Page 47 of Best Friend Burden

I didn't think he was wrong. I was being inconsiderate, but I didn't mean for it to get like this. I thought it would just be a few people and, sure, it got out of hand, but this wasn't the way to talk to me about it.

“Kiefer,” I said, forcing myself to slow down so the words came out audibly, “you seriously need to calm down please.”

His face was turning red, and I was trying to approach the situation as cool as possible with all the people around.

The words came out faster than my brain could comprehend.

“It’s just a couple of drinks relax, it’s a party.”

Then I realized what I had just said, but I couldn’t stuff the words back into my mouth.

“What did you say?” he asked, his voice booming as he towered over me. He was silent for just long enough that I wondered if the problem would go away.

Instead, he said nothing. He simply walked away from me, then over to his stereo and turned it off.

“Party's over,” he said. “Everybody go home.”

“Uh oh,” said the guy who operated the Italian food truck. “Papa’s home!”

“Out! Out!” Kiefer said.

It was horrifying to watch and I was embarrassed by it all. These were my new friends — really the only ones I had in California other than Kiefer — and I wanted them to like me, but this would forever be the one of the first impressions I made on them. I had also just said the most stupidest thing I could have possibly said, and blew the situation right out of the water.

While this was going on, Kalle was looking on in shock, giving me a look as if to ask if she needed to get involved.

I knew Kiefer was, deep down, a good guy, and this wasn't representative of who he was 99.9% of the time. But he was also a big guy and could come off as intimidating. I appreciated Kalle's tacit offer to help, but I shook my head and gestured for her to leave. Her sticking around would only make things worse, and clearly we had both crossed a line with each other.

As she left — the last guest remaining in the apartment — she closed the door softly behind her with a deafeningly quiet click. And then Kiefer and I were alone.

“You didn't need to embarrass me like that,” I said, finally finding my voice. So what if the words weren’t as crisp as they would have been if I was sober, it didn’t mean he could be an asshole about it.

“Let me make this crystal clear to you,” he said. “Never, under any circumstances, tell an addict around drinks to relax. Ever.”

He was right. I should have never done that, but in the heat of the moment and my brain fog, the mistake was made.

“You might as well fire a gun into my head,” he told me.

“I think that’s being a little dramatic, don’t you think?” I asked, but I knew the answer. He was not bed dramatic. But I didn’t want to back down because he had stirred up deep seeded feelings that I couldn’t ignore. I moved away from Texas so that shit like this wouldn’t happen to me in my life, but it didn’t matter that I was miles away because I seemed to have ended up right back where I started.

His hands clenched in anger in response, and I could tell he was holding something back. I was shaking, too.

He clenched his fists and turned away from me.

“What the hell were you even thinking?” he asked. “This isn't your apartment.”

Still shaking, I forced my voice to be as strong as possible. “No, but it's where I'm living for right now. If I want friends to come over, this is where they'll be.”

“This ismyapartment,” he repeated. “You think this is what I want to come home to after a shitty day at work? You know that this is my home, where everything is supposed to make sense.”

“It got a little out of hand,” I told him. “I’m sorry.”

“A little?!” he snapped. “This is like the kind of thing Marty Reiser would throw every time his parents went out of town.”

Marty Reiser was a kid in our class whose parents were rich and would always go on weekend getaways, during which he would throw these completely out-of-pocket ragers. At the end of the weekend, the house would be an absolute mess. I remember asking him once why he did it. His parents would find out, and he'd get a wallop for it. He shrugged his shoulders and said it was always worth it.

And now I really wondered because all Kiefer was doing was screaming at me, and this definitely wasn't worth it.

“Okay, okay,” I said. “Next time I'll text you ahead of time to know what's up.”

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