AFTER THE ONE WITH THE MEMORIAL SERVICE
How did it feel, he thought, should he ask himself? Dim lights and the faint smell of vanilla from the glittering tea lights on the table, and the sight of her warm green eyes staring at him. Brighter than the stars outside the window of the restaurant. How did it feel?
Well, it felt pretty much the way water felt on skin – wet. Except it also felt like a hundred thousand eyes taking sweet liberty absorbing the sight of him, dripping in his seat.
Mike takes a moment, wiping himself with the table napkin. He would've preferred to see a smile on her face, instead of the reluctance drawn all over it right now. The tongues of flame flickering over the candles are gone, went out as soon as she had emptied the contents of her glass on his head, leaving misshapen blobs of wax on the table. Beside them, the waiter is frozen in place with their entrées and his mouth agape.
"Now, we're over!" Phoebe says. The chair creaks and scratches against the hardwood floor when she stands up, but even that isn't loud enough to drown the sound of hushed voices about them. Without another look back, she grabs her purse, shoves the waiter out of her way, and heads for the door.
In the back alley eight minutes later, he finds her rubbing her hands near a dumpster and he unbundles the honey-coloured parka in his hands, walking toward her with a slight chuckle.
"You forgot your coat," Mike says, wrapping her in it and pulling her into an embrace. "Well, that was something else…"
"I'm sorry! Ugh… I'm so sorry," Phoebe replies, her teeth chattering. "That made me feel so bad-"
"No, no, that was good. It really… I felt it—"
"Did you? G-, I don't want to end it that way! I was like the bitterest girlfriend ever!"
"Nah," he cups her cheek, "I'm sure those people have seen worse."
"Everyone was looking at us, huh?"
Mike raises his eyebrows and takes a second before nodding.
"Ugh. And did I… did I get you all wet?"
"Just a little bit-"
"Oh, no," Phoebe presses herself closer to him, rubbing her hands up and down his arms. "Aren't you gunna be cold?"
"No," he shakes his head. "I just need a little… maybe a little body heat."
He smirks coyly, drawing her in for a kiss, but she pulls away before he can deepen the contact.
"Erm… what time is it?"
Mike sulks, holds his disappointment back with a shrug. "I'm not sure."
Phoebe takes his forearm, turning his wrist over so she can look at his watch.
"It's 8:46," her eyes dart around the mostly empty street as if she's searching for something. "'Kay, erm, so… so where do you want to break up next?"
He hears the question but the sneeze building up in his nose gives way before he can answer. Mike cups his hands over his mouth, shakes his head one or two times as chills creep up his spine and he shivers. The thought of their two naked bodies lying in bed with a nice thick blanket would be most ideal, but this is his idea and now, he wants to kick himself in the head for it.
"Somewhere warm," he suggests, a tiny ray of hope that she might be thinking the same thing as he is. "Let's do it somewhere warm."
#
The room is nice. The room is toasty. The room is packed with sixty drunken patrons who have successfully meandered their way to "Tuesday Open Mic Night" at the piano bar. But even now that he's sitting on his throne behind the ivories with a dry shirt on – they made a quick stop at his apartment – this really isn't exactly the room he wants to be in tonight.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Mike hears his voice reverberate from the microphone, "Phoebe Buffay!"
Cue drunken applause while she takes the steps up to the elevated platform. The stagehand passes her the spare guitar she borrowed from the storage basement.
"Erm…Hi, I'm Phoebe. Phoebe Buffay," she glances toward him. "I don't have my guitar tonight so I borrowed this used one they have."
She smiles shyly in his direction and confusion literally rushes through his veins. Why do I have to do this?
"So I'm… I'm sorry if the guitar's a little out of tune," Phoebe runs her hand over the strings. She sings a note before interrupting herself immediately. "Also, I just wrote this song a couple minutes ago so… erm… okay-"
More drunken applause. She giggles and he forces a smile on his lips, a slight tremble escaping from his fingers. Why do we have to do this?
"I met him on a double date
With Mary Ellen and Joey
He had nice eyes, a sexy smile
Although he was a bit doughy—"
There should be no question about it, he should have just left it the way that they did three days ago. He never should have picked up the phone this afternoon, never should have hung up and sprinted his way to her apartment the moment she said she wanted to see him, never should have kissed her, never should have asked for just one more night. Because I don't want one more night, his chest heaves, I want to go home and be with you every night.
