Neil intentionally arrived at the restaurant before his ex-wife so he could make arrangements with the server.

“Check on us often.” He placed a fifty-dollar bill on the table.

“Of course, sir.” The server smiled with his mouth while his eyes devoured the money. “I check on all my guests.”

“You don’t understand. I mean interrupt us. Frequently. Every few minutes. This is yours if you do that.” Neil placed his hand over the bill, breaking the hold it had on the server. “Do you understand?”

“Whatever you’d like. Are you meeting someone?”

“My ex-wife. Katy.”

“Ah.” The server nodded wisely, an expert in all things ex-wife related. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-five. “Can I get you a drink while you wait?”

“Ginger ale and cranberry juice.”

He’d been experimenting with different drinks, all of them innocuous and trouble-free, none of them satisfying. Katy would order red wine. Neil would not lick his lips when that happened.

When she entered the restaurant, the first thing he noticed was her hair. She’d replaced her long black curls with a short, choppy cut. It looked terrible. Her head was too narrow.

“Hi.” He stood up and wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. Would they hug? She solved the problem by sitting down across from him.

“Hi Neil.” Her eyes flicked to his glass.

“Cranberry juice. See?” He held it up. “I like your hair.”

“You look good, too. Did you lose weight?”

“Some. Best weight loss program on the planet, ha-ha.”

Before she could respond, the server, bless him, interrupted and introduced himself. Justin. Katy ordered a glass of red wine.

“Is this a problem?” She asked him after she’d already done the thing that may or may not be a problem.

“Not at all.” Truthfully, it wasn’t. No drinks was easier than one and, if anything, the thought of only having a single drink made him anxious.

“How long has it been?”

“Twenty weeks, give or take”

“Aren’t you supposed to track the days?”

“Maybe. I don’t really do that.” It had been twenty weeks, six days, four hours, and some number of minutes. By the time this dinner was over, it would be twenty weeks, six days and probably six hours, if they made it that long. “Live in the moment, you know?”

“Sure.” Her wine arrived and she took a big swallow. Wine always made his nose sweat, a lovely prickling that tickled his face. He bit the inside of his mouth and did not lick his lips.

“Why are we doing this?” She put her drink down on the table and drummed her fingers. Her nails were jagged; she’d been biting them again, a habit she’d tried to quit for years without success.

“I wanted to talk.”

“Why? What did you want the outcome to be? I’m not even sure why I came.”

His mouth was dry. Justin glided over to interrupt. Bless him.

“Are you ready to order?”

“I’ll take the Caesar.” Katy handed the menu over without looking.

“Is there Dijon in the dressing? She’s allergic to that.” The old routines emerged, faded but not forgotten.

“I can check.”

Katy waved her hand. “Just give me the calamari.”

“Excellent. And for you, sir?”

“I’ll have the eggplant flatbread.”

Justin nodded and glided back to the kitchen.

“Look at you, mister healthy.” The words were playful, but her tone wasn’t. “I expected you to get steak.”

“I can’t eat it anymore. Not since Phil’s party.”

“Ah.” Her face flushed and her nostrils flared. “I’m surprised you remember anything of Phil’s party.”

He shouldn’t have brought that up. Clumsy. His knees shook. He took a sip of his cranberry and ginger ale. It was remorselessly unsatisfying. Where was Justin?

“Hey, how’s your dad?” He pivoted carelessly, the conversational equivalent of sliding across three lanes to catch the offramp.

“Not bad. His hearing is gone. Mom’s getting frustrated.”

“Is he going to the doctors?”

“Yes.”

“What do they think?”

“They think he’s old.”

Keeping this up had him winded. Before, she’d talk in endless sentences that he’d struggle to find pathways into. Not today. Her hands stayed in her lap instead of dancing around her head. She took another gulp of wine and he caught the smell of it. Sour, bitter tannin. He wiped his lips with his napkin.

Justin, his saint, his savior, his hard-working liberator, interrupted.

“I’m sorry. I’m just confirming. Did you say you wanted the calamari or the Caesar?”

“The calamari.”

“Of course. Coming right up.”

“I’ll take another glass, too.” Katy tapped her wine. She wasn’t wearing her ring.

