Page 38 of Grave Misgivings
I bite my lip, breaking her gaze.
The bartender slides us both two fresh martinis.
“He’s coming home in a month, you know.” She flashes her gaze up at me as she pulls the cherry from her drink, holding it out to me.
I take it, popping it in my mouth, stem and all.
It takes me barely ten seconds to tie the stem in a knot. I pull it out, glancing over at the cookie cutter man in the corner, his hand running up and down his stick. He catches me looking and I turn see Katy staring at me.
“I know.” I swallow hard as I take a long pull of my martini.
“You know.”
The words are not a question. They are a judgment.
I pull my cherry out of my drink, sucking on the fruit to keep my damn tongue busy.
I nod.
“Keeping tabs on my brother, Z?” She smirks.
“More like your brother drunk called me the other night.”
Shit.
I shouldn’t have told her that.
Katy giggles, shaking her head. “I bet that was something to hear.” She sips her drink.
I pull out the cherry stem, setting it on the napkin. The knot stares at me as a thicker knot forms in my stomach.
I miss you.
His voice was slow, slurred, and deep, and I can’t get it out of my head, those three little drunk words.
I think about our conversations lately, and the knot in my stomach gets tighter.
“Yeah, it was... something.” I nod, draining my drink.
Neither of us speaks of Geo again, and after we’ve both killed our martinis we catch an Uber. Our houses aren’t all that far from one another.
I watch the night sky out the car window, the lights of the city passing me by as Katy rests her head on my shoulder.
“He doesn’t want to come home.” Her voice is barely a whisper.
“What?” I ask, my head feeling a bit hazy.
“I think he has some demons to confront,” she says softly.
I purse my lips. I’m sure he does.
The Uber stops in front of my house, and Katy scoots over, letting me out of the car.
The hot air kisses my skin, and I barely register Katy telling me goodbye.
I lock the door as soon as I’m inside, wasting no time getting undressed. It’s always hot here, no matter what time of year it is.
I run a hand through my hair as I head for my bedroom. I lie back on my bed, glancing at my clock. Twelve thirty.
