with people you could’ve babysat at one point. But coming here was a comfortable habit for me. Deep in the days of my drinking, this was where I was because no one knew me. Once I got sober, I made a pact with the bartenders to never serve me again.
“I have to. I’m in recovery.” Denise gave my knee a comforting squeeze beneath the table. Even people who didn’t know you looked at you differently when you made an admission like this. When you confessed that something almost beat you. That it could still beat you. I saw it in the faces of my old friends all the time: How come you just can’t handle fun like other people, idiot?
“Whoa. Congratulations…” Charlie mumbled as he leaned in, looking apologetic now. “You’re okay with being here?”
I smiled. “Where in Miami would be any different on a Saturday night ? It’s impossible to avoid.” Alcohol didn’t stop existing because it was my burden, and it shouldn’t have had to. One of the reasons I liked my therapy with Lea was that it was changing the things I associated with drinking. Before, it was about squeezing through a crowded nightclub with my friends, the cute bartender leaning toward me, the slap of the glass against the bar top, the clink of the ice inside, and the frost spreading on the surface. And the pour? The red tape at the finish line. The whole ritual thrilled me. Now, it was smashed glass in a bad neighborhood, and a smell like the isopropyl kind my grandma used. The urge would always be there. Now I just had to refocus my attention.
“You’re absolutely cool being the only sober one?” Ghost asked. “Because we drink .”
“Definitely. Guys, I didn’t join a convent. Going out entails being around people who drink. It’s fine. ”
“Cool,” Ghost said as he left for the bar. He quickly struck up a conversation with a woman sharing a drink with her girl friend.
“Well, maybe I won’t drink as much tonight,” Charlie offered.
“Oh, don’t do that on my account.”
“Yeah, don’t. We don’t,” Denise said, winking at me. It was true. And I really didn’t mind.
“Do you want to order?” Charlie asked Samira. His eyes barely shifted away from me.
“Yeah. Flatbread. Shrimp, scallop, chicken, and lamb mezze plates. We can share.”
“Everyone good with that?” Charlie asked but he didn’t seem satisfied with the agreement until I nodded. Soon Denise and John were being cutesy and testing the limits of their self-control with a few kisses, and completely ignoring the three of us. When Ghost returned, he whispered something to Charlie, who then laughed and told Samira. I reached for my phone to find something to look at, to avoid the awkward exclusion from the conversation.
“Is it okay if we talk about this right now?” Samira asked Ghost, and he shrugged.
“Old news, anyway.”
“So, Ghost was engaged a few months ago.” Her tone was grim but she looked amused.
“Shit was never gonna work,” Charlie mumbled, trying not to laugh.
Ghost frowned but didn’t look the least bit offended. “Hey! I was in love !”
Samira groaned. “We convinced him to call it off because it would’ve been a huge disaster. Huge. Charlie and I would’ve been elbowing each other the whole time in the church, like ‘Really?’” I liked them already. These people who canceled each other’s weddings. “Anyway, he just ran into the chick’s sister. God, Miami feels so small sometimes. His ex is engaged. Again. That girl was sweet but was just in love with the idea of love. And I never saw that spring in his step or that look between them —you know, when they were in the same room together—that look that just takes the floor out from under you. And Ghost knows he didn’t have that. These two clearly do …” She smiled and pointed to Denise and John.
“You sound like the inside of a fuckin’ Hallmark card, Mira,” Ghost said with a dismissive grimace, but throughout Samira’s short story his expression
Matt Christopher, Stephanie Peters