The Main Character

Karen had not let Finch or MC leave her apartment after she heard the news though it appeared she was no longer interested in Finch romantically. She had drunk texted some exes the night before and was now too busy musing futures with each of them to bother with Finch. The next morning, Karen was further distracted from her current guests and when she started collecting more people. It seemed that Karen believed that not only was grief contagious, but somehow, by sharing it, it lessened any one person’s helping. Luckily, her apartment, which she shared with a woman who proved to be extremely since she had not been around the last day, was just large enough to accommodate everyone who came. It was an apartment typical of two incongruous personalities. Not much decoration in some areas and too much in others. Lots of DIY crafts that had not turned out as expected, and doubles of condiments and basic foods in the refrigerator. The roommate, Rebecca, was sleeping out tonight. MC had never met her before, but Karen swore they had. However, Rebecca was reportedly very consumed in her work right now and could not spare the time to wallow for a friend of a friend. She was a lawyer. When MC had asked Karen what Rebecca was so adamantly working on, Karen had paused for a while before replying that it was ‘top-secret’. This would have been mysterious and impressive had MC not guessed that Karen had just forgotten and did not want to admit it.

Alastair, a tan brunette who moved like he was made of only liquids was the only one at the apartment that MC talked to at length. This was mostly because they kept going outside for cigarettes at the same times, but also because neither were drinking. MC had decided to take a break after what had happened with Quinn. She thought it would help to clear her head as well. For Alastair, the decision not to drink was made for him. He just did not have any money to buy any alcohol. These days he generally appeared to lack money for anything besides cigarettes.

Among the other guests were musicians, artists, fans posing as friends, actual friends, and Karen’s magazine yes-men. A particular group that caught MC’s eyes was a pair of well-to-do girls who were solely responsible not only for hosting this grief party, but for keeping the tone of depression from dipping below a dull humming thud. As much as MC wished she could assist them, she knew she did not possess the capacity. She’d never been described as a ‘team player’, though was not so cold-hearted that she could not comfort a close friend. That was another reason why she was taking Rémy’s death so hard. She somewhat blamed herself for Rémy not coming to her if he was contemplating killing himself. These girls showed more humanity and simple decency than anyone MC had met in a long time, including herself, and it hurt sweetly like a slap across the face on a cold day. Unfortunately, when she tried to communicate this to Alastair she could not make it clear. So, they reminisced about Rémy.

Alastair had been a close friend of Rémy’s and MC knew that, though she herself had tried to avoid hanging out with Alastair. Aside from the questionable validity of his accent, MC disliked him because Rémy and Alastair’s friendship was only functional if both were acting identically. This generally had negative consequences for Rémy’s health as well as his sanity. MC was more aware than most of this and for that reason thought very poorly of Alastair. In her mind, he was the bad influence. Basically, she thought he was just a shit dude. It was as if all the two of them did when they were together was drink bad vodka, chain smoke, and feed off each other’s lack of motivation. Separated, they were not so bad. Obviously, MC preferred Rémy, but Alastair was not the worst person imaginable. He, like Rémy, had hit fame early on in life. That meant, since he was younger, that he became famous right as Rémy stopped. Alastair wrote short stories. Unfortunately, his first collection was the only one that sold. At all. He wrote seven. It seemed that his first collection had been popular rather than good. No one wanted to hear any more from him after his first collection. Like hot pockets, people want them exactly once because they’re drunk, hungover, or an absolute moron. Then, they get them and remember how absolutely shit they are. That was his book. And all the ones that followed. It was for that reason that MC found the two of them to be a mismatched pair. Rémy was a virtuoso too frustrated by achieving perfection and therefore an undying sense of self-loathing to release his work to a world waiting on bated breath, whereas Alastair was a once-relevant pop-fiction writer with limited talent. However, after chatting for a bit one-on-one, MC realized that Alastair did not need to be on the same plane as Rémy to be a good friend to him. He just listened. People largely underestimate the importance of being a good listener. A part of her wondered if, had she been more like Alastair, Rémy have still been around. Certainly, she was not as receptive to Rémy’s whining and complaints as Alastair was. That was what had ended their romantic relationship before it began. After spending just one night together, she realized he was so focused on his own insecurities as an unproductive artist that he could never support her as a prolific one.

