Amanda finished her drink and set her glass on the table. Trent glanced at her as she settled on the couch once more.
“I’m usually much better company,” he said, casting his eyes at her and away. “I don’t normally drink in the middle of the afternoon.” Smiling, he set his empty glass down.
Amanda put her hand on his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. “I think you’re handling this remarkably well. I’d be hysterical, eating ice cream and watching chick flicks.”
Trent laughed. “We all have our coping mechanisms. Mine is to drown it in enough alcohol that it ceases to matter.”
“Drowning does two things—it gives you a hangover and it makes the problem wet. Then it hangs around, trying to dry, and it gets in the way. Eventually, the alcohol dries on it, making it a sticky mess.”
“Yeah, that got away from you.” Trent chuckled, blue eyes twinkling.
“Little bit.” She held her fingers half an inch apart.
© 2019 Dellani Oakes