An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter 11:
Look at you, needing me
Because much as James and Martha and any other fucker can bleat until they’re blue in the face about how Thomas is refusing to ‘deal with’ the whole situation, the central thing that no one seems able to clarify to him is this:
What does ‘dealing with it’ even mean?
It’s not an unreasonable question, and it’s one that Thomas has had plenty of time to consider recently, amongst all the shit. He’s gradually come to conclusion that when people say ‘deal with it’, specifically in the context of a breakup, they generally mean taking one of two paths: to either stay miserable, languishing in a self-pitying pool of regrets and might-have-beens, reliving every happy moment in the relationship over and over, wondering what went wrong; or to sit up, accept that this person is no longer a part of your life and embrace the future, keeping some semblance of dignity and self-respect intact.
Thomas, ever the trailblazer, chooses neither of these bullshit options.
Instead, he chooses whiskey.