He baited Timmy, knowing he’d take the bait, and now I’m the one who looks crazy. The insecure girlfriend. The jealous nag. Which only makes me feel even more crazy. Because I know that’s how the guys would all paint it. “Oh, look at Margaux being all jealous. Raising her voice. Screaming. What a crazy bitch.”
And yes, maybe I am a little jealous. But when I tell my partner to please stop saying something because it makes me feel uncomfortable, I expect them to respect that boundary and stop. Not to double down and have their friends encourage them more.
And the worst part? Timmy doesn’t seem to care.
Steve drops us off, thank god. And I think it’s over, but I’m wrong.
Back at Matty’s, I head to the bathroom, needing a moment alone.But the window is open, and I can hear Timmy and Matty’s voices outside on the porch while they have a cigarette.
“So, as I was saying,” Timmy slurs, “that girl showed up at my apartment, and she was so fucking hot?—”
He never talks like this in front of me, but an hour or two with Steve and he’s turned into some disrespectful, pervy piece of shit.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I scream, mid-stream. I finish up as quickly as I can and exit the room, slamming the bathroom door behind me. Fury bubbles over, and before I know it, I’m on the porch, confronting them. “You got home and kept this conversation going? How many times do I have to tell you not to be disrespectful, and to stop with your gross story?”
Timmy sneers at me, his drunken grin twisted and mean. Matty stands off to the side, silent and useless.
“Fuck you!” I scream, slamming the door to the porch, grabbing Sabre and storming out of Matty’s apartment. I need space—away from Timmy, away from his disrespect, away from the toxic dynamic that Steve created, and that Timmy is now perpetuating. We take an Uber back to my apartment.
Later, my phone buzzes with a message from Timmy.
Timmy:
Please come back, Margaux. I love you. I’m sorry. I don’t really know what happened, but I hate it when you’re mad with me.
I sigh, the exhaustion settling deep in my bones.
Me:
Fine. But please think before you speak next time.
Timmy:
Okay. I promise.
When I return to Matty’s, Timmy greets me with wide, apologetic eyes.
“I want to talk about what happened earlier,” I say, my voicesteady but tired. “You were being really disrespectful in the car. And then back at the house.”
He frowns. “No I wasn’t.”
“Yes, you were making pervy comments and I asked you to stop.”
He scrunches up his face, confusion clouding his features as he tries to remember. “What did I say again?”
I remind him of the entire conversation, and to my surprise, he doesn’t argue.
“You’re right,” he says, nodding slowly. “It probably was a really pervy comment. I should’ve listened to you and stopped. I shouldn’t have said it in the first place. I agree with you. And even if I disagreed, I should have acted respectfully enough toward you to stop, and then we could have discussed it in private, after. I’m sorry.”
Relief washes over me. For once, the defensiveness isn’t there. He’s actually listening and taking accountability, coming up with a way to avoid it happening again in the future. “Well, I appreciate you acknowledging that. Thank you.”
He pulls me into his arms, his embrace warm and solid. His gaze meets mine, his eyes soft. He tips my head up and kisses me on the forehead. “I’m really sorry, Margaux. I wouldn’t like it at all if you did that to me. I won’t do it again.”
For a moment, I let myself believe him. I let myself sink into the comfort of his apology. “Thank you for your apology. I’m sorry, too.” I hug him back.
It feels like we’re making some progress on having adult conversations about difficult things. I felt heard and seen in this situation. In the big scheme of things, it’s not a big deal, anyway. I was just being a bit jealous, because he was being a bit pervy and disrespectful. We were both at fault. Everything’s going to be fine.
“I love you, Margaux,” he says, kissing me.