Page 17 of Notes About Vodka

Mom looks up from her plate, her interest piqued. "You’ve been performing? At a bar? I didn't think you did bars anymore..."

"Yeah, I know. But it's just a few nights a week when I don't have class or lab," I reply, keeping my tone light. "It’s a good crowd, mostly regulars, and it feels good to play piano again."

She nods slowly, a small smile crossing her lips. "I’m glad you’re doing that. You always did love singing, but piano, that was your soul, baby girl.” The moment feels warm, but then herexpression shifts. "Have you heard from Sam?" she asks, her tone cautious.

I pause, the question hanging in the air for a beat too long. My chest tightens, and I can feel the familiar heat of frustration and sadness creeping up my neck.

"I guess he’s okay," I say, finally, my voice neutral, though my hands fidget slightly, betraying the unease I feel.

Memories of his broken promises and the constant battle to leave him behind flash through my mind, but I push them away. My eyes drop to my plate, avoiding her gaze as the knot in my stomach tightens further. I don’t elaborate, and Mom doesn’t press, sensing the tension.

She nods slightly and returns her focus to her plate, the calmness between us settling again.

As we finish eating, I clean up the dishes while she leans back in her chair, humming softly to the radio’s faint tune. Before I leave, I kiss her head again and say, "See you soon, Mama. Call me if you need anything."

"Okay, Laura," she says, her voice softer now. She lights another cigarette but seems less withdrawn, more present. I linger by the door, watching her for a moment, before stepping outside. The cool air hits my face as I close the door, and this time, it feels less like relief and more like a promise to keep coming back. Love drives me, even when it’s hard, even when the weight of responsibility feels unending. There’s a part of me that clings to hope—hope that things can change, that my presence might make a difference, no matter how small.

Later, after I’ve visited with Mom and escaped the house on Buddy, I think about heading home to the apartment I sharewith my two roommates from Opelika, a town near Hurtsboro, who also wanted to escape Alabama and start a new life, Skipper and Rhea. It’s a tiny apartment near Upper West Central Park, barely enough room for the three of us. But it’s ours. We’ve made it into a little haven away from everything else.

Skipper’s the wild one, always talking about his next adventure as an airplane steward or dragging us out to some party.

Rhea’s more grounded; like me, she's a student, and has a way of making me laugh even when I don’t feel like it. They’ve been my anchors through this mess of life.

When I get back to the apartment, they’ll ask about Mom, like they always do, and I’ll give the same answer—“She’s okay,” even though she’s not.

Then, we’ll probably settle into our usual routine: Skipper making dinner, Rhea plopped on the couch. It’s comforting, knowing I have them. Knowing I have this little corner of the big apple with them to call home.

But still, Val’s always there in the back of my mind. The napkins. The teasing. The way he looks at me, like maybe I’m more than just this girl from a small town who got stuck in a bad moment. Maybe, just maybe, he sees something in me that I’m still figuring out for myself. And I know I can’t let him in, not yet—not until I’ve figured out what the hell I’m doing with my life.

But for now, I’ll keep playing his game. Keep writing him back, note after note, letting him get a little closer with every word.

Chapter Five

LAURA

“Vodka is a way of escaping, but it also has a way of revealing—what you feel, what you want, what you can’t admit to yourself.”

A few day later I am riding Buddy back through the bustling streets of New York on my way to class. The smell of roasted chestnuts from a nearby vendor mixes with the faint tang of gasoline, and the rush of cool wind against my face makes the city feel alive.

Weaving through the cacophony of honking horns and the blur of yellow taxis, I spot a sleek, dark-gray Mazda up ahead. I speed forward and my pulse quickens as I recognize Val behind the wheel.

A grin spreads across my face. On a whim, I speed up, zipping in and out of lanes until I’m right in front of him. Maybe it’s just the thrill, or maybe I just want to see his reaction when he realizes it’s me.

I rev the engine a little, making sure he notices, and finally, I catch his eye. His expression is priceless—half confusion, halfwhat the hell are you doing? I slow down and motion for him to pull over, my heart racing with excitement.

When he finally stops, I roll up next to his car, grinning like an idiot. The look on his face is still one of disbelief as he rolls down the window.

"What the hell, Laura? You trying to get yourself killed?" he says, a mix of frustration and amusement in his voice.

I can’t help but laugh. "Surprised?" I ask, my grin only widening.

He shakes his head, chuckling now that he’s realized it’s me. "Yeah, that’s one word for it. I didn’t think you’d be the type to zigzag through traffic like a maniac."

I park Buddy and hop off, standing beside him and crossing my arms. My heart is pounding, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling inside me. "You underestimate me," I say, teasing. "You think you’re the only one with badass wheels in this city?"

Val steps out of his Mazda, still shaking his head. "I have to admit," he says, looking at my moped like it’s some wild creature he’s never seen before, "this is not what I expected."

I smirk, my hand resting on Buddy’s handlebar. "What, did you think I’d be driving something more...ladylike?"

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