“He used to drink the liquid out of tuna cans.” The story of my argument was insignificant now, dwarfed by this larger and infinitely more fascinating topic. I let go of my anger, all of it, and leaned back on the beach blanket, feeling palpably lighter, giddy almost. Feeling related. “Oil or water?” I asked. Gretchen leaned back as well and brought her cigarette to her sun-blistered lips. “Both.”
