Page 51 of Rush

“How’s it going?” Luke takes the stool next to me, resting his arms on the bar top.

“I’ve been better,” I answer quietly.

My arms are on the bar, chin resting on them, my eyes fixed on the glass of wine sitting on the bar in front of me.

I called Luke five minutes after I ordered the wine. He told me to sit tight, and he’d be there soon. He wasn’t kidding. That was twenty minutes ago, and he lives in the city. He must’ve broken all the speed laws to get here.

“I haven’t drunk any,” I tell him, my eyes still fixed on the wine glass, seeing the distorted reflection of my face in it.

My real face.

“I know,” he says gently.

“I want to though.”

“I know that, too.”

I let out a sad-sounding sigh.

“Do you want me to get rid of it?” he asks.

“Not…yet.” My eyes slide to his. “I’m not going to drink it, but…” I trail off. I’m not ready to let go yet.

“I know,” he says in understanding. “If you were going to drink that wine, you would have done it by now, and you definitely wouldn’t have called me. Trust me; I know.”

Luke is eight years sober—drugs and drink. He’s in his early thirties. A self-made millionaire. He owns a tech company. Nearly lost it all on drugs, alcohol, and women. It took an overdose that nearly killed him to wake him up.

“I’m sorry to have dragged you here.”

“Don’t be. You know the rules. Never be sorry for asking for help. I’m your sponsor. This is what I’m here to do—help you when you need it. And, Ari, you’re seven months clean, and this is my first call to a bar from you. I’d say, you’re doing great.”

I snort out a dry laugh. “Only you would say I’m doing great when I’m sitting in a bar with a glass of wine in front of me.”

“I see the positive in everything. I’m a ray of sunshine. What can I say?”

I laugh again; there’s still no humor in it.

“So”—he props his chin on his hand—“you want to talk about it?”

I shake my head.

“Okay. So, what do you want to do?”

“Drink.” I throw him a wry grin.

“You’re a comedian.”

“I do try.”

“Just don’t give up your day job.”

The bartender appears, asking Luke, “What can I get you?”

“Diet Coke, for me, and one for her, too. And, if you could get rid of the wine, it’d be appreciated.”

“Killjoy,” I mutter as the wine is moved from my line of sight by the bartender.

“I know. I’m sensible and boring.”