Page 54 of Woman on the Verge

By the time I unloaded the groceries, I was exhausted and very much in need of alcohol. I told Merry I was going to meet Prisha. I told her not to wait up, that we might be out late. I wanted the optionto wander the city and feel carefree again. Alice said, “Have fun,” and Merry said, “Please don’t drink and drive. I can’t handle more stress.”

I had packed a form-fitting black dress this trip, figuring I didn’t want to be in leggings and an old sweater again if I met up with Prisha. My hair is usually a sloppy topknot situation, so I decided to blow it dry and wear it long. I used Merry’s round brush for as much curl at the ends as my hair would allow. I swept some blush onto my cheeks and swiped my eyelashes with two coats of mascara. I felt, dare I say,pretty.

The bar was busier than the last time we’d come. There was a large group of people who appeared to be celebrating someone’s birthday (there were party hats). I took a seat at the bar and ordered a whiskey straight, which is not something I ever order, but I wanted the burn. Some people drink whiskey recreationally. It’s their drink of choice. For me, whiskey is for when life feels unbearable. And I was quite sure life was becoming unbearable.

I’d winced my way through half the glass when I got a text from Prisha:

I’m so sorry. I’m not going to be able to make it

Doctors can say this type of thing and people just accept it.

Oh, bummer. Ok.

Her: Are you there already?

Yes

Her: Ugh, I’m so sorry. We’ve got a complicated delivery situation ... I’m sorry. Have a drink for me?

Already on it

She sent me a clinking-glasses emoji.

I was mildly disappointed, but it was fine. Prisha had done me the kindness of giving me a reason to leave the house. Now that I’d left (and downed half a glass of whiskey), I didn’t actually needher. I settled in, trying to remember the last time I’d sat at a bar alone. Had Ieversat at a bar alone? In my younger years, I’d traveled in packs. And then I was married.

“You want another?” the bartender asked.

It was a different bartender than the last time. Every inch of visible skin on his arms was tattooed.

I assessed my empty glass and said, “Why not?”

He nodded distractedly and traveled to the other end of the bar.

I felt someone behind my chair, grazing my back, and I was mildly annoyed with the intrusion into my personal space.

“Sorry,” the person said. A man.

He sat next to me, and I groaned to myself. I didn’t want to talk to a stranger. At the very least, we’d have to exchange polite greetings, as our elbows would be in close proximity.

The bartender threw a napkin in front of the man, and they had a short discussion of the IPAs on tap. The man ordered one of them. The bartender brought it, and the man took a sip. I didn’t want to look at him directly because I thought that might be inviting conversation I didn’t want. But hesoundedhandsome. His voice was deep.

“It is packed tonight,” he said.

Was he saying it to me? There was a woman in the seat on the other side of him, but her back was to him. She was laughing hysterically at the woman facing her. They were both wearing party hats.

I dared to look at him. Hewashandsome.

“It is packed,” I said.

He looked at me then. It was our first eye contact. His eyes were the kind people get lost in, little Bermuda Triangles.

“It’s not usually like this.”

“I’ve only been once,” I said.

“This is my usual spot, and if it was always like this, it would not be my usual spot.”

We laughed.

---