Page 121 of Let It Breathe
“I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Try me.”
“Okay. Turns out I slept with the girl of my dreams fifteen years ago and didn’t remember it because I was a drunk idiot, but I do remember sleeping with her cousin, which I also did because I was a drunk idiot. Now I’m about to lose the dream girl to a veterinarian who’s such a nice guy I’d probably date him if I swung that way. On top of that, I’m being accused of arson for a fire I helped extinguish, and the construction project I moved out here to lead is about to go belly up.”
He picked up a fry and shoved it in his mouth, hardly noticing it was cold.
“Wow,” Patrick said. “Not your best week, huh?”
“No.”
“Is it your worst?”
Clay thought about that as he grabbed another fry. “Probably not. The week my dad died was rough.”
Patrick’s eyes clouded with sympathy. “When did your dad die?”
“My third year of college.”
“How did you handle that?”
Clay looked down at the plate. “I dropped out of school, got wasted for a week on Jack and Coke, and ended up in jail on a DUI charge.”
Patrick reached over and grabbed a fry. “And look at you now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’re sitting here at a bar on what is arguably the second-worst day of your life, and if you’re telling me the truth, there’s nothing in that glass but Coke.”
Clay shoved the glass in front of him. “Taste it.”
Patrick shoved the glass back. “I believe you. My point is that you’re dealing with it. Your life is going to hell right now, and you’re handling it like a mature, sober adult.”
Clay picked up the Coke glass and took a slow sip. Then he shook his head. “I’ve been trying so damn hard to get it right this time. I’ve been working the steps, trying to be a good guy, trying to make it up to all the people I screwed over. But somehow I just keep making it worse.”
“Huh.” Patrick looked thoughtful for a moment. “You ever think you’re trying too hard to earn forgiveness from everyone else and not hard enough to forgive yourself?”
Clay frowned. “No.”
“Good you’re keeping an open mind about it.”
He sighed. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Yes, you do. Don’t drink. That’s the hardest part, and you’ve already got that down.”
“That’s not the hardest part,” Clay said, then stifled the urge to crack a crude joke. Hardest part.
“What?” Patrick asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You got a funny look just then.”
Clay shrugged. “It’s dumb.”
“Dumber than sleeping with your dream girl’s cousin?”
“Good point.” He sighed. “Okay, my best buddy and I used to do this thing where we’d turn everything into a dirty joke. Everything was an innuendo of some sort. It’s stupid. I stopped doing it when I got sober.”
