Page 15 of Holiday Romance
“Three, I’ll have you know.”
“Did they deserve it?”
“All my clients deserve it.” I drain my water, eager to change the subject. “How much time off do you have this year?”
“Just two weeks. I’m fully booked up then.”
“And you only sound a little smug.”
He grins. “I’ve been working on a more humble persona.”
“Uh-huh. And how’s that going for you?”
“Not as fun,” he says, and I laugh.
When we first met, Andrew dreamed of traveling the world as a photojournalist. Of far-flung places and images of life in all its forms. And he tried. For years he tried. But the assignments were few and far between and, like it does for most people, practicality won out over wishful thinking. Weddings paid his bills, graduations and bar mitzvahs brought in a steady income. He never resented it. He told me once that he found a lot of joy in the ordinary, that he loved his work and the people he met. I believed him. And if I didn’t, all I’d need to do was look at his photographs to see it.
“I’m thinking about getting a new website,” he continues. “There’s a guy I know who—”
“Shit.”
We both glance at the exhausted businessman beside us. “Sorry,” he says when he sees our attention. “Excuse me, sorry. My flight just got canceled.” He slides off the stool without another word, bringing his phone to his ear.
“That sucks,” Andrew mutters, and I nod, suddenly worried as I check the time.
“It’ll be fine,” Andrew says, guessing my thoughts. “It’s a busy night. We’ve been through this before.”
We have. Last year we were delayed five hours, not long enough to go home but enough that everyone wasveryannoyed. It was the closest we ever came to a real argument until eventually, just to waste some time, we decided to get some food. I ordered cheese fries, but they were out of cheese fries, and I was so tired and so hungry that I burst into tears, and then Andrew wasn’t mad at me anymore. He looked like he was about to march into the kitchen and make them himself.
“What?” he asks now, and I realize I’m smiling at the memory.
“You’re a good friend, you know that?”
He eyes me suspiciously. “You need a kidney or something?”
“I mean it,” I say with a laugh. “Come on, let’s have a proper drink. We might as well if we’re stuck here.”
“I’m okay.”
“I insist. What do you want?”
He takes so long to answer that I stop trying to get the barman’s attention and turn to him.
“My treat,” I say.
“I’ve actually stopped.”
“Stopped what? Oh!” I make a face. “Like a pre-Christmas cleanse?”
Another pause. “No.”
Awkwardness settles over us, straining the silence as, once again, it takes me way too long to put two and two together.
“Oh,” I say slowly. “Like… forever?”
“That’s the plan. I’m two months sober as of yesterday.”
I relax a little at that. Sober sounds like such a serious word. Sober is a word for addicts and alcoholics and…
