Page 74 of A Love Letter to Whiskey
I wondered what I’d do.
It was after eight o’clock one Friday night in November when the loneliness finally got to me. I was pouring over a new manuscript I’d curated from an up-and-coming fantasy author who was Indie up until that point but was now seeking representation. The book was amazing, I was completely immersed, at least until River tapped hard on the top of my cube.
“You know, that book will still be readable on Monday. Or even tomorrow — when you can read it on your couch and not hunched over in that shitty chair.” I smiled, tossing the manuscript down on my desk and kicking back in my chair. I scrubbed two hands over my face before running them back over my curls. “You should call it a night.”
“You’re not my boss anymore, Riv. Haven’t been for months.” I winked, knowing he hated when I pointed that out. He always wanted me to work less, and that always made me work more. “You’re just scared I’m going to make it to VP before you.”
He laughed. “Honestly? At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.” Without warning, he stepped into my cube and jabbed his finger into the power button of my Mac, powering it down.
“Hey!”
“Seriously, come on. It’s Friday night. Let’s go get a drink.” He held out his hand and I looked up at him, feeling the sparkle in his eye a little too close to a sensitive space still partly occupied.
I sighed. “You know, I am really tired actually. Maybe I should just go get some sleep.”
He swallowed, and though I knew it wasn’t the answer he wanted, he grabbed my hand and hoisted me up. “That works too. Just get the hell out of here.”
“So bossy,” I teased. His eyes lit up again, and this time I definitely felt the space spark around us. I cleared my throat, tossing the manuscript in my oversized purse and throwing it over my shoulder. “Walk me out?”
River didn’t just walk me downstairs, but all the way to the entrance of my apartment building before he gave me a stiff hug goodbye and went to meet up with some of our coworkers at a little bar in Market Square. I rode the elevator up to my floor and moved through the motions that had become my new routine — drop shit at the door, kick shoes off, pour a glass of wine, hold the bottle in the other hand until I made it to my bedroom, where I changed into leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, then it was ass on the couch — my favorite place to be.
I sighed with relief as I tucked my legs beneath me and took a long sip of the red wine. It was dry, slightly sweet, and perfect. As I tossed my hair into a loose bun on top of my head, I laughed out loud. How pathetic. I’d been invited out to drinks with friends and I’d turned it down to sit by myself. I didn’t even have a pet to cuddle with.
Flipping through the contacts on my phone, I dropped my finger on Mom’s name and a picture of us at my graduation filled the screen. It’d been a while since we’d talked other than text, so I sat back, ready for a long conversation of catching up.
“Hi sweetie!” She yelled over the background noise.
“Mom?”
“Huh?”
“You there?”
A loud burst of laughter rang out and I heard Mom yell something before the noise disappeared. “Sorry, honey. Wayne and I are out at a new bar that opened downtown. What’s up?”
Even my mom is cooler than I am.
“Oh, sorry. I was just calling to catch up.”
“Aw, I miss you, honey! How’s work?”
It was always the first question she asked me, and really it was the only thing she knew to ask about — work.
I sighed. “It’s great. Kicking ass and taking names like always.”
“That’s my girl.”
“I’ll let you get back to Wayne. I love you.”
“I love you, too. Is everything okay?”
Mom knew. She always knew. But tonight wasn’t the night to unload on her. “Everything’s okay, Mom. Give me a call tomorrow okay?”
“Okay honey. Talk then!” She ended the call quickly, and I chuckled, thinking how different she was from the mom who’d brought me up in high school. That woman never left the house except for work, and she rarely smiled. Wayne had sparked life back into my mom, and I loved him for it.
I poured up another glass of wine, realizing I’d finished my first one probably a little too quickly. Then, I dialed Jenna.
“Sup, betch.”
“Please tell me I’m not interrupting your super fun Friday night out.”
She scoffed. “Hardly.”
“Good. My mom is already drunk and living it up and I’m wallowing in self-pity on the couch and looking for someone to whine to.”
