I’ve eaten little besides Skinny Pop and cheese sticks and Costco peanuts. Tess tried making Mac ‘n Cheese at some point, but we were both so wasted we let the pot of water burn dry, spilled noodles everywhere, and decided it was best to stick to easy stuff so we didn’t set the house on fire. We only had the one between us, after all.

She’d gone out, the day we agreed to go on a bender, and came back with a whole case of Grey Goose, several 24-packs of various flavored sparkling water, and several bags of limes. And one large punch bowl. We mixed enough for roughly sixty people, and we’ve been working our way through it.

All day.

Well into the night.

Tess passes out first, because she’s just going along with me, and because I think she’s actually feeling more emotions regarding her divorce than she’s willing to admit.

But me?

Oh, me. I’m a colossal fucking disaster.

I still can’t cry.

I can’t even think his name, never mind say it.

I’m a sieve for vodka soda. I pour it into me, and it burns through me, and nothing is left but ice-cold misery.

When will I break?

When will the waves come?

I’m afraid of it, at this point. Terrified.

It’s going to hurt so fucking bad, when it hits.

21 days

“Tess, I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything.”

“Sober up, and then go find some Ativan.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to freak out. It’s coming. I can feel it. And when it does, I’m scared it’s going to be really, really bad.”

“What does Ativan do?”

“It’ll knock me out. You just stab it into my arm or shoulder. It’s for seizure patients, to stop seizures. It’s also used when someone has an hysterical episode and is at risk of self-harm.”

“Nadia…”

My eyes blur and sting. I blink them away. Not yet, dammit.

“Tess, please. You have to.”

“You’re scaring me, Nads.”

“That’s because I’m scared.”

“That bad?”

“It’s going to be bad. Really, really bad. It’s coming and it’s going to be the worst thing you’ve ever seen.”

“Okay. I have a friend, or more of an acquaintance really. He can get me some, I think.”

“Do what you need to do. Just get some.”

“All right. I will.”

“But first, I need more vodka.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“What fingers?”

“Very funny. How many?”

“Tess, listen to me. Listen.”

“No, stop, just stop. Here, take mine. There you go.”

I take a sip. “This is water, goddammit.”

“I stopped drinking two days ago.”

“This isn’t going to be a wine-and-ice-cream kind of crying, Tess. It’s going to be me in the tub screaming at the top of my lungs. Or something. I don’t know.”