I’d usually move straight to the liquor cabinet and wallow in a week-long binge, ignoring reality for as long as possible. The email I received while waiting for Vivian ranked number one on my list of fuck me moments. Keaton, I know we’re not supposed to communicate right now without the lawyers, but I need to tell you that I’m pregnant. It doesn’t change how I feel, but it changes my financial needs, and your obligations. Contact my lawyer immediately-stop ignoring his calls. -Kelsey The fuck? “This one is kind of scratchy.” Her voice interrupted my thoughts, and I shoved my phone into my pocket, sitting back in the overstuffed armchair. She was trying on the first of an armful of gowns, and I was ready for a fashion show. If I didn’t have my liquor cabinet, at least I had Vivian. A month and a half ago, Kelsey had shown up at my office, begging me to forgive her, to stay together, to call off the divorce. It was nearing drunk o’clock (three in the afternoon) and I was alternating between my new vices, a Saint Luis Rey Coronas cigar and a glass of Maker’s Mark and Coke.
