Better Than None Read Online Free PDF

wondering what it was. My mother
had pancreatic cancer. The same disease that ravaged and killed her
sister.  Once we got the diagnosis, there really just wasn’t anything more
to say.
    After I dropped Barb off, I was a mess. I was numb, yet I felt far too
much. I don’t think either of us were even remotely ready for the news that Dr.
O’Malley gave us. Even after everything. All of her discomfort and symptoms, after
all the appointments, all the tests, hearing those words out loud, perhaps no
one is ever ready to hear them. Up until that point, we’d both chosen the
cafeteria-style of news. We picked out the parts we liked and focused on those
while avoiding the other unappetizing bits and pieces. Obviously, with
something like this, we had no choice, no say at all as to what ended up on our
tray.
    I had been doing so well in my recovery if that’s what it could be
called. So God damned well. It wasn’t recovery in the usual sense of the word,
not from alcohol or a substance. It was abstention of destructive behavior. Yet
somehow my car drove not to my house, but to the lovely, swanky, high-end bar
at the Bel Air Hotel. I didn’t know what I’d do, I just knew I couldn’t go home
and be alone. Not even my dogs could comfort me. I needed distractions, I
needed a drink and I needed something else to focus on.
    The bar itself was small, only six or so seats and the entire place was
occupied by high-end industry businessmen and women. Thankfully, there was one
seat open in between two men in suits and two women similarly dressed. I eased
myself in and was grateful the bartender took my order within seconds. I felt
the first sip of my martini go all the way down, concentrating on what it felt
like on my lips, my tongue, the back of my throat, and then all the way down my
chest and into my stomach. I closed my eyes as I felt the immediate effects
while visualizing the liquid travelling through my body. When I opened them
again, the businessman next to me smiled and I smiled back, took another
healthy sip and again imagined the route the alcohol went. As much as I didn’t
want to be alone, I also couldn’t bear the thought of trying to make small talk
with a stranger, much less doing what I used to do, so I fished my phone out of
my purse and pretended to focus on it. After a much-concerted effort of not
looking back at the suit, I heard him and his friend start talking again and
knew he’d given up on me.
    The first martini went down quickly and easily, not that I thought
there’d be much struggle. As the bartender set the second one in front of me,
the men left. I put the phone back down and enjoyed the simplicity of my drink
when I felt someone slide into the seat to my right. I didn’t even bother to
look up as the bartender made eye contact with the new patron, nodded and said,
“The usual, Brad?”
    When I heard, “Thanks, Scott.” I thought, I know that voice. I don’t
want to, but I do . I took another healthy sip and turned over my shoulder
to see none other than the illustrious Dr. Rosenberg. He did a double take as
he tried to either place me or remember my name. Or both.
    “It’s Stephanie Lawson. My mother is one of your patients.” I said
flatly.
    “I know who you are.” He said dismissively.
    “Of course you do. Silly me to think the great doctor would ever be at
a loss.”
    I chuckled to myself as I looked back at my martini. Of all the gin
joints… I would pick a bar to get away from anything and everything cancer, and
who sits down next to me but my mother’s God-damned oncologist. Perhaps this
was the universe telling me I really shouldn’t have been there. As the
bartender placed Dr. Rosenberg’s drink in front of him, I asked for the bill
and then downed a good portion of the rest of my second drink, which burned. A
lot.
    “Are you leaving because of me?”
    He was nothing if not direct. Still, I rolled my eyes and looked at
him. “Yes.”
    He chuckled. “Well, at least you’re