Because You're Mine

by Rea Frey

  Lee laughs but smarts at his comment about living with Grace. Does my son prefer everyone but me? “That’s new,” Lee says. She takes another sip of tea.

  “You’re probably going to see that more and more. He’s exerting his independence, which has been a key component of our lessons lately.”

  “That’s great.”

  Noah covers her hand with his again. “Talk to Mason about the trip. You’ll feel better once he gives you permission.”

  Her heart races, both from the contact and from the conversation she knows she needs to have. “I don’t think it’s his permission I need.”

  “I know. It’s yours.”

  Noah looks into her eyes and she could swear there’s something he’s not saying, some hidden desire he feels compelled to hide. She waits for him to remove his hand, physically aching for that contact the moment he does. She stands and dumps the rest of her lukewarm tea into the sink. What she doesn’t say, what she can’t say, is that she is starting to feel obsolete. Mason isn’t responding to her in the same way. She’s used to his preference for Grace, but she thought that was singular. Because he’s known Grace forever. Because she’s like family. But in the span of a few months, Mason also prefers Noah. Not her.

  She turns at the sink. “Are you still cool to go to the barbecue later?”

  “Of course.” He stacks his workbooks along the dining room table. “Looking forward to it.”

  She nods and searches his face. “Do you need me?”

  He shakes his head. “You’re free to go, young lady.”

  She hesitates, wanting to clear the air about the other night, to make sure they are really okay, but she simply retreats to her room and sits on her bed. The tears—sudden and loaded—push to the surface. All of her feelings have been kept at bay for so long, and they are coming at her in a wild rush: possible (failed) romance, freedom, handing some of the responsibility of Mason to someone else. It is a lot, and sudden. She flicks away the tears and exhales.

  She needs to call her sponsor.

  13

  lee

  The meetings are held about a mile from her house, in an old church off of Fairway, across from an elementary school. She first discovered this AA chapter when she was walking the neighborhood and instantly recognized the group congregating in front of the church. Some were smoking. Others were pacing or talking. She’d walked right in, sweat-soaked and nervous, and has been attending regularly ever since. She’s kept her sobriety in check since Mason was little, which is the only way her friends know her. As sober Lee. As responsible Lee. As cautious Lee.

  They’ve never seen the real her. They’ve never seen her at home, navigating the land mine of her father’s life and mourning a mother who is never coming back again. Trying to save a best friend who has no interest in being saved.

  She pushes through the doors and walks to the back of the church. Sally always goes to such trouble to spruce up the place. Two sturdy tables draped with floral tablecloths hold local coffee and an assortment of snacks. Fabric-covered chairs that Sally spent a week refinishing complete the circle—not those awful folding ones like in her early meetings—and in the corner, two diffusers spit out Young Living essential oils that she sells on the side.

  It is a lovely place to confess and it makes her feel safe. Lee lifts her hand in salute as she enters, a few of the regulars already huddled around the donuts supplied by Shipley’s. She grabs a donut and coffee and takes a seat. A blast of powdered sugar coats her palms.

  “Looks like you’ve been mauled by a sugar monster there.”

  Lee glances up to see Gary, lifetime alcoholic. A corset of blue veins branches the width of his nose, his eyes a slurry inside his skull. He is her worst-case scenario, and yet even he keeps showing up, after every lapse, after every stumble—and let’s face it, there will always be a stumble, because the stumble is his real addiction.

  She swallows. “Yeah, love the sugar,” Lee says. The donut rests on her lap. Not for the first time, she questions why she still comes to these meetings when she’s been sober for so many years. Yes, it gives her strength, but it’s still painful to listen to other people’s stories and struggles. Their setbacks. Their fears. When she listens, she shuttles back to that place before Mason, to a time in her life she wants to wipe clean, like a whiteboard. But she attends because she knows without these meetings, she might slip.

