"It's meant to get better."
He looked at the empty glass in front of him, studied the bottom, as if it was going to promise him that it would get better.
It didn't. It also didn't refill itself.
He glanced up - of course, he could, at least, rely on his best friend.
Well. One of them. Since the other one had -
That glass was still empty. That could cause a problem.
"She's still gone."
"That isn't going to change."
This paticular best friend may prove to be useless - oh, no, wait, he was hailing the barmaid (pretty, but not the right pretty, not the pretty that was on a bloody plane to that sodding - why wasn't his glass full yet?)
"I miss her." He said it softly, sadly, and suddenly it was like he was really admitting it for the first time, like it was real now.
"That isn't going to change either. Unless."
He studied him expectantly, almost forgetting the lack of beer.
"Were you planning on finishing that sentence?"
"You already know how it ends."
"I can't go. I can't follow her. I can't do that. Can I? I can't. I mean, I might be able to afford it, but I don't really know where she is, I don't know if she's going to want to see me, and I - "
"Stop talking, start drinking."
"Right. You can follow her. You can do that. You may not really know where she is, but you've got enough of an idea. And she might not want to see you, but until you know, you won't be...you. You'll be a pathetic shell of a man. Besides American girls love British accents so you'll be able to forget her easily enough once you get there."
He met his friend's eyes. "I will never forget her."
"You will. Gradually."