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“Josh, I really wish you had let me pick the place.” I twist my fingers beneath the table as another waiter passes by our table, spinning Mom’s ring over and over on my finger.
The ceiling is covered with soft, twinkling lights and smooth jazz oozes from speakers hidden in corners and behind billowing white gauze. Couples sit around us, whispering across tables, as men and women in white shirts and black ties weave between us all, topping up glasses and recommending dishes.
It’s intimate and expensive and Ihateit.
“I wanted to make it up to you, you know, for the other day.” He lifts his glass and holds it out to me.
Whiskey. Tonight he’s drinking whiskey.
I glance down, nervous but sure of what I need to do, and take in a deep breath.
“Josh.” My voice trembles and my hands shake. “We should talk.”