  The meeting begins and she pitches in with the greetings: “Hello, Stacy; hello, Gary; hello, Tina; hello, Harper; hello, Elliot.” Once it’s her turn, she falters. Her mind sorts through all the information they already know, wondering what she can possibly talk about today. She’s told them so much about her life already: her mother, the alcohol, the party, the blackout, her father, Shirley.

  She clears her throat. “So, there’s this guy I’ve mentioned, Noah. He’s my son’s occupational therapist.” A rosy flush blooms across her cheeks. “He’s incredible. And smart. And so compassionate. He’s great with Mason.” Her breath unspools and sends a puff of sugar into the air. “The thing is, I’m interested in him, but I don’t think he’s interested in me. In fact, I know he’s not, because I tried to kiss him the other night, but he rejected me.” She scratches her forehead. “The lines are too blurry, I think. Work and romance. It feels complicated.”

  They listen to her talk. About how long it’s been since she’s liked anyone. About how she’s scared to let someone into her weird little world. They do not know her real secrets—of course they don’t—but once she starts talking about Noah, she can’t seem to stop.

  “And then what, right? Like, what if he finally makes a move, and it doesn’t work out? What about Mason? Nothing is worth upsetting the wonderful rhythm he’s developed with Noah these last six months. But in spite of all of that, I still want to take the risk. To see if it could work out. Am I being totally selfish?” She waits for more answers she knows aren’t allowed to come. No one can interrupt her. It’s policy. The person has the floor until he or she is completely wringed of words.

  She completes her thoughts, and the room is a collection of breath as Lee dabs her tears and waits for someone to say something. Anything.

  Sally places a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you for sharing, Lee,” and then they move onto Harper. It’s over, just like that. Harper launches into the latest battle with her sister, who also has a problem with alcohol, and Lee zones out for a moment to collect herself. It feels good to talk about Noah like that. If only she could talk to him …

  At the end of the meeting, her chair snags along the well-worn carpet. She mingles with the others. Sally approaches and pulls her lean body into a hug.

  “Lee, that was a big step.”

  She hugs her back. “Thank you, Sally.”

  “We’ll see you next week?”

  Lee nods. “You will.” She excuses herself as Gary calls after her like a pet. She waves good-bye and pushes through the double doors. She stands in the parking lot, torn. She’s confessed her feelings about Noah and wants to be anywhere but home with the boys. It seems like Noah will be able to see right through her. But where else can she go? Carol’s? She checks the time and knows she needs to get back. The walk is short but steep with rolling hills.

  On the walk, Shirley pops into her mind again. They used to go to meetings together. The women met when they were both twenty-five. Shirley had just moved to Nashville and wanted to pick up some extra cash as a hair model. The two had become fast friends. Shirley was bold where Lee was reserved; Lee was sensible where Shirley was reckless.

  Shirley, sensing Lee’s shyness, had taken her under her wing and treated her like a sister. She took her to parties. She joined her at the movies. She advised her while shopping. She slept over. She urged her to come on double dates with bad boys who had zero interest in getting to know Lee, but she went along anyway, because she adored Shirley and didn’t want to look like a prude.

  But as their relationship progressed, the dynamic shifted. Shirley
began to look up to Lee. She envied her career, the way she provided for her family, and mostly, her ambition. Lee knew what she wanted to do with her life; Shirley didn’t. While Lee coveted the ease Shirley shared with men—men at clubs, men at shows, men at bars, men on the street—Shirley craved Lee’s stable life. They were the perfect yin and yang.

  The drugs had already started, but Lee, as always, had been the last to realize. It began with Shirley sleeping over more and more and swiping Harold’s pain pills. That, mixed with booze, placated Shirley for a while, until it just wasn’t enough.

  Lee felt responsible for her, like she did for her father. Shirley’s entire family was back in Atlanta, and though Shirley didn’t mind being alone and never spoke of them, Lee knew she had to miss them. Shirley tried to fill that familial void as she bounced her way through jobs and crashed on Lee and Harold’s couch when she was in between gigs: bartender, waitress, hair model, art model, drug dealer, then finally, hair stylist. She swore that Lee was the only family she needed, but deep down, she always felt Shirley was running away from something.

