Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
After Luke has paid and handed me a tray loaded with fat chips and a monster piece of cod, we start a leisurely stroll away from the hustle and bustle. “I’ll never eat all of this,” I tell him, poking at the pile of chips.
“You don’t have to. Just something to soak up all the alcohol you’ve guzzled.”
I grin as I pop a chip in my mouth. “My tipsiness is obviously evidence of the lack of alcohol I’ve indulged in recently.”
He chuckles. “I like drunken Lo. How are your chips?”
“Really good,” I answer as another couple wander past, looking at us and smiling. It makes me wonder, not for the first time, if everyone who see us together thinks we’re more than we are. My mind is way too drunk to be thinking those things right now. All I know is that I can’t eliminate someone from my life who makes me feel so alive amid the ruins of my existence. I realize Billy—or anyone else—probably wouldn’t rationalize like I am, but at this point in my life, I must accept Luke for what he is to me. A friend. One of only two best friends I’ve ever had. The other is my husband. My husband who is dying. My husband who is disconnecting. Like he doesn’t want to be my husband anymore. Doesn’t want to be my friend. Doesn’t want to comfort me and hug me, and his absence is screaming louder each day. Our friendship, the comfort I got from him in every way, was one of the most beautiful parts of our relationship. And it’s fading faster than I can learn to accept.
Dumping the remnants of my meal in a bin on the edge of a square, I brush off my hands and look up at Luke. “I want you to know how important you are to me.” I speak clearly and evenly, hoping he doesn’t think it’s the drink talking. It’s not. I’m perfectly lucid, if a little wobbly.
He slowly extends his hand to the bin and drops his empty tray into it. “Okay,” he says slowly. “Where did that come from?”
My shoulders lift on a shrug. “I just wanted you to know.” Because I’m not brave enough to say it when I’m stone-cold sober, I add in my head.
“I already do.” Luke slides his arm around the tops of my shoulders and hugs me into his side, starting to walk us through the square. “You might not say it”—he peeks down at me— “when you’re sober, but I realize how much you appreciate me.”
I smile and relax into his side. “I’m glad.”
He squeezes me in response and kisses the top of my head. “I should get you home.”
I reluctantly agree and let Luke direct our journey toward the main road, happy that I spoke up and told him how I feel. He’s a good man. One of the best. And I feel like my spoken appreciation is the only thing I can actually give him.
Luke leaves me down the street after a hug, and I know he watches me until I’ve gotten into my house. I drop my keys on the table and kick off my shoes before wandering down the hall to the kitchen. Boris looks up from his basket, and I’m sure he frowns at me. “What?” I ask defensively, feeling under pressure to explain. He snorts and rests his snout back on his front paws. “I only had a few drinks,” I tell him, grabbing a glass of water and drinking it as I zigzag my way up the stairs.
Tiptoeing along the landing, I creep toward Billy’s bedroom door, pushing it open a fraction to check up on him. The usual glow from the TV is present, but I learned a long time ago that it doesn’t necessarily mean he’s awake. His body is still, his head dropped to the side. “Goodnight,” I whisper-slur, pulling the door closed.
“Hey.” His sleepy voice pulls me back into the room.
“You’re awake,” I say, surprised and, evidently by his flinch, a bit too screechy. “Sorry.” I push my way into his room but keep hold of the handle to hold myself steady.
“And you’re drunk.” He smiles faintly, his eyebrows lifting.
“I’m not drunk,” I protest, releasing the door handle. I immediately start to sway, and Billy chuckles. Why’s he laughing at me?
“Sure thing, gorgeous. Did you have a nice evening?”
I fake nonchalance within an inch of my life, the guilt that’s been lingering on the edge of my mind all evening creeping closer to the forefront. I can’t tell him that I had a wonderful time. Neither can I tell him I had a wonderful time with Luke. He won’t understand. No one would understand. And I have no intention of emasculating Billy any more than his wretched illness. “It was all right.”