Guys Being Dudes: So, What Are We?

Guys Being Dudes: So, What Are We?

He sat on the covered patio of the busy restaurant, a bottle of Miller Lite beading with sweat onto the wooden table in front of him. But the bottle wasn’t the only thing sweating. He was probably pitting through his gingham button down as he tried to seem calm and thumbed through Instagram. On the inside, he felt nervous and uneasy, as one does when meeting up with an ex.

He had chosen this spot strategically, as to not run into any of his friends. He hadn’t told them of his plans to meet up with Macy, especially not after they found out he had been calling her in a blackout state for the past few weekends. If they knew that he had accepted her offer to meet up for dinner, he would never hear the end of it.

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what he was doing. Apparently, he had been leaving pathetic, drunken voicemails begging for her forgiveness and asking her to come see him. But did he really miss her? Was he just lonely? Bored? He wasn’t quite sure.

He sighed loudly, sat his phone down, and chugged the beer in front of him. He flagged down a random waitress who definitely wasn’t his, beckoning for another round. He was three deep already, sure to have a solid buzz settling in by the time his whirlwind of an ex-girlfriend arrived on the scene.

The fact of the matter was that he was bored. His cushy job at Merrill was less than inspiring. He and his friends did the same shit every single weekend. His Bumble matches were all looking for husbands or sugar-daddy boyfriends, neither of which he was interested in. That old comfortable feeling he got when he thought about Macy and their time they had spent together was enough to convince him that meeting up with her was a good idea. The truth was: he really did miss her.

His waitress plopped another beer in front of him. “So…are we drinking our dinner tonight or are you interested in ordering something to eat,” she asked sarcastically, winking at him.

“Oh, don’t worry. We’ll be ordering dinner. I’ll have a double-Tito’s and soda, though,” said a perfectly-tanned and smiling Macy, as she slid into the table on the other side.

He stuttered through his response to the waitress, mumbling something about “being fine.” Fuck, she always caught him off-guard.

“Hey, Mace,” he said with a smirk.

“What’s going on, stud? Back on the Miller train, I see,” she said with raised eyebrows. “Boys just don’t grow up, do they,” she said with a chuckle, picking up the menu in front of her.

Within five minutes of chatting with her, he started to feel a little more comfortable. It could have been the four beers sinking into his bloodstream, but he was convinced it was the presence of the bubbly blonde sitting across from him. Damn, she looked good.

They ordered some cheese fries to share, and the conversation started flowing as fast as the liquor was. The restaurant was turning into more of a bar-scene as the sun went down, and he had no intentions on leaving anytime soon. He also had all the intentions in the world of getting Macy to come back to his apartment, though, so he figured he could drop a hint just to gauge her response.

“So…uh…where are you staying tonight,” he asked as casually as a drunk man could.

Her eyes looked wide as she sipped her drink. Surprised, even.

That wasn’t a good look.

“Uh, yeah, so, about that. I wasn’t really going to bring this up until later, since we were having such a good time…but, yeah. I’m kind of seeing someone. He lives in the city. So…yeah.”

His stomach dropped as if someone had drop-kicked him in the gut.

“Uhh…okay? Is he your boyfriend or something,” he asked incredulously, a hint of irritation rising in his slurred words.

“No, no. Just this guy I’m seeing. See? I knew you would get mad about it. It’s not a big deal. We are having fun, just let it go.”

He paused, clearly annoyed. “Wow. Okay. It just seems like…” He trailed off, not knowing what direction his words were going.

He raised his beer to his lips, trying to avoid the awkward silence that was setting in. He felt like saying a thousand things at once, his anger rising to his throat, the heat rising to his face.

But before he knew it, the words were out of his mouth, hanging in the air like a fog.

“So…what are we, then?”

Before he had even finished his sentence, he was regretting saying those god-awful words that this same girl had asked him so many times over the years. They had always incited him with pity, and yet now, he was the culprit.

My, my, my. How the tables had turned.

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Texas native and Alabama grad with a Drake problem. Going to law school, but don't tell my future employers you saw me here.

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