Oh my God. I'm going to jail.
"You okay?" Aidan asks. I turn back to him on autopilot. My body kicks in, takes over. I wrap my arm around his, scooting close, squeezing his bicep.
"I'm actually getting a little tired," I lie. What I want to do is ditch him, pick up a little something and head home. I want to curl up with a bottle, get numb and forget. "Maybe we should call it a night."
He squints a look at me, suspicious.
"The night hasn't even started yet and you're going to miss out on the hot chocolate."
"Next time," I say. A serpent smile slithers across my cheeks. As if I could feel any guiltier.
"Alright," he says, but his voice is weary. We trudge back to the bus stop, barely speaking. A whole choir of carolers standing on the street corner, ten feet away. Their beautiful rendition of I Heard The Bells on Christmas Day drifts over us, but Aidan doesn't ask them to sing anything else.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ALL OUT
We step off the bus, three blocks past the liquor store. I'll have to walk right past it to get home and then double back later. The plan is lit up bright in my head, like a kid with a flashlight, poring over a treasure map and devising routes.
The sidewalk is slick in places with invisible patches of ice that make us both slide and flail, but I am determined to honey-badger my way home. The few bags we accumulated rustle in Aidan's hands as he follows behind me. When he suddenly snags the elbow of my coat between his fingers, it gives me a sharp shot of annoyance instead of excitement. I don't want to slow down, much less stop. I want to get back to my apartment, tell him whatever lie I need to so he'll go back to his place, and then all I have to do is sneak down to the store.
The liquor store sign is just ahead, the fluorescent glow like a Christmas star among the sedate drift of the falling snowflakes. It's enchanting. The numb is hailing me with its slimy fingers and the liquor store is pinging me like a homing devise. I'm ready and willing to give up this whole ridiculous quest for sobriety in order to get some relief. I understand the grab alcohol has on me, but the fear of what Claudia might do when she gets the divorce papers suddenly has a much tighter grip. I need to escape and anything standing in the way of that it is going to be taken out at the knees. Even Aidan.
"I just want to get home. I'm freezing," I snap. He doesn't let go of my sleeve.
"It's hitting you pretty hard," he says. "I was wondering when that was going to happen."
I yank loose from him, but what he said irritates me enough to spin on him. A good battle might use up some of the fear-induced adrenaline racing through me.
"What are you talking about?"
"It just hit you that you're getting divorced, didn't it?" His voice is so damn inviting and warm on this cold street. "Do you actually love that guy?"
I snort. "Not anymore."
"Then you're afraid of him."
His statement hits me like an iron mallet, right on the head. I get that Aidan doesn't mean it as an attack, but to be so dead-on accurate, it feels like he's calling for war and it brings me out swinging.
"Sometimes you just think you know everything, Aidan, but you don't. And you don't know a damn thing about this."
"Oh my gosh--that is it, isn't it? You're afraid of him."
"I'm not afraid of anything." I turn away and resume a slippery clip toward home.
"Considering the circumstances, I think a little fear would be a justifiable response. Healthy, even."
"Well, thanks for your completely unqualified, armchair analysis."
"Lydia," he says as he reaches for my hand, but I pull away and keep walking. "I'm just saying...damn it, would you wait a second?"
"I'm done talking."
"You're terrified," he shouts down the sidewalk, but in a few steps, he catches up and tugs me to a halt, nearly dropping the bags in the snow at our feet. "He abuses you, Lydia. It's okay to be terrified. It's okay to be mad as hell. He's been playing with your life, without any regard for..."
"Let go of me!" I shout in his face as I tear my arm loose.
"What's bothering you..."
"You. You're what's bothering me!"
"Are you sure about that?" His calm only infuriates me more. The bags crinkle in the frigid breeze of a passing car.
"Fuck off."
Aidan puts up both hands in surrender. "Hey, I'm the good guy here."
"Really?" I shoot back. "It didn't sound like that to me."
"You're going to go drink, aren't you," he says. "That's what this is really about. You're terrified and you don't know what to do with that, so you want to drink it away. You want to get rid of me so you can go do it."
The apartment house in view, I step up my pace even more. I don't reply, because there is no defense against the truth and I'm humiliated that I'm so transparent. Aidan just trails me, in through the lobby, up the elevator, down to my door.
"I'm not inviting you in." I feel the heat of his body at my back as I twist the key in the knob.
"I know," he says flatly. "Take your bags."
I turn back and grab the bag out of his hands, avoiding his eyes. It's like killing kittens and I can't take anymore guilt than I already have. I shut the door on him.
<<<<>>>>
I pace first.
Then I listen, an ear pressed to our adjoining walls. I listen for Aidan's feet next door, but I don't hear a thing. I want to be sure he doesn't open the door as I'm sneaking away. It would be humiliating to have to look him in the face and lie about where I was going. Especially if he wants to come with me. It would be a whole lot easier for him to spot my back from his apartment window, as I make my getaway down the sidewalk.
