Maybe it is the music pulsating through O’Malley’s or the chatter mixed with spontaneous laughter filling the air that allows me to surrender to the night. I am having fun, letting down my guard. I had forgotten how much I enjoy our Marinara Nights at O’Malley’s, and as the night progresses, Zach becomes the furthest thing from my mind.
That is until he texts letting me know that he is back in town. I consider ignoring his message, but instead diligently respond that I am at O’Malley’s. His timing feels intrusive, giving me a new sense of resolve about the dynamic of our relationship. Things would need to change between Zach and me. Our two worlds need to coexist amicably. It is a discussion that I am prepared to undertake the following day.
“I call the shots now,” I proudly announce to Amy and Kaitlyn as I raise my glass. “I am the master of my own domain.
I revel in my new proclaimed independence, greatly appreciative of the time spent with my friends. The Marinara Theory is back . . .
The sudden silence is deafening, like a needle on a record, scratching the liveliness of the night to a halt.
“Guess who?” I hear someone say as hands cover my eyes. The voice is recognized immediately.
Feigning excitement upon seeing Zach is hard for me, especially when seeing Amy’s and Kaitlyn’s disapproving looks. Normally, I would have been excited to have Zach hang out with my friends—it is something he never does—but tonight of all nights, with Kaitlyn and the rest of the restaurant crew, I don’t want him here. Kaitlyn and I have just gotten back to solid ground with my claim of independence only lasting a mere five minutes.
“I missed you,” Zach says to me. “I just got back from the airport and thought I’d surprise you.”
“Yes, you definitely surprised me. How was your trip?”
“It was good, short. Looks like we will be starting the project next month.”
“That’s great,” I say, faking my excitement as best that I can.
“Zach, you’re here. Yay,” Kaitlyn says, her tone steeped in sarcastic contempt.
“I’m sorry,” I mouth to her. “I didn’t know that he was coming.”
“You can’t even give your girl a night off to hang with her friends,” Kaitlyn adds. “I didn’t peg you as the smothering type.”
“Brrr,” Zach responds. “I forgot how warm and cheerful you are.”
“Stop it, both of you. Zach, you should have told me that you were coming.”
“Sorry, I thought you’d be happy. I can go if you want.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” I say.
“Here’s to the master of Ashley’s domain,” Kaitlyn announces with Amy following suit.
“Ha, funny. Please be nice,” I plead with Kaitlyn and Amy. “I honestly didn’t know that he was coming.”
My annoyance with Kaitlyn and Amy is overshadowed by Zach’s need to antagonize Kaitlyn. The two of them are acting like two five-year-olds, both taking shots at each other—some insults more blatant than others. The need to make a quick exit overpowers me and directs me to the bar, where our favorite bartender, Frank, is working.
Frank is from Ireland and exudes undeniable sexiness with his charm and wit, despite not being especially endowed in the looks department. Part of the appeal of coming to O’Malley’s is being greeted by Frank with his “‘ow are ya, lass” that is thickly laced in an Irish accent. Most of the waitresses from the restaurant have crushes on him, but Frank is taken and dutifully loyal to his girlfriend. I appreciate Frank’s fidelity and take it as reassurance that not all men are cheaters or assholes.
“Ashley, lass. What can I get fahr you?”
“I’m good, thanks. I just needed to get away from the guy I’m dating for a few.”
“Dat doesn’t sound good.”
I proceed to tell Frank about Zach’s surprise appearance at the bar and how Kaitlyn and I hadn’t been talking. It’s nice to be able to vent without a judging ear.
“Ahr ya more concerned wit your friends dink or ahr are ya questionin’ your feelengs fahr your lad?”
Good question. Was I letting my friends’ opinions affect my feelings for Zach?
“You’re right. Why should I feel bad that I’m dating someone and want to spend time with him? Yes, I get that I may have been neglecting Kaitlyn and my friends and not being a good friend, but I told them I’d be better, and I will. I just need for them to give Zach more of a chance. It’s just easier to be around him and his friends because they don’t judge me.”
“You need to say dat to Kaitlyn. Talk to ‘er,” Frank advises.
He’s right. I just need to plead my case to Kaitlyn and ask her to be more tolerant of Zach. It isn’t fair of her to make me choose between the two of them.
“I’ll take that drink now and one for Kaitlyn,” I tell Frank who graciously hands them to me and tells me that they’re on the house.
Unfortunately, Kaitlyn isn’t at the table when I come back. She and Amy left while I was talking to Frank. Even Zach didn’t seem to notice that she snuck out.
“She didn’t even say goodbye or tell me that she was leaving.”
“She probably was just ready to go; the group seems to be thinning out. It’s getting late,” Zach tries reassuring me.
“You’re right; it is getting late. I think I want to head home.”
“No worries. Did you drive here? Want to just follow me to my place?”
“No, no,” I just want to go home—alone if it’s okay,” I reason with Zach who had gotten accustomed to my spending the evenings at his place. It was just easier especially on work nights when he had to get up super early.
The thought of climbing into my own bed and sleeping in late sounds ideal. Only Frank’s words of advice and his question about my true feelings eat at me, causing a restless night of sleep. Tossing and turning throughout the night, I allow my frustration with Kaitlyn to fester. By the next morning, I’m an active volcano, my anger bubbling to the surface, and primed to erupt.
Just the sight of Kaitlyn the next morning, sitting innocently in the living room, typing away on her computer is enough to send me over the edge. Had it not been for my recent exploration into YouTube meditation, I would have launched right into her with a hysterical tirade about her ongoing antagonistic behavior towards Zach.
Instead, I take a calming breath and decide to take a more mature approach to address the situation. Slamming kitchen cabinets and drawers, I try making my irritation known to Kaitlyn, who is ignoring me. Not once does she look up, even when my bowl accidently falls to the ground, decorating the floor with pieces of ceramic.
Had it not been for the word ‘karma,’ that I hear muttered under Kaitlyn’s breath, I would have worried that my passive aggression was too subtle.
“Karma,” I loudly repeat back, “is that what you just said?”
Kaitlyn continues typing at her computer, not reacting or saying a word.
“Did you just mutter ‘karma’?” I repeat, knowing full well that she had. Ramping up my histrionics, I stand in front of Kaitlyn with my arms clenched tightly across my chest. There are no air pods or headphones plugged into her ears, shielding her from my loud declaration and bold stance. I checked. Yet, Kaitlyn is still fixated on her computer screen, ignoring my presence entirely.