Page 106 of Both Sides Now

CALLISTA

“One hell of a party,” the man behind the liquor store counter comments, ringing up my four bottles of alcohol.

That’s right. Count them—four bottles.

And not a party in sight.

My only plan for the evening? Drowning my sorrows until I forget that I loved either Charlie or Keegan.

Four bottles aren’t nearly enough.

I slog the bags from my car and deposit them on the kitchen counter with a flourish. I crack open the whiskey and pour myself a glass. Not a finger. Not two fingers. An entire damn glass.

I clutch the tumbler in a death grip, my body both craving and dreading the first sip of the amber liquid. I’m not a big drinker—a glass here or there to celebrate or relax—but I’ve never considered the bottle a form of therapy.

Until now.

I flip on some mournful blues music, and after half a glass and two songs, the numbness creeps in.

Damn, but it’s lovely. My entire world has crashed down around me, but with whiskey on board, I’ll just stand back and watch it fall.

A knock on the door jolts me from my stupor. Given my recent run of luck, it’s probably the last of the traveling salesmen, holding a bottle of snake oil with my name on it.

I yank open the door, as my heart drops to my stomach.

It isn’t a salesman. No such luck.

“What are you doing here, Dr. Russo?”

Keegan rests his hand on the doorframe, his gaze settling on my half-empty glass of whiskey. “I was worried about you.”

“Why? I’m not your patient anymore. You fired me today, remember? I’m not your … anything.”

“May I come in?”

“Give me one good reason.” Whiskey not only numbs my nerves. It also apparently brings out my belligerent side. Let’s hope the good doctor brought along his boxing gloves.

“I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

I swig back another sip of liquor, feeling the burn fire up my anger. “What does it matter? Iamalone. Why delay the inevitable?”

“May I please come in?” Keegan repeats, his fingers tapping an erratic rhythm against the doorframe.

I step aside and point in the direction of the living room. “Have a seat. Do you want a drink? Oh wait, you’re likely too busy starting your new life to wallow with me in mine. Never mind.”

Keegan snatches the glass from my hand and downs the contents. Then he sets it on the table and walks the length of the room. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know the right answer to this situation. To any situation. I’m trying and failing at every turn.”

I’m not sure if it’s the sadness in his eyes, tucked away beneath his cool facade, but the shield of anger slides from my body, and I collapse into a chair. “Join the club.”

He kneels in front of me, grasping my hands. “What do you need, Callista? Forget what you think you need or should need. Forget what your family and friends want, what I wanted. What doyouneed? When was the last time you actually considered that question?”

I release a slow breath and marinate on his words. “It’s been years. Decades, maybe. I didn’t want to come to America, but I wanted to be with Charlie, and I’ve grown to love many aspects of this country. But now that he’s gone, I’m adrift, with no anchor. The last two years I spent mourning him, and the two years prior to that, I dedicated every moment to saving him. I’m really angry with God for taking him so young. I’m also really angry with myself that I never took full advantage of my chances.”

“How do you mean?” Keegan asks, an encouraging expression on his face.

I’ve never been this vulnerable with him before, and part of me wonders why I bother now. Perhaps because he deserves this side of me, even if it’s only for me to let him go. His version of closure.

“Most of all, I’m angry I failed to seize the chance I had with you.” I squeeze his hands, as the sadness creeps back in. “I’m glad you’re taking advantage of your chances. We never know how many we’ll be given. We assume opportunities will always present themselves, knocking at our door. But we never stop to consider that after being ignored, that opportunity might seek out a new dwelling.”

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