Page 34 of Notes About Vodka

"Wow," I say, genuinely impressed. "That sounds amazing."

Val nods, his smile widening. "Yeah, it's a bit of a dream, but I'm working on it. What about you, Laura? I know you sing and play piano…but why are you at NYU in chemistry?"

I take a deep breath, thinking about my own uncertain path. "I want to go to medical school," I begin slowly. "Maybe become a surgeon. I'm not entirely sure yet, but I know I want to help people. Make a difference, you know?"

He looks at me thoughtfully. "That's pretty admirable. I can definitely see you doing that. You've got that determination."

I smile, feeling a warmth spread through me at his words. "Thanks, Val. It’s just…figuring it all out, trying to finish my degree, paying the bills with music, waiting tables, just surviving."

He nods, his expression softening. "Yeah, I get that. But I have no doubt that you'll find your way."

Our eyes meet, and for a moment, everything else fades away. There’s a steadiness in his gaze that pulls me in, a quiet strength that feels like a lifeline in the chaos of my thoughts. It’s not just his presence but the way he looks at me, like he sees more than the surface, like he understands parts of me I can’t even articulate.

As it gets later into the afternoon, Val suggests we grab acocktail, I agree, hoping a drink might numb the edge of what I’m feeling. I have too many emotions going through me right now. Hatred and disgust at Sam. A deep desire for Val that is building and growing into something scarier.I’m losing my control…

We end up at Maya Well, a cozy Latin spot that I’ve found comforting since Skipper discovered it last year. The dim lighting, the soft hum of conversation around us—it’s the kind of place where you can lose yourself for a while. You can even get tacos from the food truck outside. If you are lucky, there’s even abuela’s homemade flan. But tonight, no amount of ambiance can distract from the storm brewing inside of me.

Val orders a scotch for himself, and I opt for a White Russian, partly as a nod to his heritage. We sit at the bar, our knees brushing together, the closeness between us offering a small sense of solace. But as we talk, I can feel the tension rising within me, the words I’ve been holding back threatening to spill over.

Finally, I can’t keep it inside any longer. Blame it on the vodka shots that Val ordered for us after our first drink, but I have to tell someone.

Why not let Val share some of this turmoil in me.

I take a deep breath and look at Val, my heart pounding in my chest. “Val, there’s something I need to tell you. Well, not that I need to tell you, but I just… I want to talk to you about…”

He turns to me, his expression immediately shifting to concern. “What is it?”

I take another breath, steadying myself.

"I’m divorcing Sam," I say, the words coming out in a rush.

There’s something about Val—his calm presence, the way he listens without judgment—that makes me feel like I can let my guard down. Even though we’re still getting to know each other, he’s already shown me a kindness and understanding Ihaven’t felt in years. It’s not easy to open up, but with him, it feels... possible.

“I... I went to the health clinic today. They had to check me over after...after Sam…well, I applied for our divorce months ago before I moved here, but now, I need to hurry it along…”

“Why? What…” Val grabs my hands, holding them in his.

Electric currents rush through my arms causing my heart to stop. The words leave my lips as I look into the darkness of Val’s hungry eyes. “He…assaulted me.”

Val’s brown eyes widen, a mix of shock and anger flashing across his face. “Laura...he did what?” His voice is low, laced with a dangerous edge.

I nod, my throat tightening as I continue. “It wasn’t the first time, but...this time, well I have to stop it. Val. I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I’m done, I’m over it.”

Val’s hands continue to hold mine, his grip firm but gentle, as if he’s afraid I might break under the weight of my own words. His calm, steady presence feels like an anchor, grounding me when my emotions threaten to pull me under. There’s a sincerity in his touch, a quiet reassurance that makes me believe, even for just a moment, that I’m not alone in this. It’s his empathy, the way he listens without judgment, that gives me the courage to keep speaking. “Laura, I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve that. You deserve so much better.”

I feel a tear slip down my cheek, quickly pulling one of my hands away to brush it away. My hand feels cold as I use the sleeve of my shirt to wipe another tear away. “I’ve been trying to tell myself it wasn’t as bad as it is, but today... Today, I couldn’t lie to myself anymore.”

His hand tightens around mine, and there’s a fierceness in his eyes that makes me feel both safe and seen. “You’re stronger than you know. And you don’t have to go through this alone.”

I nod, trying to absorb the warmth of his words, the way helooks at me like I’m worth fighting for. “I just... I needed you to know. You’ve been so kind to me, and I didn’t want to keep this from you.”

Val’s thumb strokes the back of my hand, a soothing gesture that nearly undoes me. The contrast between his touch—steady, gentle, and grounding—and the trauma swirling inside me feels overwhelming. For a moment, I can almost believe in the comfort he’s offering, that maybe I don’t have to face this alone. It’s a fragile hope, but one that makes my chest ache with an unfamiliar blend of relief and vulnerability. “Thank you for telling me. I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of my confession hanging in the air between us. It’s not awkward, but rather a kind of stillness that feels necessary. For the first time, I’m allowing myself to sit with my emotions, to feel them without pushing them away. Val doesn’t fill the silence with words, and somehow, that makes it easier to breathe.

As we finish our last drink, I can sense that both Val and I are ready for a change in conversation. The heaviness of what I’ve shared still lingers between us, but there’s a mutual understanding that we need a reprieve, even if just for a little while.

“So,” Val says, leaning back in his chair, his dark eyes glinting with curiosity. “Tell me more about Hurtsboro. What was it like growing up there?”

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