Justin smiled and left. Neil tried to think of how to maneuver this towards what he wanted. She’d been clear when he left. Crystal clear. Vodka clear. But there had to be a way in.

“At this rate, you’ll be the one who needs rehab.”

Katy inhaled sharply through her nose. “Is that a joke?”

“It was supposed to be, yes.”

“It’s not funny.”

“No, I guess it’s not.”

“Seriously Neil, what the fuck are we doing? Whatever you want, get it over with. I want to go.” As she talked, her voice rose and the couple next to them glanced over. She put her phone in her purse and Neil realized she was packing up.

“Stay.” He grabbed her wrist.

She jerked her hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

Justin appeared with a water pitcher. “Can I get either of you a refill?”

Katy sighed and looked at Justin for the first time since sitting down. “If you interrupt us one more fucking time, I will have you fired. Do you understand me?”

Justin nodded, his face pale, and he slinked from the table. Neil realized he’d have to tip more than fifty dollars.

“I’m sorry.” She ran her hands through her short, horrible hair. “I can’t do this. It’s too soon. I’m glad you’re sober, Neil. I am. Twenty weeks is great. Call me when you get a few years under your belt.”

He had to do this. “How’s Josh?”

Katy stopped moving. Everything stopped. White marks appeared on her cheeks. Her breathing became shallow. She took a ferocious bite of her thumbnail.

“No.”

“I only—”

“No.”

“If you could just—”

“No.”

Neil didn’t know how to make progress without this. He opened his mouth, but nothing emerged. Katy leaned forward.

“You don’t ever get to ask. Ever. That part is gone. If Josh wants to talk to you when he’s older, that’s a decision he can make. Is that why you wanted to meet me? You miserable fuck. I should have known.”

“You can’t do this.” He hated how he sounded. His heart was going a mile a minute. He took her hand. “Please. Just listen. I know I screwed up. I get it. I know there’s never going to be a you and I again. You can’t keep him away from me.”

“I can do whatever the hell I want.” She yanked her hand away. “I’ve paid for this, Neil. You have no idea how much I’ve paid for this. The blackout nights. The humiliation. The torture of the things you’d say.”

He rubbed his face and looked at her empty wine glass. “I know. I know I can’t take it back. It’s all sunk, and I can’t make it be anything else. But you don’t know what it’s like.”

“I don’t care what it’s like.”

“It’s a song in your head. Played at maximum volume, but only the first four notes. It’s a guy driving you while you’re tied up and you’re struggling to take the next exit, only he’s determined to floor it down the highway. It’s knowing you have to do the one thing you hate doing more than anything in the world but being completely unable to stop yourself from doing it because your brain is misfiring on such a deep and fundamental level that you lift the bottle to your lips before you even consciously know what’s happening.”

Katy wiped her cheek but didn’t say anything. He played with his hands.

“It’s lying to yourself so well you don’t know you’re doing it. I only drink on Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, Saturday, most Fridays, and Sunday. I don’t have a problem because I only drink six days a week. And the weeks I drank seven? Well, I deserved it for only drinking six. It’s the flush you get at the first drop, that one that screams for more, that needs not one drink, but all the drinks. It’s—”

Katy closed her eyes and shook her head.  “I don’t care, Neil. I don’t. I know you have a problem. But I can’t do this.”

“Here’s your calamari and flatbread.”

Justin appeared and placed plates of food on the table, a referee sending the boxers back to their corners. Neither Neil or Katy spoke, and after he left, neither touched their food. Katy stood up.

“I’m leaving. Don’t call me again, okay?”

“Please.” Neil tried to reach for her, but she moved away. “Send me pictures?”

“No.”

“Something. Anything.”

“Enjoy your sobriety. You did this to you. Not me. Move on. Josh and I will be okay. We don’t need you.”

“Please.” He wasn’t crying. He’d do that later. But it was close.

“Goodbye, Neil.”

She picked up her purse and left, taking her shitty haircut and his final clinging lifeline with her. His hands simply would not stop shaking.

Justin approached cautiously.

“Is everything okay, sir?”

“You did great, Justin. Thank you.”

“Um. Can I get you anything?”

Twenty weeks, six days, four hours, and some number of minutes.

“Do you have any scotch?”

*