Dear Marshall,

Happy Holidays! Wishing you much health and happiness in the New Year!

We hope you received our holiday card from London in time. Who’s cuter than Mr. Oodles, our favorite tuxedo cat, dressed up like Tiny Tim in his Christmas finery? We love our little guy and we know you do too! You two became fast friends while you were visiting us.

Sophie and I are a mite perplexed that you never answered the email we sent weeks ago, after we took such great care to extend the olive branch to you. So as they say, we’re going to give it another go round.

As mentioned in the last email, Sophie and I have discussed the events that transpired during your visit every day since your abrupt departure. After writing and editing several more drafts, please accept this second email as yet another sincere apology. Of course, Sophie has been CC’ed here for transparency.

To wit, I apologize again that you found us to be horrible friends (your words) during your trip from across the pond. Sophie and I (well, mostly me, since Sophie’s migraines were flaring up) spent hours researching the most enjoyable and sincere ways to show you our adopted city, including the additional jaunt to Paris. We hope that despite your clearly hurt feelings, you can see we were trying to show you a great time. Again, we appreciate the not insubstantial amount of money you spent on airfare and Chunnel train tickets, and your generosity in buying us groceries, coffees, croissants, and the occasional pint. When Sophie said to you on the phone in advance of your arrival, “Of course we won’t take any money for staying with us, silly boy,” she absolutely meant it, even though she and I had not discussed those particulars at that point. But that has nothing to do with you—Sophie and I now agree that if there was to be an expectation of payment for lodging that we should have discussed it with you before you flew out. That was our bad, and to be fair, Sophie hadn’t been let go from her job at that point. Perhaps you can show us a bit of grace since money got substantially tighter with her being on the dole. Perhaps it led to a heightened state of anxiety on our end, which, again, has nothing to you with you. Sophie and I again apologize for our (in retrospect) rather awkward request towards the end of your visit for three hundred dollars USD, which, frankly, is half the amount we could get were we to rent out our spare room for a week on Airbnb.

Sophie would like me to personally apologize for the times I may have seemed less than friendly. Sophie and I have lived as expats for so long now that we aren’t used to certain American mannerisms anymore. For example, when we were out at the pub and you said, “Fuck yeah, I need another Newkie Brown ale!” slamming your hand down on the bar so hard that the older gentleman sitting next to you jumped, the look on my face may have come across as cringey. Or when you asked the bartender, “What do I owe you for, governor?” in a Cockney accent, I may have reacted similarly. This one is not your fault; it’s a form of classism to mock accents here in the UK, but how were you to know that? In retrospect, Sophie and I should have used that instance as a teachable moment.

And then, when you chose to wear a beret the entire weekend in Paris, perhaps I found it a bit too on the nose and maybe that showed up unconsciously in my manner. And when you broke into your Marcel Marceau mime bit for the hundredth time, I may have rolled my eyes. But we’re all adults—you can choose what you want to wear and how you want to act in a foreign country, despite how silly it might come off. Sophie and I want you to do you!

Sophie and I are loath to dredge up the “incident” in Paris, but we feel strongly I should explain my POV again, in case you didn’t fully understand. I lent you my Keep Calm and Carry On sweatshirt with the understanding that it might get dirty from all our travel. That night when you returned from the gay bar in the Marais wearing it, I apologize for immediately tossing it in the bin. It was not to suggest that you were wearing it whilst having sex with anyone, or that it was somehow infected with gay sex germs or that I have any homophobic bias. My head simply went to the fact that we wouldn’t be near a laundry for another few days, and that it was too filthy to wear home. I didn’t mean anything by it.

I apologize again that when we went to karaoke back in Chelsea with everyone that I barely made eye contact with you. I apologize again that I paid for everyone’s drinks that night except for yours. That was childish behavior. Sophie and I have had many heartfelt discussions over this, and I now see the error of my ways.

Look, Marshall, you and Sophie have been friends for years, and I should have taken that friendship into more consideration instead of becoming so reactive. Sophie also now understands how I was triggered by the old “in jokes” between the two of you; how they made me feel like the odd bloke out. She understands now how your closeness seemed to isolate her from me, her partner of over a decade. But to suggest, as you did on the last evening before you stormed out, that I’m somehow jealous of your relationship with Sophie is barking up the wrong tree. I completely accept Sophie’s friends as my own. Sophie insists the two of you never had a romantic relationship, and I believe her. I know you’ve been out and proud for a long time, and that you haven’t dated women in years, not that it would be a problem if you had. What you do in or out of yours or anyone else’s Keep Calm and Carry On sweatshirt is up to you.

