Page 26 of Notes About Vodka

Finding a lawyer wasn’t easy either; I had to sift through fear and self-doubt, constantly questioning whether I was doing the right thing. A friend back in Birmingham recommended Ronnie Davis, a no-nonsense attorney who had a reputation for being both compassionate and tough.

Even though I was in New York when I called her, Ronnie agreed to take on my case, saying it didn’t matter where I was aslong as I was willing to work. She’s been a lifesaver, guiding me through every step of the process with patience and clarity. Whether it’s answering my late-night emails or walking me through complicated legal jargon, Ronnie has been my anchor in this storm. Knowing I have someone like her in my corner makes the impossible feel a little more manageable.

But every step forward, no matter how small, was a reminder that I still had a sliver of control over my life. Starting the process felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, terrified to jump but knowing I had no other choice.

It wasn’t easy.

Sam refused to take me seriously at first, brushing me off like I was bluffing. But I meant it. I applied to NYU as my escape plan, and when I got accepted, I packed up and left, with my two best friends in tow.

Rhea and Skipper saved me in more ways than they’ll ever know. They didn’t just move to New York with me; they gave me a lifeline, a way to rebuild.

Rhea was the one who stayed up late to make sure my NYU application essays were perfect, even brainstorming ideas when I hit a wall. She’d remind me to eat when I was too stressed to think about food, even sneaking snacks into my bag before class. And when she decided to apply as well because in her words, "Why the hell not?" my heart almost exploded with happiness.

Skipper, ever the optimist, was my constant source of laughter, coming home with takeout when I was too drained to cook and insisting we binge-watch our favorite comedies to lift my spirits after I moved out of the trailer where I lived with Sam.

When I doubted myself after all life incidents, they were there to pull me out of my own head, reminding me that I wasn’t in this alone. They’ve been my foundation, myunwavering support system, and every day, I’m grateful they took this crazy leap with me.

Two hours later after I walked off most of my anger, I reach the apartment where Rhea, Skipper, and I live. I’m exhausted, both mentally and physically. I push open the door and find Rhea waiting for me, her concern evident in her eyes.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asks, her voice soft.

I glance at the living room couch.

Well fuck me sideways and silly…this night just gets better and better. I forgot Sam was staying with us.Why do I let this happen?

Sam is passed out on our couch, his head lolled to one side, with some random chick draped across his lap, also unconscious. The faint smell of stale alcohol and perfume lingers in the air, adding to the chaos of the scene.

My stomach twists at the sight, and heat rises to my face. Anger, frustration, and exhaustion swirl together as I stand there, frozen.

How many times have I had to clean up after his messes?

The sheer thought of it makes my head pound. Every fiber of my being wants to yell, to demand why he can’t just stay out of my life, but instead, I clench my fists and take a deep breath, swallowing the scream threatening to escape.

The familiar cocktail of frustration and helplessness washes over me as I stand frozen, staring at the mess he’s brought into my new space. My mind races, wondering what lie he told to Skipper in order to bring the girl inside and how I’m going to deal with this without completely losing it. For a moment, all I want to do is scream, but instead, I take a deep breath and clench my fists, willing myself to stay calm.

Rhea and I exchange a look of mutual exasperation.

“I’m fine,” I say, forcing a smile. “Just... It’s been a long night.”

Rhea nods, understanding without needing to say anything. “Let’s just look forward to the future,” she says, her optimism a small comfort.

“Hopefully he’s gone before any of us wake up. Doesn't he have an early flight? By the way, who let him in with the girl?” I bite back the frustration bubbling up again, thinking about how Skip always seems to look past Sam’s flaws, like he’s clinging to the version of Sam from years ago—the one who hadn’t yet turned into a walking disaster. The lifelong best friend that he used to be to Skipper. It’s infuriating, but I can’t blame Skip for wanting to see the good in someone he used to care about. Still, it doesn’t make this any easier to deal with.

“I think Skip did,” Rhea says cautiously. “You know you can’t help that they were best friends first…”

“I know. I know. Well, at least the ass is safe for the night. Anywho, I’m done. ‘Night, Rhea,” I give my bestie a quick hug before I take off down the hallway and lock myself in my room.

As I change into my pajamas, my husband sleeping with his whore of the night on my couch is not the person my mind drifts toward.

Slipping a small round coin pouch covered in flowers and bees from my purse, I unzip it, revealing the notes I’ve kept from Val since he and I started our odd little exchange. I try not to look at them, but sometimes I can’t help myself.

I pull one out, a bar napkin. Giggling, I remember the smile that crossed my face when I found the crumpled paper hidden in my book of sheet music. Val asked where I found my accent. His grammar is terrible, but the meaning is endearing. I wonder if he kept my note. I wonder if I’m alone in thinking there’s something more.

I think of Val and his intense dark eyes, the way they seem to hold a thousand unspoken thoughts. They linger in my memory, the deep brown reflecting back flecks of gold. There’ssomething about the way he looks at me, like he’s trying to peel back every layer and see the real me. It’s both unsettling and comforting, like he’s offering me a lifeline I’m too scared to grab.

I shouldn’t be thinking about him… It’s wrong.

And yet, I can’t stop.

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