Eventually I made it through my first sober weekend in fifteen years, save the nine months of my pregnancy. I had my first sober Thanksgiving. Christmas. New Year’s Eve. I went to a sober Fourth of July barbecue and spent all twenty-four hours of my thirty-sixth birthday unpunctuated with wine. I started to meet a few sober people. I experienced the relief of mornings without a hangover or regret. I put together days, then a couple of weeks here and there.
