woulda, shoulda, coulda...a.k.a. he said, she said
October 01, 2003, 10:18 pm

I should have been cleaning my room.

Mike called as I was headed en route to pick up desserts for the big premiere party tomorrow night. "Where are you?" he asked. I told him I was on Riva Rd. "Are you going home?" I explained I wasn't. "I was going to stop by and say 'hi' to the folks," he said.

"I'm on Riva, too," I said, "I'm going to get desserts for tomorrow."

"Oh."

"Wanna get a drink? I have time before my chiropractor appointment."

I thought he would say no. "Sure," he said, "Meet me at Chili's."

I should have been getting the desserts.

We met at Chili's. We talked about the movie. We talked about everything. We drank two Presidente Margaritas each. I had to go to the chiropractor.

"Jess," he said, "don't go to the chiropractor. Call out."

I should have gone to the chiropractor.

I called Dr. I. I drank more Presidente Margaritas. His mom joined us and gave me a scarf she knitted. She bought me dinner. "I have to get my eyebrows done!" I yelled.

I should have gotten my eyebrows done.

"Jess," said his mom, "Your eyebrows are fine. You've passed the 50 year-old blind woman test; it's fine."

We drank more and he wanted to come home to see the folks. He said, "If you go to get your eyebrows done, I'm going home."

I should have gotten my eyebrows done.

He came over and I played my new Richard Cheese cd. He drank more beer with my dad as I vaccuumed. Bob the Bachelor was almost on.

I should have been watching The Bachelor.

We talked and talked and had the best time and the last time we'd probably ever be together, just the two of us. We laughed with my parents and talked about the movie and got drunk (again). We talked about Casablanca and L.A. and us...it had to come up. We talked about the end of the era and our twenties and our lives as we know it.

He was too drunk to drive home; I walked him to his car, convinced him to smoke a cigarette with me while he sobered up in the brisk, fall air.

"Relish this day, its clarity; feel it breathing! It is October!" I said, quoting his ex-fiancee.

I should have been cleaning my room, getting the desserts, going to the chiropractor, getting my eyebrows done, and anything else. For the record, he started it, and we talked about it for a long, long time before it happened, as it inevitably would.

I'm holding two margarita-stained cigarette butts in my hand, and they're bitter and sweet and bittersweet: they're him and me and us.

I should have gone in the house.

But I didn't.

"Is it going to be weird tomorrow?" he said, his arms around me like they'd been a thousand times before.

"No," I said, "We've done this before."

I shouldn't have kissed another girl's boyfriend. I shouldn't have wanted him so badly right then.

"This is it for us," he said.

"You're right," I said, and I kissed him gently, "Goodnight."

I shouldn't have let myself feel bad when he called and he sounded sober and professional and not at all like anything happened.

But I did.