He tried to smile but couldn't; he wasn't drunk enough for this week, really, or this life. "You just missed Alan and his kid," he offered, nervous, desperate for some rational explanation for any of this. "It's understandable why..." You'd snow up your apartment and kidnap a child? He wasn't stupid enough to finish that sentence, and he groaned, rubbing his forehead before pouring a healthy slug of whiskey into each glass.
"You're going to tell me this isn't about miss your life in LA," he said glumly, and he watched her as he drank his whiskey with grim determination.