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A: This isn’t my fault.
J: You did NOT just say those words to me….
A: It isn’t. I know it looks like it is. Feels like it is, maybe….
J: No, actually. It IS your fucking fault. Whose else would it be?
A: But it’s not like that. I just need you to understand me on that one.
J: We had a date! There was a time commitment made!
A: I know….
J: I was ready. You KNOW I was ready, but where were you? And it’s not your fault….
A: It isn’t my fault.
J: Yes, actually it is. Oh…fuck, you know, I’m done with you.
A: That’s not possible.
J: No, it is. Leave me alone.
A: I can’t do that.
J: You sure can! Just try! Repeat the weekend over and fucking over again until you’re dead.
A: Jesus. I had no idea you were capable of shit like this.
J: Fuck you.
A: I know you’re angry. I’m a little angry, too, to be honest.
A: Julia, come on. It’s been a fucked up month.
J: January is a new month. Fuck off.
A: I just need a little more time maybe. Just a little.
J: Match.com. How long last night?
A: Uh, only, like…
J: At least an hour.
J: Yes. Fuck off.
A: Is this about Marianne?
A: Is this about Marianne?
J: Don’t you dare say her name…
A: So it is!
J: No. Shut. Up.
A: I can have her come over next, if you want to skip the thing with Kate. We can push that off for a little while, if you want.
J: Shut up. It’s not that. It’s YOU.
A: Okay. There needs to be some slack here, some slack cut….
J: How long have I been with you?
J: How long has it been, you know, since I’ve been around?
A: I don’t know. A couple of years, maybe?
J: Are you including my life as “Maggie”?
A: No. You and Maggie are different.
J: Okay, so what’s your problem?
A: How about a fucking divorce? How about a fucking huge life-changing event that seems to be fucking with not only my writing, but my sleeping and eating, too?
J: Don’t talk to me about that.
A: What do you want….
J: Oh, wait—actually, DO talk to me about that. You know, you’re not the only one who’s been through this situation. You designed that scene for me, remember, before you even saw your own version coming right at you.
A: I don’t know what to do.
J: What’s so hard? How about a little time spent? How about working things out with me first because—hey—you never know what you might learn about your-fucking-self?
J: Are you listening?
A: What? Say what you just said again.
J: Since I’ve already been through what you’ve been through—see?—maybe you should talk to me about it.
A: Uh, oh-kay…
J: I’m serious.
J: Why not?
A: There are, like, a thousand reasons why that could fail, but there’s….
J: Fuck you, then. Leave me alone.
A: You are by far the moodiest side of me. Like, EVER.
A: I don’t know what to say.
A: Do you not know what to say?
J: Same thing—fuck you.
A: Do you want to talk about something else?
A: Do you want to talk about Kate?
A: Marianne? Do you want to talk about anything?
J: Stop talking about Marianne.
A: You really like her the best, don’t you!
J: Fuck off.
A: Tell me!
A: You don’t like Kate as much as you want to because, although she’s right for you in countless other ways, she’s doing what Amber did to you, but with—and to—Chris.
A: So, it’s Marianne then?
J: Shut up.
A: You have to talk some time.
A: Yeah, like it or not, you’re going to talk tonight.