Two hours later, I pour Victor his fifth glass of whiskey.
“This has gotta be the last one, Evelyn,” he says, his words only slightly slurred. But his face is happy, a little pink from laughter and drink.
“Penultimate, at best,” I say, winking at him and making sure it’s an extra-generous pour.
“Enough!” he says, laughing and pulling his drink away so that just a little whiskey spills on the floor. “You’re trying to get me drunk, woman.”
“That is the name of the game,” I say, wrinkling my nose at him.
We’re still settled on the couch, long ago having carried the whiskey decanter, an extra bottle of wine, and some snacks over to the coffee table so that we don’t have to get up for refills. I’m wrapped in my favorite white knit blanket, curled up amongst the pillows, but Victor clear
