdated one we had been using. I’ve been bitching to Mike about it for years and then he finally approved it, gave me a budget and put me in charge of finding a replacement. Stuff like this is always sort of fun in theory, but it’s really time consuming and the salespeople can be super pushy and annoying. Which is their job, I guess.

One of these salespeople is a guy named Cooper. Cooper is your typical sales guy: super outgoing, cocky, slightly fratty, with an answer to absolutely everything. The first few calls we had went nowhere because he kept wasting time showing me fancy features we didn’t need. I said, “We are a small company and our budget doesn’t allow for that nor would we use it.” The next time he tried to veer off track I’d be like, “I have a tight schedule today, Cooper, please don’t waste my time.” And that seemed to work.

Cooper came to the office for a demo and then took me to lunch. Another perk of doing these sales meetings is they always treat you to meals or send gifts… you know, to try to win you over. We probably weren’t going to go with his software (too expensive and when cheap-ass Mike saw the prices of the alternatives he said it would be stupid), but Cooper still kept in touch. He’s from Wisconsin or Ohio or something and since I lived in Chicago, he equates me to a Midwest girl. I’m literally born and raised in Texas, but sure. And okay, I held off on telling him we weren’t going to choose the software he was shilling so he’d continue sending me donuts and office supplies and wine to the office. What? Like you wouldn’t?

The rest of the week went by. Winnie got sick and I had to stay home to take care of her. And while I was home nursing my child back to health, Brendan messaged me and asked if I wanted to hang out. I’d barely heard from him all week.

“I can’t. Winnie’s sick,” I said.

Brendan texted back that he hoped she felt better and did we need anything?

“No,” I said.

He said, “Okay.”

Truly, I wasn’t even trying to be a bitch anymore, but my main concern was Winnie. She’d been getting sick quite a bit and she was miserable. 

Then Brendan said, “My dad and I are going to the cabin to do some work in the morning. I’ll be back on Saturday or maybe Sunday.”

Ughhh. I did not expect to still be fighting with him. We usually always hang out on Friday evenings — we order take out and watch TV with Winnie until she falls asleep and then stay up late talking about literally everything under the sun. It obviously wasn’t entirely his fault (Winnie was sick after all), but I was annoyed that we hadn’t resolved anything and he was going away again.

By Saturday, Winnie was feeling a little better and still wanted to go to her dad’s for the weekend. I sent Brady a quick text warning him that I’d be dropping off a slightly sick child and he said, “I will take care of her.”

Like I wasn’t taking care of her? Whatever! Caroline wasn’t there again when I dropped Winnie off and I wondered if Brady was now keeping her away from me (which would be absolutely fine!) or if they were on the rocks. Like Brendan and I were.

Later that evening, Jasmine texted wanting to go out. The last couple of times she texted me asking to go, I’d flaked on her and I thought of doing the same again. But then I thought, no; I’m not going to sit at home feeling bad for myself, I’m going to go out and have fun!

We made plans for sushi and then we’d go to the little Asian fusion lounge she loves where we’d probably meet up with her drug dealer. I wore a denim dress (with pockets), a sherpa bomber and boots by Isabel Marant. It was a very Jasmine inspired look because she always looks so cool.

And listen, I really like Jasmine, but something about her is so…surface level. I don’t know. Like at dinner, I was trying to complain to her about Brady and Brendan and she just kept saying, “Oh wow,” “That’s insane,” and “So then what happened?” Like she wasn’t even listening. And I get it, maybe she doesn’t think my stories are interesting or maybe she finds me boring, but she never tells me anything either, no matter how hard I dig. I’m like, “How’s work, tell me about work?” “What’s going on with your wedding? Is it all planned?” “Miguel left the bar with his 23 year old associate, are you okay with that?” and she always just stares at me blankly and gives the vaguest answers that don’t even address the question.

By the time we got to the lounge, I was toasted from drinking a zillion fruity cocktails laced with Japanese whisky. Jasmine walked up to the bouncers and hugged and kissed them because I guess she’s royalty there.

“You good?” one of the big black men asked me.

Which meant I probably wasn’t good and needed to slow down.

But I didn’t! We ordered drinks and danced and then were escorted to “VIP” (a couple of roped off couches) randomly because Jasmine is royalty, remember? And I don’t really drink like I used to so this was all a lot for me.

Jasmine’s drug dealer friends showed up eventually and joined us in “VIP” and ordered more drinks and shots. And then Cooper and his group of friends showed up. Cooper, the sales guy? Yeah, him. I don’t know who invited him, but he was there too (spoiler: I invited him).

