I poured her drink, and although I was about one beverage away from missing out on the action I was currently paying for, I said ‘fuck it’ and poured one for myself, too.
“For you, my dear,” I said as I handed her the clear plastic cup.
“‘Dear’? So soon?”
“Do you prefer ‘hon’?”
She laughed. “Please, no.”
I raised my drink to hers. “To forgetting whatever made us this way,” and drank half the cup down.
I saw her nod her head with a face that said ‘okay, not what I would have toasted to per se, but I guess I can dig it,’ so I awkwardly added:
“you know, I was not trying to get so dark just there,” and chuckled to myself. That made two idiot-moments, but also two occurrences of that same face. The one of revelation regarding the true existence of another human soul.
She said, “that’s okay,” and tugged gently at my loose hand toward the bed. “Sometimes I like dark.”
Nick Denardi 