“Whisky is an acquired taste,” Sam says. “But trust me, it’s worth it.” He lifts his glass, allowing himself one swallow. The whisky warms him immediately, and he has to hold himself back from drinking it all in one satisfying gulp. There will be plenty of time to sip whisky at home, with Annie, and he needs a clear head.
Albert brings the glass to his lips again, barely wetting them. “Yum,” he says, grimacing. “So—” He takes a deep breath, eyes wide. “What do you want to talk about?”
“What do you mean, what do I want to talk about?” Sam says, his gaze on Albert’s drink. “We’re two dudes having a drink at the end of the day. I want to talk about either girls or sports.”
“Oh!” Albert laughs, blushes. “Well I don’t have much to say about either one of those things.”
“Course you do.” Take a drink, Albert. “Who was your first crush?”
Albert winces. “Kathleen Callahan,” he says right away. “We worked together at the 7-Eleven.” He shifts the glass to his other thigh. “She was intimidating. Girls like her never paid attention to me.”
“What’d she look like?” Take a fucking drink, Al.
“Brown curly hair. Eyeglasses.”
“You two talk?” Sam asks.
“A couple times. She let me listen to some songs on her headphones. The music she liked was loud.”
“Metal chicks are the best,” Sam says. He takes another sip, hoping Albert will follow suit, but he just recrosses his legs.
“And then my dad showed up to buy cigarettes.” Albert grimaces. “I hated the way he looked at her. Brought her up at the dinner table that night; told me I should ask her out. His exact words: ‘What about it, Al? You man enough to get some of that?’”
“Your dad sounds like a serious prick,” Sam says, unable to help himself.
“It gets worse,” Albert says. “He came back a few days later and told Kathleen I had a thing for her. Said that I’d been jerking off to her, if the state of my bedsheets meant anything.”
“God, Al,” Sam says. “That’s awful.” Tragic really, like every story you have, so please, brother, take a drink and end this thing. “What did you do?”
“I waited for my dad to drive away, and then I left. Never went back to the job. Everyone heard about it at school. It was mortifying.”
Albert’s expression is pained, and Sam can’t help but feel for the guy. “I’m sorry, Albert,” he says.
Albert shrugs. “I googled her recently. She married a Mormon.”
“You want my professional opinion?” Sam asks. “How to make yourself feel better about the whole thing?”
Albert looks up, hopeful. Sam lifts his glass and points to the whisky. “A whole bunch of this stuff. It’s exactly those types of experiences this is manufactured to forget.”
Albert laughs. “Well, then, in that case . . .” He raises his glass again. “To Kathleen Callahan, and her seven children.”
“Go ahead,” Sam says. “A good long sip. Get the full experience.”
Albert touches his lips to the glass and then abruptly stands up. “Who am I kidding? You shouldn’t be wasting this stuff on me.” He empties his glass into Sam’s. “Just the smell of it turns my stomach.”
Sam feels the air leave his lungs, the rise of bile in his gut, as he stares at the poisoned contents of Albert’s glass mixing with his own.
“Go ahead,” Albert says. “Don’t deprive yourself on my account.”
Sam holds up the glass and takes a good look at it. Do it, he thinks. Drink the whole thing. It’s time to face the facts. He’s got no usable legs, no key to that door, and a very slim chance he’ll ever see Annie again.
He places the glass on the bedside table. A slim chance is still better than none.
“Funny thing,” Sam says, “but I think I’ve lost my taste for it.”
Albert rolls his eyes. “Well I guess that’s one hundred and sixteen dollars down the drain.” He takes Sam’s glass, sets it with his on top of the cart, and then returns to Sam’s chair. “Where were we?” he says, crossing his legs and clasping one knee. “Oh right. First crush. Your turn.”
Chapter 40
Annie sits at the kitchen island, her chin in her hand, picturing Sam beside her.
So let me get this straight, he says in his most professional tone. You’re aware that I hid a shitload of credit card debt from you, and I lied about visiting my mother, and yet you’re still waiting up at two o’clock in the morning, wondering if I’m coming home?
Not only that, Annie admits. But before opening my eyes in the morning, I pretend you’re behind me, your arms wrapped around me, still the man I thought I knew. I have to say, Sam, this denial thing is pretty great. I can see why you like it so much.