It was raining. And the restaurant was closed. Yet they still ushered me in, and told me to sit. 

Did I look like I’d been crying? I’ve been told I can’t hide my expressions very well. 

They all took their break, a few tables away from me, out of sight. My slurps echoed against the empty booths. Only the sound of the tap, dripping. I ate my soup like it was something you made for me. 

Suddenly, I felt the need to have a cocktail. It’s what you would’ve done. And I wondered to myself what your favourite drink was. Many come to mind. You were a drinker after all. As am I. And I realized I could never ask you now. I could ask people who probably know, those who’ve made you countless drinks, I could rummage through your liquor cabinet and make an educated guess, I could remember the stories you’ve told me since childhood, looking for clues, but I would never, ever, know for sure. 

This made me cry. Burying my face deep in my empty soup bowl. Questioning if my muffled sniffles were competing with the leaky tap. I sat and wrote and slurped and wrote, and now there’s udon stains that have made the first letter of your name run in my journal. 

I wonder if I’ll come back to this page and think it’s from my tears. You would tease me for crying. Probably mock me for leaving the house, looking like a slob. I’m not sure you’ve ever seen me cry. Surely as a child, sobs only my body would remember. I’d always hold it together, through all the dark and looming attempts at seriousness, any talk of your illness. 

I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you cry either. Not even when Grandma died. Seeing as we have that in common, I know your lack of tears does not come from a lack of feeling.  A stiff drink will loosen that lump in your throat. A good laugh will melt the knot in your stomach. Nobody needs to see you cry, what are you trying to prove? It’s my pain, not yours.

 (I feel like I understood you. 

You would have understood me too, 

with more time.)

But, I wish I’d cried. I wish I’d sobbed and held onto your hands with both of mine. And said I love you and I’ll miss you and I have always seen myself in you… And— while I have you—

What is your favourite drink?