An Open Letter To My Best Friend Who Did That Thing Of Ditching Me For A New Boyfriend

I guess it’s just learning to accept that this is the start of a new era. I know that we’ll be close again, just maybe in a different way.

RORY-DCS

by Clare Considine |
Published on

It’s not that you’re being shit, shit. It just feels like something’s changed. Take last night. Back in the day an after-work glass of wine would’ve turned into three and would’ve ended with us getting into some kind of trouble at a Rihanna tribute night in a shitty pub miles away from either of our houses. I’d have stayed over and we’d have eaten a vat of pasta and cheese straight from the pan and then both piled into your tiny bed.

Today we’d be at work, on messenger, chatting about how ridiculous last night was, how today’s a McDonald's day and how we think we actually might die.

But now you have a boyfriend, and I am really happy for you - he’s great. It’s just that, since you met him, our nights out together play out very differently. I meet you and you’re in twitchy meerkat mode. You’re racing through topics like you have a checklist and your eyes keep flicking down to your phone. You’re clearly distracted because he’s out with his mates and you feel like you’re missing out. I know you’re just biding your time until the right moment to suggest hooking up with them.

Even though the mood is strained I decide to try telling you about the shit that I’ve got going on at work. OK, so maybe it’s not a massive deal that I got all red and flustered in a big meeting, but it really has been stressing me out. And you're always the person who gets stuff like that.

But as I start talking about it I realise pretty quickly that you’re just trying to style the conversation out. You don’t have a clue what I’m talking about but you’re trying to pretend that you do. It’s just gutting. We all do that sometimes, but I hate the fact that you’re doing it with me. Maybe it’s not your fault. Perhaps I never told you I had a big meeting, but two months ago, you’d have known everything about my boring work dilemma, and now you don’t have a clue what I’m talking about.

In fact, you’d have known about everything that was happening in my life, from my weird embarrassing encounter with the boy in the corner shop to how much I’m obsessing over the new series of GoggleBox. But now I feel strangely stupid talking to you about those things. And I know so much less about you, because when something silly or funny happens in your life, I'm no longer the first persona you call.

Your time now is suddenly so precious. Just hooking up used to be easy. We’d do stuff on a whim. I’d take it for granted that Thursday nights were about going out in hunt of free drinks and Saturday mornings we’d be hungover together, sitting on the couch and laughing at the omelette challenge on Saturday Kitchen. Now when I ask you to do stuff I can feel you holding back. You don’t say no, but you’re clearly waiting to find out what he’s up to before committing.

Then, when we go out with all the girls, I notice how much you buzz about chatting about relationship with people who have boyfriends. You have a whole new set of mini life issues that I can’t relate to. I don’t think loved-up people realise how uninteresting their boyfriend’s sleep patterns or spot-on Alan Carr impressions actually are. You guys are stressing about living arrangements and meeting potential in-laws, while I’m still on ‘hilarious’ first date anecdotes. We're out of sync.

Every time I see your smitten little face when he turns up somewhere I feel stupid for being all jealous. But then I also somehow get this pang – when he picked you up from the pub last night after two measly drinks it’s like you sprung into life. He always seems to get you at your sparkly best. He makes you laugh so much. I can’t even be miffed – I’m sure that if I met someone I really liked I’d be exactly the same. I guess it’s just learning to accept that this is the start of a new era. I know that we’ll be close again, just maybe in a different way.

I can handle less big nights out and the odd unanswered text. But I have just one request – the next time that something really silly happens, promise to make me the first person you call.

Follow Clare on twitter @ClareBConsidine

Photograph: Rory DCS

This article originally appeared on The Debrief.

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