Coffee Shop Breakup: When Friendships Reach Their Expiration Date

“I‘m going to talk to her, I suggest you do the same.’” was the advice I gave to Sarah. “Regardless of whether you want to save the relationship or not,’ I said, ‘the silent treatment is just mean and immature.”

I met Tabitha through a friend of a friend. She was bubbly, talkative, honest, and boy crazy. She was also demanding in her friendships, catastrophized everything, always showed up late, was unreliable yet accepted nothing short of perfection from the people around her, and blamed her poor behavior on her insecurities.

Everyone in Tabitha’s life seemed to deal with these faults by talking about her behind her back and being nice to her face. Some people got into huge fights with her, only to laugh out loud with her a few weeks later. One summer her poor friendship habits got out of hand, and people stopped calling her back. Our mutual friend Alexis was so flustered that she went so far as to drunkenly try to convince a bunch of other friends to kick Tabitha out of the friend group. Thankfully Kyle acted out of character that evening, and squelched what would have been a disastrous grade school response, and encouraged people to simply talk to her - one of the few things we ever agreed on.

Word got back to me about all the drama in the straight friend group when I returned from my honey moon. When friends in the group, like Sarah, asked me what I thought should be done, I gave the same advice Kyle gave. Talk to her, “and maybe..’ I would add, “…set some boundaries.” I had already set some with Tabitha weeks prior in an attempt to try to make things work.

Sort of. It wasn’t the first time I had to have a talk with her. Once again I set boundaries around what topics were acceptable to talk about, then met up for lunch once or twice, and went to the movies. But I was simply going through the motions, I wasn’t invested, and the friendship had already ended in my mind. I had already tried so many times and nothing ever changed. I knew I had to have “the talk”, but life happened and issues far more pressing than a spoiled thirty something required my attention. I was recently married, my spouse was recovering from a horrible injury, I was coming off a friend breakup with a very toxic person, started therapy again upon realizing that I would be fostering one of my siblings, and my work environment was less than healthy. Needless to say, my patience was nil for those who refused to hold themselves accountable.

I put it off for about two weeks until we got into a fight over text one day and she called me out. “I don’t think you’re giving me a chance here.” I didn’t argue with her. She was right, I wasn’t. We agreed to meet up in a coffee shop later that week. I don’t think she expected the break up, but I can’t blame her. Her actions never had any consequences before, why would there be any now?

We sat down with our iced coffees and she stumbled through a half assed rant that a five year old could see was a blatant non-apology. She sipped her coffee with confidence and pride while I took a beat before responding. “We don’t make good friends Tabitha. You want to date your friends, which is fine but…you don’t give back what you take.”

Her mouth dropped open with comical speed, and was so ajar I imagined a bird might make a nest with room for a healthy and large brood. Was this really the first time someone had told her that her behavior was unacceptable? That its not ok to call people five times a week at four in the morning crying because some guy they don’t know, didn’t message them back on a dating app? That’s its unacceptable to tell your queer friend “I’d never go down on a woman, that’s so gross.”? Did no one inform her that being hungover and drunk are not reasonable excuses for saying and doing shitty things?

“I don’t understand. What do you expect me to do here? I apologized and I’m trying to be a better friend.” A group of 14 year olds had less attitude than her, and in that moment I wished I was dealing with hormonal teenagers instead of a narcissistic brat.

“Tabitha,’ I sighed with a tiredness I could feel in my bones, “you haven’t been “friends” with me, and I don’t think you’re sorry. I think you’re embarrassed, and afraid of retaliation from everyone else, but I don’t think you’re sorry. Sorry is changed behavior, not just words — words which you clearly didn’t put any care into when you came here today considering you walked in babbling about being hungover.”

I wasn’t gloating, I didn’t have the energy to. None of this was enjoyable, and I didn’t take pleasure in seeing this stunned woman sitting across from me, attempting to process in real time what she had done wrong. The fact that she still didn’t know was enough justification for the distance I was placing between us.

“Look,’, I continued as I turned in my seat to grab my bag off the back of the chair, “you just sat down and word vomitted for the last fifteen minutes, and no where in there was an apology. If other people accepted that as one, that’s their business, not mine. I don’t wish you ill will, and I‘m not trying to be mean to you, but I also don’t need or want your tears. Some people don’t work together as couples, they break up, the friend group deals with a bit of awkwardness, and everyone survives. Friendships are similar. Sometimes people don’t work as friends. We don’t work as friends.”

She got angry as I shifted the bag onto my shoulders, “This is different Monica! You can’t break up with a friend and then see each other afterwards, thats going to be super awkward!” she exclaimed, flustered.

“Then it will be awkward. You’ll get over it, or you won’t.” It was honest; blunt, but honest. “I’ll always be polite to you. I’m not going to bad mouth you because I’m not an asshole. I genuinely hope you can heal the other friendships you have, and I really hope you give those people better apologies than you gave me, because you really hurt them. But you don’t get access to me anymore. You lost that.” I stood up to motion that the conversation, like our relationship, had come to an end. “I’ll say hi to you at parties, I’ll ask you how you’re doing, but you don’t get to call me when things are rough. You don’t get to cry to me about dates. You don’t get to ask me invasive questions about my relationship, or my body, or my sexuality. If that’s awkward for you, then I guess it’ll be awkward…’, I replied, quietly pushing my chair in, “…for you.”

She shouted, “So thats it?! We’re just NOT friends, after everything we’ve been through?” Everyone in the cafe turned around to look at us, her face was red as a summer rose, steaming with anger.

“If you expect me to be friends with you after everything you’ve done, then you’ve got a longer road ahead of you than you realize. Take care.” I turned away and stepped out of the coffee shop into the sounds of autumn in Brooklyn, the crisp air a refreshing change of pace from the stifling company I was leaving behind.

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