Page 20 of Until Tomorrow
But this year, I sucked.
I tipped back the last of my… fourth drink? Fifth? For all I knew, it could’ve been my sixth. I’d called in sick from work, moped around the hotel, and then taken myself out for a drink to avoid calling her. I wanted so badly to call her, but I knew that was a bad idea.
Instead, I drank. A lot apparently. With very little in my stomach, I was drunk fast. It did the exact opposite of what I wanted. I didn’t want to think about Eva, but she was the only thing I could think about. So, I did the only reasonable thing a selfish husband could do: I ordered her flowers.
Except none of the flowers were good enough. So, I kept ordering her more. I had no idea how many flowers I sent her.
When I waved down the bartender for another drink, he tossed his rag over his shoulder and stopped in front of me.
“So,” he began, clicking his tongue, “I’m going to say seven drinks is your limit.”
“Five,” I said, and he frowned.Was five the right response?I squinted at him as I tried to figure it out.
“My point,” he replied. “You got someone I can call for you? Make sure you get home safe?”
“You can’t call my wife,” I told him.At least, I was almost certain I said those words.
“Phone.” He held out his hand, and I gave it to him. He leaned in closer so I could hear him better over the bar activity. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to go name by name through your contacts, okay?”
“Right.” I nodded seriously.
“And you’re going to tell me yes or no. Got it?”
“Yes.”
“And if by the end of your contacts, you haven’t said yes, I’m calling your wife,” he stated.
“I asked her for a divorce,” I blurted out. “How broken do I have to be to ask the perfect woman for a divorce?”
“That sounds like something you should talk about with your therapist.”
“I don’t have a therapist.”I probably needed a therapist.I’d wanted this divorce because it was logical. I needed to understand myself. What I hadn’t accounted for was the emotional toll giving up Eva would cause.
“You might want to think about getting one, buddy,” he said.See? Needed a therapist.
I paid as much attention as I could while he walked me through my contacts. The minute he said Elliot’s name, I made the bartender stop and call him. He’d be grumpy, but I knew Elliot would get me back to the hotel.
“Eli!” I exclaimed when I saw Elliot weaving through the dwindling crowd toward me. He looked tired—had I woken him up? “My bad.”
Did I say that out loud?
“What’s your bad?” he asked. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets as he stopped next to me. I grinned at him, a gesture he didn’t return. “How much have you had to drink tonight, Logan?”
“Not enough,” I said and beckoned him closer. “It’s Eva’s birthday.”
“I know.”
“I sent her flowers.”
“You did not.”
“A lot of flowers,” I admitted. I’d placed a few too many orders.
“Okay, then. I’m going to close your tab, and then I’m taking you home,” Elliot told me. He flagged down the bartender, seamlessly taking care of my bill and keeping an eye on me.
“I can’t go home,” I reminded him. “I live in a hotel.”
“I know.” He grabbed my jacket and put it around my shoulders. “You’re coming home with me.”
