My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie "Well, that changes things." "What changes what?" "We're out of Jack." "Out of what?" "Jack." "Um..." "Jack Daniel's?" "Oh. Right." "Seriously, Aaron, aren't you on a first name basis with Jack already?" "No, because it's a drink, not a person." "And you think I'm drunk." "You are drunk!" "Correction: I'm tipsy. Tip. See. The tip sees you." "John." "The tip sees everyone." "So no Jack means no more drinking, right?" "Nope! It's Christmas time! I'm gonna open up some schnapps!" "Wait, what?" " Schnaaaaaapps!" "Oh, no..." " Peppermint schnapps ahoy!" "No-no-no-no-no, I am not in the mood for - " "C'mon, Aaron, where's your holiday spirit?" "I don...

You stir in the nutmeg, speck by speck, drifting cinnamon on your teeth. Spitting white spots out from the corner of your mouth. Your brother sits in the living room, watching a decade-old sitcom. The laughter is tinny. Like calling someone through a can and a string connected to a live telephone wire. "When will they be ready?" he calls over to you. You sigh. "An hour." "Good. I want them for the office party tomorrow."