“So, why don’t you drink?”
My breath hitched, and air left my lungs like a deflating balloon. I blinked long and rocked my head from side to side, rubbing my hands down my jeans. It was a question I hadn’t heard in a while, mostly because I didn’t often bother admitting my lack of interest in alcohol consumption. I didn’t care for the interrogation it inevitably brought.
Everyone seemed to drink on some level—a glass of wine at night, some beers on a Wednesday, getting sloshed every weekend. Someone being left to their own devices wasn’t my business, but when you told someone you didn’t drink, your reason suddenly became everybody’s business. The truth was, my reason was never good enough for people.
“You don’t have to tell me.” Emma’s gentle tone stole my attention.
I adjusted my shoulders and said, “No. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. I’ve just seen every way alcohol affects people, and I’m not interested.”
She looked at me curiously and replaced the lid. “So, you serve the alcohol instead?”