As we walked around the beer fest at the end of our first night of pouring, my friend nudged me and nodded in the direction of a guy staring our direction. It was the ex. The one I met volunteering the first year.
He appeared a little too happy to see me. Reached in for a hug, which caught me off-gaurd. The last few years I've endured our yearly run-ins across a table. Either his when checking in, or mine when pouring.
As he always does, he asked me how I am, completely disregarded the answer, then launched into a telling of his life.
Was he always this selfish? I'm not certain, but I suspect that the answer is yes.
I suspect he hid that when we first started dating. I suspect I grew to ignore it. But I now have no tolerance for it.
I tried to keep the conversation short. Insisting we needed to get back to where we were pouring. He asked where that was, I vaguely indicated near the entrance.
For the first time I really didn't care to talk to him. Unlike when he called this past summer and part of me wanted to know why. I now didn't care at all.
As he reached in for another hug goodbye, there was a vibration. That of my cell in my pocket with a text from the boy who was meeting us out afterward.
That made me smile. A big cheschire cat grin.