Page 59 of Begin Again Again

“No, I’m not an alcoholic.”

“Borderline?”

Beth screwed up her nose. “I never drank more than my friends. Not every day. Not even every weekend.”

“Why then?”

She sighed. “It’s either the longest or shortest story in the world.”

“Short tonight? Long some other time?”

“Sounds—”

A microphone screeched feedback. A blonde in a pink micro-dress had appeared on-stage. “Hellooooo, gorgeous children. I’m Sarah Lee’s Ultra Moist Cupcakes, AKA Sarah Lee Moist, your hostess with the moist-ess. I’ll be your emcee tonight!”

The crowd cheered and people moved to sit on the wooden chairs arranged in front of the stage.

“Want to sit down?” Beth asked Byron.

“I want to stand here and find out why you don’t drink.”

“Even if it’s just the short version?”

“For now.”

She sighed theatrically. “In 2018, I took a month off drinking. Dry July, y’know?”

“Sure.”

“I felt a million times better. I could sleep. I started running in the mornings. So, I signed up to do a hundred sober days and that was that.”

“You quit? Right out?”

She shook her head. “There was a lot of flip-flopping. Having a night out then quitting again. But after a year, I knew I was happier without. Which brings me to here.”

Byron nodded. “Makes sense.”

Did it? To Beth it sounded hollow. Everything she said was technically true, but she’d made getting sober sound like a health decision. Something on par with switching to oat milk. If she was being honest, she’d tell Byron her drinking got worse when she first tried sobriety, a spinning top wobbling wider as its rotation slowed. She went from occasionally throwing up to chucking every time she drank, but she wasn’t ready to stop. Sobriety showed her things about herself she couldn’t handle—an ocean of dishwasher water, plastic bags and six-pack rings. She’dwantedto keep drowning her issues in wine, only stopping because the gap between ignorance and active delusion was too wide to drink her way across. She didn’t regret putting down the corkscrew and picking up a sponge, but as much of a net positive sobriety was, it had still ended her podcast, her closest friendship and her longest romantic relationship. It further estranged her from her familyandsociety at large and it ultimately brought her to Melbourne in time to get shut in a room for months on end.

Someone took her tap water and pushed a cold glass into her hand. Beth looked down and saw a fizzy black drink. She looked up and saw Byron smiling at her. “It’s a Coke,” he said. “The bartender gave it to me for free.”

Beth winced. “But the sugar…”

“You’re fit as fuck. I don’t think one Coke is gonna change that.”

Beth took a sip and tasted childhood parties. “Well thanks.”

“Anytime.” Byron tipped his fresh scotch and dry toward the stage. “I think Sal’s about to come on.”

“They’re headlining?”

“You could say that. Fuck, I’m nervous…” He raised his glass to his mouth, then paused. “Does it annoy you when people apologise for drinking around you?”

“More than most things.”

“Good to know.” Byron tilted his head back and downed his drink. “Not sorry.”

Beth grinned. “I’m enjoying this honesty thing.”

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