Jasmine and I were up on the sticky leather couch dancing along to the DJ. At one point my drunk ass fell forward, almost face planting off the couch, and I grabbed Cooper’s shoulders to steady myself. He thought I was trying to get down so he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me down from the couch. He held onto me and whispered something about “little cowgirl” in my ear. Ew.

I don’t really remember much else.

I woke up still in my denim dress and it had a big puke stain down the front of it. Lovely. I felt like shit, obviously. I changed out of my ruined dress, showered and then got back in bed. Hangovers hit different in your 30s. AKA I was on my deathbed. I would never drink again.

While I was laying there in bed, I went through my phone to see what damage I’d caused the night before. I started to read through my message thread with Cooper and then immediately slid to delete because no. Just no. Jasmine had for some reason sent me a pic of a shirtless Miguel at 4:30 in the morning with the caption “What I get to come home to. 🙄” He looked ragey and trashed in the pic and I deleted that too. I did not need shirtless pics of Miguel infecting my phone even if he is really hot.

Eventually I got up because I really needed carbs (a bagel) and the place I like closes at 2 on Sundays. Plus, my pale pink nails had mysterious black streaks stained on them from whatever I got into the night before so I needed to get them done before work the next day. I looked like I was on heroin. I got dressed in baggy Agolde jeans, Ugg slides, my Sherpa from the night before and sunglasses to hide my 30+ year old hangover.

Brendan finally called while I was picking up my bagel. I’d forgotten about him! I didn’t hear it so I missed the call but when I got back outside I saw that he’d texted to.

“You home?” he said.

“No,” I said.

“Okay,” he said.

“I’m getting my nails done. I’ll be home later,” I texted him.

“Okay,” he said again.

I was like, ugh. What was the purpose of that if he wasn’t even going to ask to hang out or to see me? What the fuck ever, I was so over it!

The nail tech made a face at my nasty nails and ordered me to sit down. I was not in the mood for the theatrics — I’m sure she’s seen worse. I got settled in the chair and tried not to vom at all the fumes I was inhaling. It was packed and loud and I was kind of ready to die again. She was still shaving off my old polish when the door swung open and Brendan walked in. I was like, oh. I always go to the same place so I guess he was in the neighborhood and knew where to find me. He waltzed right over to me and squeezed me in a hug from behind and kissed my cheek. Like everything was normal!

My nail tech gestured to the adjacent station to let him know to use the empty chair to sit next to me. So he scooted the chair closer and plopped down next to me. We didn’t say anything right away. Don’t forget, it had been over a week since we’d really talked.

“Did you go out last night?” Brendan finally asked.

I turned to him and slowly nodded. I guess I really did look like shit.

“You still smell like alcohol,” he said and not in a funny, joking kind of way.

I burst into tears. Mind you, I still had my big sunglasses on and my hands were soaking in bowls so I was just there shaking and sobbing and couldn’t really do anything about it. The nail tech sighed, dried her hands off and then attempted to hand me a pile of paper towels before handing them to Brendan instead. Like she’d been in this situation before. For context, this was after my dad told me about my mom and I’d basically kept it bottled in since he told me.

Brendan just stared at me, waiting for me to explain I guess. It wasn’t the right place to share the development about my mom nor was I even sure that I wanted to tell him, but it just came tumbling out.

“My dad told me that my mom is an alcoholic and I’m really upset about it because I should’ve known and I want to help her and…”

Brendan listened and nodded as I told him everything my dad told me. Once I was finished, he said, “I am really sorry to hear that. Is that why you haven’t been yourself?”

I shrugged. Probably.

“My mom is an alcoholic too,” he said.

“She is?”

You know what didn’t make me feel better? That. Brendan’s mom abandoned him and his family and they have basically no relationship. But I did appreciate him coming to find me because I already felt slightly less on edge with him next to me.

“Yeah. When I was a little she used to walk around with a Thermos filled with vodka and one day I drank from it.” He smirked. At least he could laugh about it now, I suppose.

I started crying again and answered/hiccuped the follow up questions he asked like have I suggested treatment to mom and I explained that she hadn’t even admitted to me that she has a problem. And he said other things that I’m sure he’s supposed to: don’t blame yourself, this has nothing to do with you, she has to want to help herself, etc.

What I was thinking and didn’t want to say out loud: I was afraid that one day that could be me.