Page 30 of Notes About Vodka

“I mean, why not. If having coffee cheers you up and gets you out of the Sam funk, then go. We can always go with you,” Skipper adds.

“No, Skip. You have to go back to work tomorrow. You can’t afford another day off. And I don’t know. I’m not sure I really want to see Val right now.”

“But you do want to see him.” Rhea bumps me with her shoulder.

“Maybe,” I reply.

Minutes pass by as I weigh my options, the war inside me raging louder with each passing second. Part of me screams to stay put, to avoid the risk of being seen, of being judged for the mess I’ve become. But another part—the part that’s desperate for something, anything, to break through this numbness—pushes me toward saying yes.

The idea of sitting across from Val, of seeing his easy smileand feeling a momentary reprieve from the heaviness in my chest, feels like a lifeline. Finally, I take a deep breath. “Are you two sure. I mean after what happened this morning.”

“Yes,” they say in unison.

Skipper continues, ”Go, it's just coffee. And besides, you never know, you might have fun.”

“And I’ll meet you directly after to go to the clinic with you, okay?” Rhea adds.

Finding courage, I reply to Val.

Me: Okay. 7:30 a.m. Don’t be late.

Skipper keeps talking, reminding me that I am amazing and that he and Rhea will always be here for me, I drift away, my mind searching for any distraction. My thoughts wander to brighter places—the warm sunlight in Central Park, the piano keys beneath my fingers, a future where this moment doesn’t define me. But even those thoughts feel like lies, distant and unattainable, just like the version of me I used to believe in.

I close my eyes and a brief, fleeting glimpse of dark brown eyes fill my vision.

How different would life be with Val instead?

Chapter Ten

VAL

“A vodka margarita is a rule breaker—a twist on a classic, just like those unexpected moments that shake up your life and leave you wanting another taste.”

As Laura walks into the coffee shop, I pause mid-breath. She looks stunning, exuding a natural confidence even in the simplest outfit—denim jeans, a matching jacket, a white T-shirt, and a pale blue scarf. Her gray book-bag hangs casually over one shoulder, but it’s the pop of color in her outfits that always catches my eye. This time, it’s the hot pink polka dotted ladybug helmet she’s carrying. It reminds me of when I first saw her on that scooter, I had no idea who was under the helmet until she forced me to pull over. When she removed it and her red hair cascaded down her back, I was awe-struck all over again.

She owns me with just her hair.

Laura draws every eye in the room as she spots me and storms over.

Her gray eyes almost appear bright blue despite the early hour, filled with a quiet determination that catches me off guard. She looks almost…angry and relieved?

Her red hair frames her face, softening her features while adding a fiery glow.

I feel a grin tugging at my lips before I can stop it.

Putting her helmet on the table I'm sitting at, she slips her book-bag off her shoulder. Unzipping the front pocket, she digs inside and then holds out her TI-30 calculator like a prize.

“Laura, you are a lifesaver,” I exclaim, reaching for it eagerly.

“Latte?” she asks, raising an eyebrow, her tone teasing but sharp.

“Huh?” I fumble, shoving the calculator into my book-bag, still half-distracted by how effortlessly beautiful she looks.

“Latte,” she repeats, her eyebrow arching higher. “You said a latte for my calculator. Where’s my latte?”

“Oh, yeah. Well, there’s where you order,” I say, pointing to the counter, immediately regretting my careless words.Why did I say that?I offered for crying out loud. Now I look like an idiot who can’t even follow through on a simple promise.

Her expression shifts from playful to indignation. I catch a flicker of genuine irritation in her eyes as she pops her hip and puts her hand on it. “Seriously?” she snaps. “You want me to go and order my own latte after you told me you would buy me a latte for my calculator?”

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