Chapter 7: Barbecue Bars and Peanut Wisdom

One night, my girlfriend came home late from a real company dinner. She even FaceTimed me to prove it.

I messaged the guy on Facebook (he’d asked for my number, but I never gave it—always contacted him through Messenger).

I casually asked about investment-type insurance, if it was worth it. He sent a long-winded reply, analyzing pros and cons. I didn’t read a word.

After about ten minutes, I messaged him again.

I said, "Even though I’m married, I still can’t let go of you. After we met again, those old feelings came back. Maybe life is just too bland now, the thrill is tempting, but I don’t want to betray my wife."

He replied with a question mark. I immediately deleted the message, then sent a voice note.

"Dude, sorry, wrong person."

He said it was fine, he didn’t even look at it closely.

I called him on Messenger, asked if he was free to grab some barbecue, said I wasn’t in a good mood and wanted to talk.

He agreed right away. "Man, no problem."

The reason I dared meet him was because, judging from their chat history, he really didn’t know my girlfriend had a boyfriend. She told him she’d broken up with her short-term boyfriend after New Year’s.

Eating my food, living at my place, spending my money on beauty treatments, driving my car to party with her girlfriends, but acting single in front of her old flame.

Impressive.

We met at a hole-in-the-wall sports bar, the kind with sticky floors and faded Bud Light posters. I drove to pick him up. First thing he said when he got in: "Man, I’ve never seen you post this car on your Facebook."

I just smiled and didn’t answer.

That’s the vibe I wanted—someone who doesn’t care about material things.

He kept chatting, saying, "You rich people are all like this, switching between cars. Must be nice."

Maybe because I invited him out, he felt flattered and did most of the talking. I just played along.

Outside, the streetlights flickered as we cruised past strip malls and boarded-up diners, the kind of places you only notice when you’re driving slow. He talked on and on, while I kept my jaw tight and nodded at all the right places. The smell of barbecue sauce clung to my clothes, sharp and sweet, making my stomach churn.

While drinking, I deliberately acted depressed, explaining the message I sent earlier was meant for my ex.

Then I asked, "Man, what do you think I should do? I really can’t let go."

He chuckled, "Buddy, I get it. It’s normal for guys. But you have a wife and kids now, just make sure your wife doesn’t find out."

I asked, "Be honest, if you were me, what would you do?"

He’d had five or six beers by then, probably a little tipsy, and finally spilled everything.

He said, "Dude, to be honest, I’ve been in the same boat."

Then he started pouring it all out.

He said he was engaged, but at the class reunion he saw the class beauty—now even more gorgeous, totally irresistible. After the reunion, they went to a hotel nearby.

Hearing this, I was disgusted, but kept a straight face and let him talk.

He said he felt guilty towards his fiancée, but the class beauty wouldn’t let go, kept asking him out. In the end, he had to lie to his fiancée about a business trip and went out of town with the class beauty for two days. Now she’s obsessed, keeps asking him to break up with his fiancée, but he doesn’t really want to.

I said, "Then why not seriously consider being with the class beauty?"

He said, "Man, the thrill is tempting, but it’s like this bowl of peanuts—good for snacking, but you can’t live on peanuts instead of steak."

Yeah, peanuts are fine for snacking, but you don’t steal them off someone else’s plate.

A hollow laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it. If only he knew who he was talking to. The irony stung, more bitter than the warm beer in my hand. The bar TVs flickered with baseball highlights, but I couldn’t focus on anything but the swirl of his words.