Oh. Yes—thank you.” He fitted the stems of the other glasses between his knuckles and sipped from his new drink. “I was supposed to be saving this for somebody.” “Oh,” she said, and he could tell he’d not said the right thing. She turned at an angle and stared out toward the party. She looked lovely. Not in the dress he’d imagined her in, alas no, but government-worker-of-the-future pretty. Then he understood. It was like they were at a high school mixer, and he’d forgotten how to do all this. “No, I mean it’s for my father, the person’s this was, was my father’s,” he said. She tilted her head and smiled. “Cheers.” She clinked her cup into his. The cheers bumped a dollop of champagne out of his glass and onto his shoe and he looked down at it trying to keep his balance. He wished this were all done with, the chatting, the awkward, he wished they were in a quiet spot together, where he wouldn’t have to try to barge any more words up the inebriated passage of his throat.
