As Beans walked me home from the post game pub on Friday night, we chatted about this that and the other. The evening had been surprising on many fronts; I realised that in time I might actually turn into a real rugby fan. And that perhaps Beans and I had a shot at working out after all.
He came over on Saturday to help me put the apartment in order; putting up the mirror and my photo frames and hooks and the likes. I cooked dinner while he hammered and drilled and did things that handy men do.
The dinner was a success (chicken curry, potato tikkis with mint chutney and rice) and was followed by a movie. Then we had no more excuses. We had to talk.
It wasn't an easy talk. Primarily because Beans just didn't seem keen on the idea. But I had somethings that needed to be said and I needed him to hear some hard truths. Like the fact that he had been a first class jerk over the past few weeks. And the fact that in being a first class jerk had taken me to one of the lowest and most vulnerable points of my life.
I don't know what I wanted. An apology perhaps. Or even an acknowledgement. I got neither. Was this going to be the start of a new chapter of our relationship, or simply the beginning of the end?