The first two drinks go down easy. Normally, I’d never be in a bar on a Tuesday night but today’s events call for weeknight drinking. Anything to get the memory of my son—Jesus fucking Christ. I tip my bottle back and swallow the contents. Maybe if I drink enough, I’ll forget. Alden seems to have the same idea. We’re talking in circles, about anything but the elephant in the room. Neither of us want to address it and, honestly, I’m still too sober to try. We have an open tab and are lucky enough that the waiter is working hard…