"He doesn't like to get haircuts
And he killed my pet rat
Said he loves me, and I know it's true
But this isn't gunna work out…"
#
"I do love you!" Mike screams, and knocks back the entire mug of beer almost the size of his head. The jigger he'd dropped in earlier clinks against his teeth. G-, that was strong! He can feel the wash of beer and whiskey in his mouth. "I want to live with you because I love you! So much! Why can't that be enough?!"
"What?!" Phoebe screams back, before finishing her drink. "Oh my g-, my head is spinning," she turns to the bartender. "This isn't tequila! What is in this thing?!"
He barely hears her voice over the booming speakers and he is close to seeing a fifth Phoebe-replica come out from behind her. Actually, the whole crowd at the club seems to have multiplied in the last hour – that much he knows.
"I d-don't…" he slurs, "I don't want us to end!"
The strobe lights dance around the five Phoebe's in front of him, the coloured beams breaking and diffusing into a radiant glow. He smiles at her, or at least he thinks he does. Let's just get back together, he wants to say; I know I said I wouldn't ask anymore but I love you. Forget about marriage and let's just get back together, but he can't even open properly open his mouth when he feels like seconds away from a cardiac arrest.
"But I want to get married someday and you don't! We already know that!"
Was I talking out loud? The next song crossfades into the other and the savage mob collected in the club jumps and cheers and doesn't stop. His head is about ready to split.
"Why are you being so difficult about this?!"
"What?! I—I'm not being-"
"You know why I don't want to marry you?! I'll tell you! You want to know why?!" he screams at her, all the blood draining from his veins.
"I don't want to marry you because I don't want you to turn into the bitch who says she loves me today then sleeps with another guy tomorrow! I don't want to marry you because I don't want to be dragged back and forth to marriage counselling, and have some pompous, overpaid IDIOT tell me that I'm working too much or I'm not paying any attention or that suddenly, I've become sexually unavailable when I know and you know and that stupid Colonel Sanders look-a-like knows that none of those things are true! I don't want to look at you after three years, five years, nine years and not feel anything! That's why I don't want to marry you!"
"I am not your ex-wife," she hisses under her breath, but he hears every word perfectly.
"I didn't think I'd ever refer to her as my ex-wife either…"
He sees all five Phoebe's glaring at him before grabbing five bartenders behind the counter and planting a deep kiss right on their lips, holding onto them for a good ten seconds before shoving them back.
"There. Does that make it easier?"
#
He might have already vomited his intestines out but his head is pounding way too much for him to even care. He tilts his head back, wiping his mouth carelessly with his coat sleeve, eyes still closed, and takes in a sharp breath.
"Ugh," Mike groans, before chucking his head back over the sink again. A fresh jet of bile surging from his stomach to his throat.
The bathroom door opens unexpectedly and he sees her go in through clouded, blurry eyes; blonde hair swaying as she walks.
"Baby, please, I'm sorry-," he slurs, stumbling his way toward her. "I'm sorry. I never should have said that."
He blinks once, twice, but the white mist in his eyes just wouldn't go away. He can barely see her face.
"I was drunk, I didn't know what I was saying…"
"Well, you're… still drunk now?" she answers, and Mike wonders if his ears had been ringing all night because her voice seems to have changed.
"I know and I'm—" he runs his fingers through her hair, choking. "I'm sorry. I can't… I can't lose you. You're the love of my life, Phoebe…"
Mike cups his hands on her cheeks, pulling her in slowly for a kiss.
"Oh, no, my name's not Phoebe. It's-"
He ends up rushing to the nearest toilet stall instead.
"—Precious…"
He's hurling his guts out too loudly to even hear.
A while later, he finds himself waking up on a subway bench, probably after that. He can't remember clearly. The long hand on the clock hanging over the platform ticks and moves a space after 03:55. The train going between Queens and Manhattan would get there in about three minutes. He sits up slowly, takes his phone out from his jeans pocket. It's the incessant vibrating that woke him up in the first place.
Seventeen missed calls, Mike reads, seventeen missed calls from Phoebe.
He sighs, thumb hovering over the call button, but it vibrates again before he can even make a decision.
"Mike?" her voice sounds clearly upset.
"Phoeb—" he exhales her name. "Hey…"
"Oh my g-, where the hell are you?! You weren't picking up your phone! I'm worried sick!"
"I'm fine, babe, I just—" he catches his face in his hands, too weak to think of a lame excuse. "I'm fine."
