“No. I know this is probably difficult to believe given my enthusiasm for negronis the other night, but I don’t drink much.” He wanted her to ask him why. “Why not?” “My father is a drunk of the worst sort.” Saying that felt like a lot. He’d wanted to say it, but once it was out, he found he didn’t want to elaborate beyond the topic-sentence version of the mess that was life with his parents. But he was finding this exercise in truth-telling strangely exhilarating, so he told her another one—a different one. “I couldn’t sleep because I was ruminating about my job situation.”
