04-09-2020, 04:21 PM
He hadn’t forgotten Jude’s reaction the first time he’d tried to foist alcohol on him. That had been back when Near was still young and innocent, still languoring in the embrace of too much too-good-for-him wine and whatever else, still puzzled but not quite bothered by the kid’s presence, and he’d made the offer to share with intentions approaching something like hospitality. And in the name of something like hospitality, he hadn’t pressed the matter when Jude declined to do anything but stare at the bottle.
Now it was “I don’t really drink,” which explained the first time, but Near was older. Wiser. More hungover. It wasn’t clear if the statement was supposed to mean the kid rarely drank, had never drunk, used to drink but had stopped (he had some serious amends to make if he was a twelve-stepper). Whatever it meant, he had faith in its sincerity, that it wasn’t just “I don’t want to drink with you,” and knew he probably should have left the kid alone because of it. Would have, normally, probably, but he had passed beyond the phase of tentative affability into a different space, one defined by irritation and unresolved resentment that weren’t entirely Jude’s fault but mostly were. And something else, too, enmeshed with his coming up short of anything that resembled need, like when Shay would announce he was kicking his habit and Near would invite his dealer over to play cards.
“It’s all too strong. That’s the point. What’d you find down there, anything that looked interesting?” He inclined his head toward the cellar the kid had crawled out from. Mercy: an option of wine instead of harder stuff. But maybe only because Near didn’t want to venture back to the cursed front room where the bar was.
Now it was “I don’t really drink,” which explained the first time, but Near was older. Wiser. More hungover. It wasn’t clear if the statement was supposed to mean the kid rarely drank, had never drunk, used to drink but had stopped (he had some serious amends to make if he was a twelve-stepper). Whatever it meant, he had faith in its sincerity, that it wasn’t just “I don’t want to drink with you,” and knew he probably should have left the kid alone because of it. Would have, normally, probably, but he had passed beyond the phase of tentative affability into a different space, one defined by irritation and unresolved resentment that weren’t entirely Jude’s fault but mostly were. And something else, too, enmeshed with his coming up short of anything that resembled need, like when Shay would announce he was kicking his habit and Near would invite his dealer over to play cards.
“It’s all too strong. That’s the point. What’d you find down there, anything that looked interesting?” He inclined his head toward the cellar the kid had crawled out from. Mercy: an option of wine instead of harder stuff. But maybe only because Near didn’t want to venture back to the cursed front room where the bar was.