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“You’re going to write an angry blog entry about this, aren’t you? Or a Twitter?”

“No, I don’t do that.”

“I feel really bad.”

I can’t see his eyes because he is wearing mirrored sunglasses. I feel exposed. Realizing that impending tears are stinging at my eyes, I wish I had a pair of my own.

“It’s fine, really.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

So, I get in my car and drive away while he continues with the very important things he has to get done that day. His excuses aren’t even excuses, they are totally reasonable. Jude lost his job and has been frantically applying for new ones, he has a lot of places to still try. I’ve made him feel like shit because he can only meet me for a few hours and have a drink.

Still, the tears are starting to sting and as I pull out of the parking lot, I shake my head. I’ve tried to make sure that our dialog is something like a movie. Dramatic, dry, witty. This is the moment where he is supposed to call me and tell me to come back. He’ll grab me as I step out of the car and pin me against the door and kiss me.

But I keep driving.

I get stuck in traffic and send what I am pretending is a playful text message.

“Now that I’m in this traffic, I am mad at you.”

He calls a few moments later and tells me that the place I suggested was hiring. I hold my breath. He launches into more apologies. I feel the tears stinging again, and my gum gets slimy as my mouth starts producing extra saliva. I tell him I need to concentrate on driving and get off the phone.

I stop for gas and as I’m pumping I send another message.

“Why didn’t you kiss me?”

“OMG I am such a retard. I had so much on my mind I didn’t even think about it.”

It occurs to me that kissing people isn’t an item on the to-do list and usually, when I don’t think about kissing someone it is because I really don’t want to kiss them. I volley back the classic pained martyr response:

“It isn’t important.”

“Yes it is, I’m a jackass.”

“Not being attracted to me doesn’t make you a jackass.”

Passive aggressive with a side of self-deprecation. This is the man that regularly tells me that he wants to rape me and now I’m taking jabs at him because I haven’t been kissed. I feel like a child and a fool.

He replies, “No, I just wasn’t in a remotely romantic or sexual mood. This is how I get when I’m depressed.”

I know what he is saying. He has been in this emotional state for weeks. I realize that I’m being the most shitty and unsupportive friend to him right now. I also feel embarrassed and conflicted. I am still holding out for the movie ending but gas isn’t 4 dollars a gallon in romantic comedies.

Does my rational mind know that Jude does want me and today’s just a bad day? Sure.

Does my rational mind win out over the feelings of the girl that feels like she is back in high school - fat, rejected, foolish? No. I am still that girl.

So, I send one last passive aggressive message: “Okay. Feel better. Bye.”

Then I turn up the 80s radio, and let the tears finally come.