Mixed Drinks

by Lisa Miller

I handed him a scotch on the rocks as he walked in the door after work. Still gun shy from our fight the night before, in which I did all the yelling while he either sat silently or mumbled lame apologies about not being good with feelings, he raised his eyebrows and smiled a tiny bit as he wondered if the drink was safe to drink. "I know it's hard for you to talk about your feelings, so I'm going to liquor you up first," I said. He agreed to use his outside voice and I agreed to use my inside voice so we'd meet in the middle volume-wise, since neither of us wanted to waste a perfectly good Saturday night fighting when we had more important things to do. And then he said, "About the drinks - aren't you having one too?" I agreed to have a few, knowing that if a "few" turned into "some" turned into "lots," we wouldn't be talking until the hangover wore off sometime around 8pm on Sunday.

6S - C3

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