  But really, weren’t they all?

  Lee wanted to be there for her, but she was scared. When she’d found the first batch of needles in her bathroom wastebasket and glimpsed the track marks in the crooks of her arms, she knew Shirley was taking a wild leap into something that could get her killed. It wasn’t until later—too late—that Lee realized it was more than the drugs.

  Lee pockets her headphones as she reaches her driveway. Noah and Mason are in the middle of a lesson, and neither acknowledges her as she enters the room. There’s so much she wants to say, but now is not the time. If Noah takes one look at her, he will be able to read her.

  She steps into her studio, locks the door, and fists her hands from all the pent-up emotion: from talking about him, from wanting him, from thinking about what almost happened between them. She collapses in her chair and listens for the sound of his voice, wanting him to come knocking, but knowing if he does, she will not answer.

  Once she’s calm, she joins the boys.

  buoyant

  strong

  R-E-S-I-L-I-E-N-T

  People think you’re special if you’re resilient.

  But aren’t we all?

  Don’t we deal with our fair share of mishaps, tragedy, and setbacks, only to bounce back better than before?

  I am built on resilience.

  Only, I am not elastic.

  I am not recovered.

  You don’t recover after you’ve been through what I have.

  It’s just not possible.

  (No one has to know that.)

  I’ll just keep pretending to be supple and tough, snapping back again and again to take on more and more.

  To change shapes.

  To become the version of who I’m supposed to be.

  The better version.

  The best version.

  The resilient version.

  But no one knows just how hurt I really am.

  14

  lee

  Later that afternoon, Lee helps Carol arrange the tea sandwiches, organic juice boxes, and trays of fruit for the kids. Mason is finishing a lesson with Noah, and because Carol’s house is only minutes away, Lee has agreed to let Noah drive him.

  Though it is the weekend, Mason and Noah still meet for a few hours on both Saturday and Sunday, to keep Mason’s routine intact. Lee worries he should have at least a few days without lessons or sessions, but Noah insists it’s beneficial for consistency and to ease anxiety. She checks her watch and sneaks a cucumber sandwich from the platter.

  “I saw that,” Carol jokes.

  “Sue me.” Lee swallows.

  “Can you help with these?”

  “Outside?” Lee takes another bite. She scoops the tray of sandwiches into her arms and follows Carol out the sliding glass door. Charlie works the grill, charring and flipping hot dogs and burgers, as fragrant smoke drifts into the clear blue sky. The smell of the sizzling meat reminds her of summers at various campgrounds: Land Between the Lakes, Pigeon Forge, Gatlinburg, Dale Hollow. She stops, platter in hand, as she recalls her mother, standing in flip-flops and a bathrobe, flipping meat on the community grill.

  “You okay, Lee?”

  “Hmm?” She releases the platter on the cloth-covered table. “Do we need anything else out here?”

  Carol wipes her hands on her apron. “I think we’re good.”

  Lee follows her back inside. Fred, Alice, and Olivia wave as they remove their shoes in the playroom. “We knocked, but nobody answered.”

  “Hey, Olive Tree. Zoe is already outside,” Carol says, affectionately rubbing her head. “Want to go play?”

  Olivia rockets out the door and into their sprawling acre with the giant wooden swing set perched along the fence line. Fred says hello and follows. A massive flower garden, accosted by countless butterflies, lines the entire right perimeter of the yard. Lee is envious of the land, the house, and the marriage.

  Carol constantly disparages the house, regaling them all with tales of the family they bought it from. On the positive side, they left the swing set, and despite the downfalls of the house—the wall full of dried boogers from the previous owners’ four children, the rattling toilets, the creaky floors—they’ve transformed it into something lovely and warm. In Lee’s opinion, it’s everything a family home should be.

  “Hey, A. What’s up?” Lee asks.