“Did you like him?” she asked, interrupting her own train of thought before it got too much momentum behind it. Also, she was curious if she could maybe drag a concrete answer out of him.

“Eh...shame he killed himself, but was a bit of a cunt, wasn’t he?” Alastair’s (if not fake, then definitely purposefully overdone) Americanized-Scottish accent relayed how he really felt. “No, ah loved him. Ah jus’ also really hated him sometimes, like he was a prick when he wanted to be…and kind of a pussy.”

With a bit of a start, she nodded and laughed a little. She wasn’t sure why everyone else only said nice things, but it was a bizarre concept that everyone was scared of a dead person. It was probably only her that was scared, but being honest was better. It brought back actual memories of him. In fact, Rémy had been a bit of a prick, and she had never been afraid to tell him that before, but now it was different. She was confused about how she felt about Alastair’s answer.

Alastair was turning around to go back inside. He had not returned the question to MC, but then again, he did not really need her to tell him how she felt about Rémy. He was gone. She flicked the used butt of her cigarette over the balcony and stared out into space, exhaling smoke into the sky. She ignored the chatter that escaped Karen’s apartment when Alastair opened the door to enter. Once it closed, the silence seemed more severe. Her mind wandered to the events of the previous night and took a sharp breath of clean cold air to try and clear her head. The wind messed her hair in return. Rémy was her last, oldest friend. Besides Quinn.

Last night with Quinn had been unexpected and probably a mistake. They were friends, even if she had not acted like it. “I should probably apologize about my shit attitude with him the other day,” she said it out loud to herself to motivate herself to do it. So, she left. She still needed to be comforted. But MC never made it to Quinn’s.

While attempting to exit the party, MC realized that she would have to say goodbye to at least a few of the guests. This was her downfall. MC went up to Karen first since she knew it would take the longest. It did.

“You can’t go!” Karen’s voice bellowed as it went up a full octave as she whined at MC. She had obviously had more than a few beers. “Come on MC, you have to stay longer. You’ll be the first one to leave.”

“I know, I just want to get some air. I don’t really know that many people here so I’d rather go back to mine or stop by Quinn’s.” MC heard the words come out of her mouth as if they were pulled, like a rabbit from a hat. It was strange. She had never been one to give information up unprovoked, especially when it came to her interactions with Quinn. And particularly to Karen.

“Ooh, I see how it is,” Karen responded scornfully even though it could be argued that she did not see how it was. And argued quite successfully at that. She paused as if expecting MC to apologize or try and soothe her now sour mood but MC had no patience for that. Her facial expression betrayed her extreme annoyance at Karen’s response and she stood there for a moment kind of squinting her right eye and raising her left eyebrow. She had never been good at keeping her emotions from creeping onto her face. This had once caused a particularly uncomfortable situation at Quinn’s father’s house when Quinn’s niece told what was in reality a very ridiculous and unnecessarily long story that everyone else had found to be adorable. Rolling one’s eyes at a small child is generally frowned upon. But that had not stopped MC from doing it. She spun around in spot to go say goodbye to the other two people she cared to talk to. However, once she approached Alastair, who was sitting on Karen’s couch in between two drunk bra-less yes-girls, she thought better of saying goodbye and decided to instead just wave. Finch would not let her get away so easily and she knew it so, she gently grabbed his shoulder and kissed him on the cheek before whispering in his ear her plans to leave. He looked puzzled.

“Why would you want to leave? We’ve barely gotten a chance to chat.” His soft smile and warm eyes almost made her reconsider. He leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Why don’t you come back to mine? We can listen to some good records and drink some gin. I know that’s your favorite.” His short dark beard brushed her cheek every time he moved his lips and the warm breath in her ear was oddly enticing, but he pulled away. Not too far. She could smell his warm cloudy scent. It was more floral than she expected. That stuck with her. MC found herself leaning slightly more toward him.

She never made it back to her apartment that night.