On loneliness

things that suck about moving to a different country: part two

A couple weekends ago I drank too much. The weekend before that, I drank way too much.

That first time, our friend G had a couple pals visiting from a nearby seaside town. Lynette and I met up with them around 2 in the afternoon. I really liked G’s pals, P and D, who have been together for the past four years. They both have daughters in their early twenties from previous marriages, and they’re both gregarious, good-natured, alternative in their lifestyles and values. We got along great.

Toward the end of the night, to half our party’s dismay, we stopped in a shitty overpriced cocktail bar and paid too much for substandard drinks instead of making a beeline from the few other good pubs in town to our local, the best of the best, for a nightcap. All of us were properly tipsy or full-on drunk by this point. Tucked into our booth under an unnecessarily ostentatious chandelier, I asked D whether or not I should have children, and she answered firmly and immediately: “No, no, definitely not.” She said she regretted having one herself.