*Micah*
It’s not that I like hearing the details of what she went through, but I am excited to get to know more about her, to try and understand her.
But I hate that her fingers are visibly shaking as she picks up her glass, emptying the last drops of sherry into her mouth, like she believes it will give her strength. I consider refilling her glass, but for some reason moving away seems the wrong thing to do.
So very slowly, as if she is a spooked baby animal, I hand her my own glass. “Here, it works better”.
She takes it, her eyes darting from mine, down to the glass, and back to meet mine. “Is it scotch ?”
“Yes, the best there is”.
She bites her lip. “I never tasted scotch”.
“Try it, just a small sip”. It feels so weird having such normal conversation after she has just told me ho