Silence on the other end. The train arrives and he watches as people get on and off, his mind completely empty.
"I'm sorry I left you… back at the club…" Phoebe says finally, and he can tell she paused so he wouldn't hear her voice break.
"It's okay…" Mike replies softly.
"I just… I thought tonight, we could… plan a better… a more thought-out breakup than… than what we had…"
"I know. I thought so, too. It was a dumb idea…"
A beat.
"Mike, I don't want us to end this way."
He wells up at the sound of her voice, wishing the damn clock overhead would stop ticking. He is running out of time.
"I don't want us to end…" he pulls the phone away before the sobs can clog his throat, and coughs it out. "I don't want us to end this way either."
The people clear out from the platform. The train's pale yellow headlights pierce into the dark emptiness ahead. The next one is coming in five minutes, he figures. Before him, everybody else wanders into different directions. Where are you going, his mind asks no one, where should you be going?
"My couch is still there, right?" Mike whispers into the phone.
The train doors shut.
"Yea…"
The tracks rattle under its weight as it prepares to leave.
"Do you think maybe…I could…could I…spend the rest of the night at our place—"
A quick, whooshing sound before the train plunges and disappears into the black, barren void.
"—just this once?"
#
Phoebe clasps Mike's hands, fitting her fingers between his, light calluses scratching the surface of her skin. The length of her body curls just slightly inwards and Mike wraps himself around her even closer, his chest spooning her back. The discarded blankets lie in a heap on the floor. They're naked but they're warm enough, so why bother?
Outside the window, the night sky begins to give way to streaks of mauve and pink and orange. On the nightstand, the digital clock is flashing five thirty-nine. It's not just day that's breaking right now though, Phoebe thinks, chest rising as her lungs fill with air. Definitely not just day that's breaking.
"I have to go," Mike says, not moving a muscle.
"Yea, you should…" she replies weakly, "…you should go."
They lay in silence for a few more minutes, his embrace not loosening in the slightest. Maybe, he's memorising the feeling of having her in his arms. Maybe, he's still just really sleepy. But whatever is going on, it has to stop because none of it is making anything easier.
"You said this can't be harder and I thought so, too, but I don't think either one of us is right…"
She whispers almost inaudibly before she shifts her entire body and turns toward him.
"I don't think this made it easier."
Mike brushes back a lock of her hair from her face with his fingers. "I know."
He moves to stand up, limbs untangling from hers, and Phoebe feels shivers envelope her body in an instant. She sits up on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest as she watches him grab his clothes from the floor and put them on. Boxers then jeans then his t-shirt, button-down, and coat – why couldn't he have been wearing more than five items of clothing?
She takes the blankets from the floor, draping it around herself, and drags her body to the edge of the bed next to where he is sitting.
"I'll call the U-Haul later," Mike says, putting his other sock on and reaching for his shoes. "I'll have my stuff picked up today so you wouldn't have to deal with all these boxes."
"No, you don't have to rush it. It's okay. I don't... I don't mind it."
Phoebe smiles weakly and he returns the expression right back, taking both of her hands in his. His shoes lying still on the floor, forgotten.
"You know, if I... if I could change the way I feel about everything else just to stay with you, I would. I wish I can tell you that I've changed my mind but... I would rather leave and lose you now, than string you along with a lie..."
He runs his thumb across her jawline, the rest of his hand settling lightly on her neck.
"I would think of a thousand and one ways to break up with you if that meant last night would never end."
His lips brush gently against hers at first, the way he always does it for her, then get deeper and deeper until
"I can't take this," Phoebe stands up.
Mike exhales a sigh of disappointment, bowing in defeat, until he notices the room is getting darker once again.
"What are you doing?" he asks, watching her draw all the curtains down and closing all the blinds, shutting out any trace of the impending sunlight.
Phoebe turns the digital clock off, then stretches her hand toward him. "Give me your watch," she says and Mike obliges.
"It's not the morning until I've woken up, and I haven't even slept yet…" she pulls the crown and the time hands immediately stop ticking.
Mike beams wide, his heart beating steadily as he finally understands. Quickly, he kicks his socks off and strips down to his t-shirt and underwear. He waits for her to climb back into bed and clings to her as she settles in, helping her spread the blankets wide enough to cover both of their bodies. He feels her fingers find their way to his chest and stay there, and he's never felt more content and anxious in his life. Tonight will end, he thinks, but she hasn't ended it yet.
He holds onto her tighter. This hasn't ended yet.