His mouth is warm against my temple. The room around us is soft with music and low light, glasses clinking somewhere behind us, and he is beside me the way he used to be, easy and certain, his shoulder against mine. Someone makes a toast. I drink without thinking because I am safe. I am with him. I have no reason to think about my glass.
He leans down, his breath warm at my ear. Back in a minute. I watch him cross the room and turn back and the party keeps going and everything is fine.
Then the floor shifts.
Not dramatically. Just enough that I reach for something to hold and find nothing. The music goes underwater. The voices blur. I look at my hand and it feels like someone else's hand wrapped around a glass that is suddenly very far away. I think, something is wrong. The thought is c