All of this is to say, we are again very sorry for our part in the disagreement. I sincerely hope we can bury the hatchet and move towards a more authentic friendship between the three of us. Please know the door is open and Sophie and I are anxious for your response.

Your friends,

Sophie and Jack

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Marshall,

This might seem odd since Sophie and I still haven’t heard from you, but Sophie is out running errands, so I thought I’d drop you a quick email before she gets back. NOTE: I never, ever do this, but I will NOT be telling her about this communication—it’s just between you and me.

PLEASE do me a solid and respond to our emails. Sophie feels just awful about the entire situation. Clearly, she values your friendship very much. Even a ONE WORD answer would be something for her to cling to, even if you have simply decided not to respond out of spite. Thanks in advance, bro.

Your friend,

Jack

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MARSHALL,

I’m emailing YOU ONLY again because your silence and Sophie’s anguish over it are making the situation at home untenable. Thus, I have no other choice than to discuss what happened between the two of us whilst you were here, even though I swore to myself I’d let it go. I’ve spent many hours trying to psychoanalyze why I kissed you while Sophie was taking a bath on your last evening here.

FIRST of all, I did NOT mean anything sexual by it. It was literally a spur of the moment decision, and in retrospect, a rash one. I can only describe it this way: it’s like when one is exiting the motorway and notices there is a Lexus dealership at the bottom of the exit ramp. In a split second, one decides, for no good reason, to pull in. One tells oneself that one desperately needs a new Lexus EV, even though one doesn’t have a garage and will have few options to ever charge the battery, except for on the road, which is totally inconvenient. This is the best metaphor I can come up with.

This is not an attempt to explain what I did—see the above metaphor. It is about this—you MUSN’T ever tell Sophie about it. I mean EVER. She will be completely destroyed if she ever knew that it happened. Sophie and I have had struggles in our relationship through the years—find me someone who hasn’t? But she is very FRAGILE and prone to SELF-HARM when she feels her security is being threatened, and this information would be a bombshell. This is NOT because I’m a man and that I kissed a man—she recently bought a book entitled What Non-Binary Means—but that I kissed someone who isn’t her. Sophie is very DEPENDENT on me, in case you couldn’t tell, which, BTW, anyone with half a brain could tell that. And now that Sophie is out of work, there’s no telling to what dark places she might go if you were to divulge our actions.

I don’t know if I made it clear at the time, but I was NOT interested in having SEX with you. If I touched your penis through your jeans in the heat of passion, it was purely by accident.

I sincerely hope that this gives you the push to finally respond to Sophie’s and my emails. I wouldn’t reach out behind Sophie’s back if it wasn’t important, so you better believe it is.

Jack

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Marshall,

I CANNOT. I MEAN I JUST CANNOT. YOU WILL BE EXTREMELY SORRY FOR WHAT YOU’VE DONE.

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Dear Marshall,

I apologize for the apparently threatening tone of my last email. I was very angry that you told Sophie about our encounter, and emotions got the best of me. Sophie is of course very hurt by the information, although she is handling it better than I thought she would. She’s oddly comforted that I kissed you as opposed to some random person. However, thanks to you, I remain extremely concerned about Sophie’s and my future.

You did not need to include as part of your texted screed to both of us how “fucked in the head” I am, and your insistence that I would receive a diagnosis of borderline personality disorder from a trained professional if I were ever to be tested in a clinical setting.

I don’t think you really believe those things. Sophie, however, DOES seem to believe them. As per your text, she’s also starting to believe that I’ve taken “co-dependence to a new level.” She hasn’t said anything, but believe me, I can tell from the way she looks at me when I ask her if the jumper I’ve chosen to wear to work matches my trousers. I can tell from the way she’s stopped joining our friend group for Thursday trivia at our local pub. Sophie and I used to be inseparable, and now, well…you’ve poisoned that well. I hope you’re satisfied.

On another note, I don’t understand why you have an opinion on how I occasionally suggest Sophie change her outfit because it’s too “naughty” for something like a trip to the Tesco. Sophie is very insecure about how she looks and uses me as a social barometer, not the other way around. Maybe that is the “controlling behavior” you’re on about. Perhaps, since you’re such close friends, you can ask Sophie why she and I haven’t had sex in almost three years! Perhaps you can shed light on why she no longer kisses me on the lips, since you seem to know so much about Sophie’s and my “enmeshment.” Does that sound like enmeshment to you?

And finally, to text that I’ve “affected an accent that sounds ten times worse than Madonna’s fake British accent” is just plain mean.

