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I just don’t know when.
Islam the sealed bottle of vodka against the counter and stare at it with shaky hands. On the one hand, I want to drink until I no longer can taste Lana on my tongue. But on the other, it feels like I’m letting her down in some way.
Blacking out won’t solve anything.
Neither will sitting around, reading a book to escape my reality. We all have coping strategies, and mine just happen to be found at the bottom of a bottle.
I hesitate while pouring myself a drink.
You told Lana you would limit your drinking for her.
Yeah, well, these are desperate times and all.
I forgo the glass and drink straight from the bottle instead. The first sip was meant to erase the taste of Lana’s guava icing from my tongue. Alcohol is a poor substitute, but the taste wiped away any traces of sweetness from my mouth. The second chug was to try—and fail—to forget the way Lana’s lips felt pressed against mine. The rightness of it all. The memories that were stirred up by her lips brushing against mine. The craving I have to repeat the kiss all over again, this time without any kid to interrupt us.
The rest of my night is a bit hazy. Next thing I know, a large amount of vodka is missing and the sun is already starting to rise.
Thisis the feeling I crave. The numbness. The stillness of my thoughts. The ability to disappear into the darkness for a little while and escape my problems.
It’s not until I wake up the next day at two p.m. with a pounding headache that I realize just how much I drank.
“Fuck.” I squeeze my eyes shut.
I’m only able to get another hour of sleep in before my empty stomach declares war. I climb out of bed and take a quick shower to wipe away the alcohol seeping out of my every pore.
Although I had plans to finish up working on the attic, I think it’s best that I stay away from the lake house today.
Only because you’re afraid.
Hell yeah, I’m afraid. The last thing I want to do is confront Lana after last night, especially when I look as hungover as I feel.
So, instead of heading in the direction of the house, I get in my car and drive to Main Street in search of food. My options are limited to the coffee shop and Early Bird Diner since most of the nicer places are packed with summer tourists who just arrived.
As tempted as I am to avoid Isabelle after the incident with Wyatt, I need to face her eventually. It’s only right after the whole scene I caused in her restaurant. Plus, I really don’t want to spend the rest of my summer cooking for myself every single day.
I walk into the diner with my head held high and a smile on my face.
Isabelle turns toward the bell chiming above me and frowns. “You’re brave to show your face around here after the last time.”
I hold my hands up in surrender. “I come in peace.”
Her right brow arches. “I’m not sure you know the meaning of the word after you tried to choke our town hero.”
It takes everything in me to not roll my eyes at the way she moons over Wyatt. “I’m sorry for causing a scene the last time I was here. It was wrong of me to stir up trouble like that in your place of business, and I swear not to do it again. Scout’s honor.” I hold up three fingers.
She remains quiet while pinning me in place with her glare.
“Please take pity on me and my empty stomach.” I press the palms of my hands together.
She rolls her eyes. “Quit your moping and take a seat before you make me look bad.” With a flick of her hand, I step toward the booth beside the window overlooking Main Street. Lamppost banners hang from each streetlight to remind everyone of the fast-approaching Strawberry Festival I stupidly decided to volunteer for.
Isabelle slaps a menu on my table and leaves to go grab my orange juice.
I flip through the menu and decide on a turkey club before pulling out my phone to text Iris.
What are you up to?
Iris
