“From leaving them early. I really struggled with it in the beginning, and it still flares up from time to time. That I was pretending to be a warrior in movies while they were actually fighting. Logically, I understand that it wasn’t my fault and things just happen, but that doesn’t stop you from feeling what you feel.”

If anyone knew that you couldn’t stop feeling what you feel, it was me. And this was actually a really good drink. Why had I thought it tasted bad before? “You did what you were supposed to do.”

“I know that, but it’s like getting cast in a part, going to all the rehearsals and all the fittings, and working with your director and castmates. Then it’s opening night and it’s time for you to go onstage, but you’re the only one who isn’t allowed. You’ve put in all this time and effort, but you don’t get to see any fruits from your labors.”

“You sound like you miss it.”

“I miss a lot of things about it. The structure, the discipline, how everything had meaning and purpose. I miss my buddies the most.”

“That makes sense,” I said. “And back to your guilt thing, you didn’t ask to get blown up and sent home. And I hope those friends tell you that.”

“They’re some of the best men I’ve ever met, and yes, they’ve done their best to help mitigate my guilt. They’ve been some of my biggest cheerleaders and encouraged me to keep making movies and helping veterans out. But if I’m being honest, I’m the one who envies them. They’ve shown me what I’m missing out on.”

“The white picket fences and family?”

“Yes.” He took a long drink this time, nearly finishing it off. “Speaking of family, you should tell me about your parents.”

“That was a very smooth transition,” I assured him. “Not at all awkward.”

“Thank you.”

“Why do you want to know about them?”

“Finding out about someone’s parents makes you understand them better. What makes them tick.”

I had another quick drink. “And you like understanding people better?”

“It’s kind of my job. Plus, I want to get to know you better, chum. Also, I told you all about my dysfunctional parents.”

That was true, and it seemed only fair that I do the same. “Well, Dr. Freud, my story is fairly boring. I’m close with my mom, who was pretty much a single parent my entire life. She and my dad got divorced when I was two years old.” My glass was nearly empty, which seemed very sad to me.

“Why did they split up?”