Kate Catinella

It’s 11am and I’m scrubbing the floor. 

I’m pulling at the threads of a memory I have from last night’s Sidesgiving party, which are entirely warped from too many Stateside orange seltzers: 

It starts with —
Midnight karaoke in my living room: That definitely happened; it was definitely fun.
 

Then it goes —

Transition from the classics (Britney, Celine, etc.) to pop punk hits of the early aughts (Dashboard, Saves the Day, etc.): That definitely happened; it was definitely fun.

Followed by —
Taking charge of the mic for Screaming Infidelities while everyone sang along with so much heart: That definitely happened; it was definitely fun.

Then, crucially — 

Right at the part where Chris Carrabba wails Your hair is everywhere with so much emotion that it triggers nostalgia for an age when falling in love seemed like it would never happen (and if it did, it’d surely kill you), the song stopped playing. Something happened to the YouTube stream. Still, everyone in the room belted the line a capella: I think that’s how it happened? And if so, definitely fun.

And finally — 

Did it feel as magical to everyone else as it did to me?

I realize that's the part even perfect memory can't serve: I can’t ever really know how anyone else feels. 

So now, as I wipe welcome footprints off the face of my floor, I’ve got Screaming Infidelities looping in my brain. I decide to put on the song’s Spotify radio station and sing along to whatever the algorithm throws my way. 

I’m finding a weird, almost puritanical sense of calm in the whole thing. It’s meditative to tend to my house in this way, to be reminded of the evening and to feel earnest gratitude for the friends in my life with every swipe of the cloth.

It’s 1:30pm and I’m on the couch petting Alfie. I’m texting my boyfriend of two months about the plans we made for 2pm. I still haven’t had coffee or food, and I’m getting antsy to leave the house. 

At 4pm I’m at Liberty Kitchen picking up two egg and cheese sandwiches and two coffees. At 4:10pm, I remark This is exactly what I need right now, as I unwrap the sandwich on my boyfriend’s couch. I’m excited to tell him about this project, and laugh when I realize My Day consists of cleaning the floor and watching TV. 

I’m still eating as he lies down next to me, feet grazing my legs. Things feel a little off between us; we’d had an awful talk between 1–4:30am. At 4:30pm, I learned that said talk did not, in fact, end in resolution. We did, in fact, break up. 

At 4:35pm,
I say: Then why did you agree to hang out with me today? 

My ex-boyfriend says: I like having a weird time. 

I say: Then why am I here? I wouldn’t have come here if I knew! 

My ex-boyfriend says: We made this plan as we were breaking up, I thought you knew! We said we’d be friends! 

I say: Then why are your feet touching me? 

Between 4:45pm and 10:20pm, we lie on the couch as he graciously fills me in on the details of our conversation, and we try to reach the heart of why our relationship could — therefore would — never work. In spite of having a bad time, we have a good time. The very foundation on which we had set the promise of a relationship. We agree that we would probably work well as friends. We say we’ll give it a try. We make a plan to go see the Liberty Bell, and I decide not to worry if it’ll come to pass. I decide to just ride the wave of whatever comes next. 

By 10:35pm I feel the effects of two nights without sleep; I am sleep drunk, and afraid to drive. I ask if I could crash on his couch. He says yes, like any friend would. 

I know that in the morning I’ll return home unsettled but alive. And I’ll have a clean house in which to invite everything I've yet to know.

Kate Catinella lives in South Philadelphia, where she co-founded the project Free Dating Advice (@freedatingadvicephilly). She is almost never online (@katekittenella).