Micro (adjective) - very small
Brew (intransitive verb) - to be in the process of forming

Just a little change
Small to say the least
Both a little scared
Neither one prepared
Beauty and the Beast

Microbrew

I.

Catherine's drink of choice is wine. She's not a connoisseur by any means, but she can taste the difference between a table wine and a vintage label, and over the years, has learned how to appreciate the latter. It's the right choice for a woman of her age and demographic, it's the acceptable one, it's normal.

Occasionally - usually when she's coerced by her friends, coworkers, or sister - she'll succumb to a shot (or two or three). She's had plenty of hungover mornings to know that she probably shouldn't, but she does anyway, because sometimes it's fun and enjoyable and easy, and sometimes, it's nice to let loose and forget.

She doesn't drink beer. Not since her mother died.

...

When Catherine is in school, right after she starts her job at the bar, her mother makes it a ritual to visit once a week. She comes late at night, after last call and just before close, and together, they chat over two cold ones and a plate of greasy bar food. It's the one night a week she doesn't have to be a student or a bartender. It's the one night a week she can just...be.

But after that night, the bar is no longer her safe haven, but a reminder of her failure. And beers only draw attention to the loss of the person she used to share them with.

More than any other drink, beer reminds her of what she once had. And in her attempt to move on, it's one of the first casualties.

...

When Vincent offers her a brew, still cold from the fridge, it's the first time Catherine's had one in nine years. She accepts it because of nerves and because it would be rude to refuse (especially since she was the one who asked for a drink in the first place) and because she's pretty sure she needs to be at least a little buzzed to process everything that's happened.

It goes down so smooth and familiar, and for a moment, she swears she's back in that bar with her mother, talking about classes and singing along to an old jukebox. But she's not at the bar, she's in an abandoned warehouse with a man who's not supposed to be alive, talking about cases and conspiracies that she's not supposed to know about. And it's all so different, but there's something familiar about it too.

She comes back again (even though she said she wouldn't), and he hands her a beer before she can even ask (even though he's the one who told her to leave). She comes back again, and she finds one waiting for her on the table when she arrives.

She measures the time they spend together in bottles and cans, and it's been a six-pack and a half when she starts grabbing them from the fridge without even asking. The fridge is always well-stocked, she notices, but Vincent doesn't drink and JT doesn't drink much, so she wonders if maybe they keep the fridge stocked just for her.

Vincent doesn't drink, but he makes sure that she never goes thirsty, and Catherine doesn't drink beer, but she does when she's with him.

And before she knows it, she's coming back once a week for a beer and a conversation, and each bottle, each can, is a memory - a new memory, and an old one too.

She's missed this, she realizes, she's missed these memories. For nine years, she's been missing out. For nine years, she's been missing.

Nine years ago, when Catherine stopped drinking beer, it was because it reminded her of who she had lost. But now, sitting across from Vincent, a glass of water for him and a cold one for her, she thinks the real reason was because she just hadn't found the right person to drink it with.

...

With a bottle of beer, Vincent lets Catherine into his world, and with a glass of wine, she invites him into hers.

Because wine is what she drinks in her world, and beer is what she drinks in his.

She lives in these two worlds and separates them with a thin line, but sometimes, even she's not sure which is which. Hers is light and his is dark, or maybe it's the other way around, or maybe they're both just gray.

But dark or light, beer or wine, they are both hers, and she likes it this way, wants to keep it this way. Because she's a part of both worlds and they are both parts of her.

And Catherine always thought her drink of choice was wine, but lately, she thinks it might really be beer instead.

Because wine is what she drinks in her world, and beer is what she drinks when she's with him.