Portugal: The Redux
It ain’t the first drunk dial, but it’s the only one that’s ever happened when you’re in NYC and not fast asleep.
You haven’t seen him since the break-up three years ago.
You’re ignoring the implicit sexual expectation, but considering the invite because his place: you’ve never seen it.
You never understood why he stayed five nights a week at yours for three months without ever reciprocating. In hindsight, it seems ridiculously unacceptable but back then, it was a running joke between you two, which was a way of acknowledging the weirdness without ever confronting it.
And then you ended it abruptly through a frustrated, drunken text message without ever knowing what was up with his place.
And he let you go without a fight.
Your bitter, broken heart had a very active imagination
— did he have a second family? was he running a drug operation? fucking his boss?
— but now, your healed heart is just kinda curious.
Yes, you want a look at that apartment. But ultimately, you want a few honest answers to some past-tense questions.
Is today the day this actually happens?
Can you get your closure and flee before the first kiss or the third glass of wine?
Hoping like hell you’re not about to reverse three years of self-awareness, therapy and personal growth, you make a decision.
Yes, I’ll see you in an hour.
Stay tuned, lovers.
