I had something new to tell him, but I couldn’t yet.
He got up from his office chair and opened his filing cabinet, reached to the very back and pulled out a bottle of red wine and a pair of wineglasses. “I’ve been saving this,” he said, fiddling with the corkscrew.
Watching him do something I’d never seen him do before helped separate the quicksand in my stomach, the sensation of sinking and floating at the same time. He popped the cork and sniffed. “A Burgundy. Côte d’Or.” He poured and passed me a glass. We eyed the ruby liquid.
“To us,” he said, and clinked my glass.
“Us.”
We sipped.
I was used to drinking warm keg beer or orange juice and vodka, so it took a few sips for my taste buds to adjust. The warm red trickled through me. I could tell him now. What I’d found this morn
