Charles kept trying to give me money back for my lost deposit on the tux, but I kept waving him off in some odd ritual of affection. It was the only thing I could think to offer, some small monetary consolation. Words weren’t doing much good. After we killed the whiskey, we took to the streets to walk my dog Mudboy. I saw the light on at Gina’s. She and I had slept together the previous year, and we were part of the same weird circle of friends who had, it seemed, all slept with each other at some point and gotten it over with, though sometimes paired up again in one random configuration or another.

“Larry — hey what’s up?” Gina said. Nobody at school knew a guy named L.C. She yanked her door open like she herself was making a grand entrance.

“My friend Charles,” I gestured to him, “up from Detroit. We’re partying.”

“I see you brought another friend,” Gina said. “Oh, Mudboy, how you doing, you big baby.”

Kim loved snow, and if she were there, we’d have been out rolling around in it and laughing. I was already ashamed in advance of where I knew the night would take us.

She bent down to pet Mudboy, a black lab with a bit too much spirit. A dog I had gotten maybe because “chicks dig dogs” or because my girlfriend from freshman year, Cathy with a C, had moved in across the street from me with Michael, the wimpy little painter with the curly hair who just understood everything in ways I was apparently incapable of.

“You’re looking kind of wasted.” Gina grabbed me around the waist and pulled me into her apartment, Charles staggering in behind us. I dropped Mudboy’s leash, and he started roaming around, whacking everything with his big tail and snorfling a pile of Gina’s clothes in the corner.

“Chill out, Mudboy,” I said. I kicked the snow off my boots and then fell back into the pile of clothes. It had started to snow as soon as Charles arrived, and it was still coming down hard. Kim loved snow, and if she were there, we’d have been out rolling around in it and laughing. I was already ashamed in advance of where I knew the night would take us.

“Have a seat, Charles,” we both said at the same time, though there were no seats, and I’d already claimed the clothes pile. Charles had drunk his way up the interstate, so he’d had a head start that was catching up with him.

“And what’s new in Detroit?” Gina asked.

Charles tried to speak. It sounded like “Bleaay, bleeah, yeck.” Then he broke into tears, his head sinking down into his thick neck as he tilted over onto the ratty green rug.

“His financier dumped him right before the wedding.” I said, rolling my eyes for only Gina to see because at college, marriage was frowned upon as some ridiculous set-up that had produced our dull parents. She let the financier/fiancée thing slide. It wasn’t a term we threw around much.

“Bummer,” she said. “What’s a young stud like you wanting to get married for anyway? Aren’t you in college somewhere?”