things that aren't appropriate

I had a drink with my roommates last night.
A couple of drinks.
A couple of drinks after i had already had a couple of drinks. It's funny, when you don't see people in a while, you remember why you liked them.
or why you didn't.

I was sitting at the head of the table that the landlord left. It has an antique cover that i'd set my hot coffee on, and it left a white ring. We're trying to figure out how we can hide it. I'm having trouble figuring out exactly what to say, facing both of them again.

I never know how to begin conversations with my ex-husband.
Maybe that was part of the problem.
We didn't just laugh. We didn't just connect. We were good friends. We occupied each other's time, space, void.
We snarled and poked at each other until we bled.
And so we resort to suspicious behavior, snapping, hiding.

There is an air of un-forgetfulness, un-forgiveness.
No guilt, no remorse, only something left behind.

Our roommate decides to walk to the kitchen and pop open another Fat Tire. He asks if we want a chili dog.
I don't want a chili dog, but it breaks through the uncomfortable tension of me questioning my ex-husband about his new "friend."

She's married. I wonder about this girl, this married "friend."
Is she as unhappy as I was? Does she want out?

Why would he choose someone in exactly the same situation as we were in two years ago?
Wanting out, but wanting the security. Wanting the greener grass, but wanting to come back to the food bowl.

Does he wonder what she says to her husband? Does he wonder if her husband is expecting her home for a candlelit bubble bath, and what he is thinking when she doesn't show?
He explains that it's because there's no chance of it working out. Ever. This is the reason he sees her. They talk, they have coffee. They must have something in common.
They must share a passion for something. They must share experiences.

He doesn't ask about my relationship. I've told him that it's none of his business and that I don't want his opinions about it.
We're just not there, yet.

He has another drink and walks to the kitchen to sort out some cast iron skillets.
"These are mine."
I tell him he can't take everything.
"This is mine."
I tell him he can't have it.

He sits down with his chili dog.
I ask about his other girlfriend, the sugar mama that he doesn't want because he doesn't want a serious relationship right now.
I get nowhere with my questions.
And i'm too drunk to argue anymore.

I decide that, when i look at him, I don't like him anymore. It's not because he's being insolent, it's because i really don't like him. I don't know what he's about anymore, and he makes comments, likewise.
"I didn't even know you liked hockey."
I do like hockey.

I look at him and I cannot, for the life of me, remember what we had in common, what we talked about, if we ever really opened up to each other.
This was a good example of our relationship.

We made better roommates than spouses.