I opened the door and I could see those days had passed. Inside, the booths were green Naugahyde and the carpet a psychedelic pattern that must have been from the sixties. It had been trapping the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke ever since. Daphne surveyed the bar, the pictures on the wall that told the place’s story. Black-and-white photos of people dressed in suits and fitted dresses showed what kind of place this used to be. Once a place you came to show off, now it just had a handful of old drunks lining the bar. The bartender, an older Filipina, nodded at us but didn’t say hello.

The men who kept vying for the bartender’s attention didn’t register us at all.

“Where do you want to sit?”

“That booth. It was my booth.”

She clutched her purse as she made her way past the barstools and into her booth. Making a move to sit down, she fell onto the Naugahyde in a way that worried me.

“Are you okay?”

“I just lost my balance for a second. Get me a drink, honey.”

“Sure, of course. What do you want?”

“Tequila, maybe. What do they have?”

She scanned the bar. I could see a row of different Pucker and schnapps bottles. Low-shelf liquor. I wanted to take her somewhere better. Somewhere fancy and classy, to get a martini, a final memory that could compete with her original.

“You know what I used to drink here? Midori Sours.”

“You want a Midori Sour? What about your mouth sores?”

“Forget them. Tell the bartender to make it with Cointreau.”

I walked up to the bartender and sat down next to an old man hunched over his drink and a crossword puzzle.

“What are you ladies having?”

“She wants a Midori Sour, but make it with Cointreau. And I’ll just have a tequila soda.”

“We have Triple Sec.”

I turned to check with her and saw her peering at the pictures on the wall and smiling.

“That’s probably fine.”

I took out my credit card, and the bartender shook her head.

“Cash only.”

She pointed to the ATM. I could ask Daphne for money or I could see how much was left in my bank account. I took out forty dollars from the ATM and stared at my last hundred dollars in checking. My 401(k) money had not yet hit my account. I hoped Daphne wasn’t in the mood to have more than two drinks.

When I brought the drinks back to our table, she clapped her hands.

“I love that unnatural color. It makes me feel like we’re on an island somewhere. Anywhere but here.”