Butt out of Sophie’s and my business.

Jack

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Dude,

I received a call today from someone claiming to be from Interpol asking about my visa. Does this have something to do with you??? Do you REALLY want my visa revoked? Is that your endgame? To ruin my life?

Sophie has been staying in the guest room for the last 48 hours and refuses to speak to me. This leaves me alone to work, take care of Mr. Oodles, grocery shop, clean, and do everything else, now while waiting for the other shoe to drop with my visa. You really are an asshole, Marshall. I’ve always thought that, if you must know. I don’t care how good a kisser you are; you’re still an asshole.

Jack

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Marshall,

I’m DM’ing you on Facebook because you were not on the list of people who received this text from Sophie and me today. I’m copying and pasting it here:

Dear Mates,

Sophie and I have decided to break up. We’ve talked about it in therapy, and we decided it was in our best interest. Our therapist assures us that neither of us is at fault, that people change, and that, sometimes, parting is the best path forward. We understand this may come as a shock to you, given how close Sophie and I have been for so long, how many of you said over and again just how perfect Sophie and I were for each other, and how some of you even expressed jealousy that we had figured out the secret to a “perfect relationship.”

You’re receiving this note because we both want to maintain our friendships with you, separately. We understand it may be awkward and inconvenient at first, trying to navigate this new normal. Sophie and I will do everything in our power to make this transition as seamless as possible. I’m moving into my own flat as of the end of the month. We’ll share custody of Mr. Oodles, as well as some of our larger houseplants. Agreements have already been drawn up and signed.

Please feel free to reach out if you have any questions or concerns. Maintaining your friendship is of utmost importance to us.

Best,

Sophie and Jack

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Hey Marshall,

Wow! It’s been a long time. I hope this email finds you well and that you’re still monitoring this Gmail account. I wanted to let you know that I’ll be moving back to the States in a few weeks. Yeah, work kind of dried up here, and my visa arrangement started to get a bit dicey—haha, but you probably know about all that!

With Sophie and I breaking up, most of our friends seemed to gravitate towards her for some reason. I’m not exactly sure why, as I was the one who always made the effort to get everyone together. I went to trivia night the first week after I moved out and NO ONE showed up at the pub except for me. It’s gone on that way for months. VERY DISAPPOINTING. Even Mr. Oodles seemed upset to have to stay with me in my flat every other week. He would lie listlessly on the couch, seemingly biding his time before I’d jam him in the carrier to return him to his home—our old place. After a month I couldn’t bear it and told Sophie that he could stay with her permanently. I do miss my little friend.

It was difficult to find the energy to water the plants, so I told Sophie that she should have them. She showed up at my place to pick them up with an SUV piloted by a silver fox type named Nicholas, wearing of all things, a “Keep Calm And Carry On” sweatshirt. Sophie was dressed demurely, in a black cashmere sweater and a pair of denim culottes, and it struck me that, for once, she was dressed appropriately for the occasion. They seemed quite keen with each other.

I tell you all this Marshall…well, I’m not quite sure why. You’re one of my few connections to the U.S., and I suppose I’m a bit nervous to return. I know you and I haven’t been on the best of terms, and I guess that’s mostly my fault. I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching, and I’m finding that I’ve made a lot of mistakes, generally. Who hasn’t? I’ve begun to realize that Sophie and I had been growing apart for quite some time, and your visit coincided with both Sophie and I, separately, coming to that conclusion. I’m very sorry you ended up in the crosshairs. Call it collateral damage.

I’ve tried to put myself in your shoes, and when I see myself through what I think are your eyes, I indeed have come across as a total tool. But Marshall, I’m really a decent person. I’ve always tried my best, even when it wasn’t well received. As I write this, I don’t know why I’m seeking your forgiveness. You’re not a priest. You’re not god. What’s it like, Marshall, to not give a damn about what anyone thinks? How I wish I could be more like you. Unyielding. Taut. Tensed and ready to spring at any moment, like a hawk circling his prey. Have some mercy Marshall, please. I’m begging you. Don’t leave me, along with everyone else.

Anyway, I’ll be on my way soon—a grand adventure awaits! I’d love to see you if I make my way to Chicago at some point. Who knows, maybe there’s a place for me in the Windy City. Let’s grab a beer and a hot dog sometime. That’s what people do in Chicago, right? You’re a real beer-drinking, hot-dog-eating kind of a guy, aren’t you, Marshall? I bet you are. I’d bet my life on it.

Your friend,

Jack