Not because I’m a heavy drinker.
I’m not.
Usually I’m the guy who has one beer at a cookout and then switches to iced tea because I’m driving the kids home.
But that day, I wanted the noise in my head gone.
The first glass took the edge off.
The second made me feel less humiliated.
The third made me sleepy enough that my anger turned soft and blurry around the edges.
I fell asleep on the couch in my work pants with the television muttering to itself and woke up later with a splitting headache and the taste of regret in my mouth.
Emily draped a blanket over me sometime while I slept.
A glass of water sat on the coffee table.
She didn’t lecture me.
Didn’t say a word.
That somehow made me feel worse.
That evening I told the girls Daddy was going to be home a little more for a while.
