Breaking Up With The Best Man

How a friendship dies.

I’ll try not to overly belabor this post, and just paint the edges. We will see if we can come out anywhere. I’ve already written a bit about COVID and friendships anyway. (Here’s another one.)

Let me set up the back-story as best I can here:

• When I got married for the first time (March 2013), my best man was a kid named Mike; he was a friend of mine from college.

• Good times, good context, good speech, good person, etc, etc.

• I got divorced in March 2017. Here are the basics of that story, if ye care.

• My ex and I decided to break up on March 4, 2017. But, because of how leases work, she was basically like “I can move out on March 15th or I can move out at the end of March. The latter would be easier financially.” I wouldn’t say I “let” her stay, but I said end of March seemed cool.

• The March 2017 dance was very awkward. Basically we tried to avoid each other a lot. Our anniversary (“anniversary”) would have been March 16, 2017, and I think maybe we watched a movie that night, largely in silence. It was a very awkward time.

• Near the end of March, she was moving out across a Friday-Saturday period.

• Now, I had a few options for that weekend. I wasn’t going to sit in the apartment as she was moving stuff out; that seemed depressing. I also felt like if I stayed in town, I would just drink myself into a stupor both days and then stumble home, probably bump into her with a lamp or something in her hand, and the whole thing would be a mess. So I figured I should get out of town. I have a friend here that has some ranch property, and in hindsight I should have gone there. I also have a friend in Rochester, NY who I consider a pretty close friend, but he had two young kids and I am not sure his wife ever liked me that much, so I punted on that option.

• Instead, I went to Tucson to hang out with this kid Mike (best man), his wife, and their two daughters (and I think a few dogs too).

• On the Thursday I left DFW, I got delayed at the airport — ended up about eight beers deep — and we got re-routed to Los Angeles, then I missed my connector. So I had to stay in this random LAX Airport hotel where I watched a Rockets game on TV and ate some shitty calamari. Then I had to get up at 6am, hungover, and fly to Tucson.

Been following along?