  “Just dying to talk about this trip,” Alice trills. “And counting down the minutes until I can get a drink. We brought this.” She hands Carol a bottle of red, and the three ladies venture toward the kitchen.

  Alice motions for Carol and Lee to step farther into the kitchen, out of earshot. “I’m freaking out.”

  “About?” Lee asks.

  “What?” Carol queries at the same time, opening the drawer to find the wine opener. “About the trip?”

  Lee glances at the wine. “It’s a screw top.” She can practically taste it on her lips—the burst of fruit and alcohol at the back of her throat—and takes a swig of her water instead.

  Carol rolls her eyes as she examines the wine bottle. “Duh.” She replaces the wine opener and reaches for two stemless glasses.

  “Well, let’s see. Where should I start?” Alice laughs. “Fred got fired.”

  “What?” Carol and Lee exclaim together.

  “How did Fred get fired?”

  Alice lifts her hands and drops them. “Performance is down. Disappointing numbers in his sector. New management. Blah, blah, blah. I own a nonprofit. What the hell are we going to do?”

  “I’m so sorry,” Lee says.

  “Does he get severance?”

  Alice nods. “A few months. And,” she adds, lowering her voice to a whisper, “we had unprotected sex, and he … you know.”

  “Oh God,” Carol says. “Did you get the morning-after pill?”

  Something twists inside Lee. “Were you ovulating?”

  “I wasn’t. And I didn’t. I hate that stuff. I mean, I don’t think I was ovulating, so it’s fine, right? It’s got to be fine.” She scratches her forehead. “What would we even do? I have the business, and Fred is now unemployed.” She says the word as if talking about the current political landscape. “I’m halfway to seventy … the baby could have all sorts of medical problems. What if we had a sick child? Or a disabled child? How would that change Olivia’s life? Our lives?”

  Lee bristles at the word disabled, and Alice darts an apologetic look her way. “I didn’t mean disabled like that. Mason’s not disabled. Shit. I’m not explaining myself right. You know what I mean.”

  Lee places a reassuring hand on her arm and suppresses the annoyance just below the surface. “Relax. I know what you mean.”

  Alice takes a breath and the full glass of wine. “Thank you. Hopefully, I’m not poisoning a fetus.” She raises her wine in an invisible toast and swallows. Lee is transfixed by the wash of liquid over her teeth and gums, the way
she exhales—satisfied—when done. An entire world crashes back into focus: pregnancy, wine, uncertainty, dread. All of the insane risks.

  “So, the trip. Who, what, when, where. Let’s talk details.” She slugs another gulp. “I just want a few days of breathing fresh air, eating good food, and endless conversation. And that spa. Can we go?”

  “Yeah, it’s in Asheville,” Carol says, as the two sip their wine and chat about the details.

  “Hello!” Grace calls as the side door bangs shut.

  “In the kitchen!”

  Lee perks up as Grace enters the galley with a chocolate pie covered in plastic wrap.

  “I know, I know. Don’t kill me. I wasn’t supposed to bring anything, but you know I love to bake, so too bad.” She hands Carol the pie and kisses them all on the cheek, as Luca runs outside to join the girls. “Whatcha drinking?”

  “A blend. Want some?”

  Grace glances at Lee’s water bottle and lifts her own green thermos in the air. “Nah. I’m good. Still drinking coffee. Thanks.” She looks down the hall and then moves to the sink to wash her hands. “Where’s Mason?”

  “I was wondering the same thing,” Alice says.

  Lee smiles. “He’s with Noah. Finishing a lesson.”

  “Are they coming?” Grace dries her hands on the dish towel.

  “Yeah. He’s driving him over.”

  The women look at each other. “That’s huge.”

  “That is beyond huge,” Carol adds.

  Lee leans against the counter. “Well, if you A-holes are going to bully me into going on this trip, I better start loosening the reins a bit, right?”

  “Cheers to that,” Carol says, clinking her wineglass against Lee’s water bottle. “Are you really going to come?”

  Lee shrugs. “Noah said it was fine. I just need to clear it with Mason.”