I'm antsy, but I wait, listening. Still nothing. He could be laying on his couch, trying to figure out why he ever moved in next door to a head case like me. Or he could be lying in his bed, jacking off. I instantly imagine his long legs, sprawled out and so powerful that my thirst is momentarily distracted by the ache between my legs. But then it returns--the quest for booze even more powerful than the thought of Aidan's body. If I could exchange this craving, I would. It's just too big.
I slide on my coat and inch my feet into my shoes like a thief. I check myself in my mirror and creep back to the door, grimacing at the sound of my door latch as I ease it open. I'm startled by the man on the floor outside.
"What are you doing?" I shriek. Aidan looks up from his spot in my doorway, wedged in sideways with his back on one side of the door jamb and his foot touching the other.
"I was waiting for you to come talk to me," he says, running his gaze over my outdoor attire. "It looks like we're going back out for that hot chocolate after all?"
"I'm going out," I say, but I don't try stepping over him. The look of determination on his face makes me think he'd grab my heel and yank me down on the floor beside him without a second thought.
"Where are you going?"
I should've had a lie ready and waiting, and the oversight costs me. The only thing flashing in my head is the liquor store sign, wine labels and shot glasses. I open and close my mouth like a guppy in his palm.
"I...well, I was...the store. I'm going to the store."
"I needed to go to the store," he says, hopping to his feet. "I'll come with you."
"No, I...I was..." It's pointless. I'm trapped and I'm so frustrated I want to sink down someplace and bawl. Instead, I take a step back and slam the door as hard as I can in Aidan's face.
<<<<>>>>
I drop the back of my head against my door and listen as Aidan resumes his post on the floor outside. He is not giving up, and while I should be overjoyed that he cares, I'm pissed off that he won't leave so I can get what I need. I stuff my hands in my coat pockets and something jabs me between the thumb and first finger. I draw out a card.
Edith Maklvoy-Jars. Across from her name is listed an address, phone number, cell number, email. The background is a surprise--a yin and yang symbol with licks of fire around the edge. I woul
dn't have thought she was that type.
What the hell am I going to do? I've got hell roaring inside me and a watchdog at my door.
I pull my phone from my pocket and click the numbers on the card, one click at a grueling time. I chew my upper lip as the line rings. Edith picks up.
"Hello. This is Lydia," I say. There's a pause on the other end. "From the meetings."
"I know who you are. Aidan's Lydia, right? That Lydia?"
"Ye..yes," I stammer, "but it's just Lydia."
"Ok, fine, just Lydia. How's it going?"
Now it's my turn to pause. I chew my lip, everything inside me welling up--Des, the divorce, Claudia, Aidan. Suddenly, I can't speak. Only a sniffle comes out.
"Sounds like it's not going too good," Edith says. "Where are you at, Lydia? I'll come to you."
"No, that's--"
"Are you home?" There is very little choice in her tone. My impulse is to hang up on her, but I fight it, because I need her help. I manage to choke out an answer instead.
"Yes."
"I know the place. What's your apartment number?"
"2B."
"Okay. I'm on my way." Edith clicks off before I can argue with her. Not that I would.
<<<<>>>>
"What are you?" I hear Edith's voice say in the hallway. "The cell guard?"
I can't believe Aidan's still out there. The door clunks; he must be using it steady himself as he gets off the floor. Then, Mrs. Lowt's voice joins in.
"What's going on out here, Aidan? Who's this?"
"Who're you?" Edith asks.
"This is my hallway," Mrs. Lowt retorts. "Who are you?"
"Your hallway?" Edith asks.
"Who is this person, Aidan? Why is she here? Is Lydia alright?"
I open the door before the trio in the hall either goes to blows or starts blasting my business up and down the corridor. The other neighbors don't seem to want to know me, and I'd prefer to keep it that way.
Everyone turns to look at me once I swing the door open.
"Hi," Edith says. She walks past Aidan and straight into my apartment, completely ignoring Mrs. Lowt's questioning.
"What's all this, Lydia?" Mrs. Lowt asks.
"Just a friend that's visiting," I say. It's like I'm back in high school, having to explain to my mother why I had a boy in my room. I turn and shut the door, leaving Aidan to take care of our neighbor.
"Sorry about that," I say to Edith.
"Nothing to be sorry for. I'm not here for them, I'm here for you." She drops her purse on my couch and turns back to me. "So what's going on?"
<<<<>>>>
There's something about Edith that has me confessing like a guilty serial killer. I've been silent for so long and now I'm spewing all my secrets--everything from wanting to be with Aidan despite all the suggestions in the world to the scam I'm involved in with Des.
Edith sits on my couch, her finger resting over her mouth and her brow bent in deep concentration. When I'm done confessing, she gives it a minute to sink in before she sighs.
"You've got a small warehouse full of things you need to take care of," she says. "But it looks like the biggest box in your way, is your ex. Now, I've got a lawyer friend I can talk to. Let me ask him about this business with the double marriage. You might be in some trouble for taking the money, but I don't know. It's a lot more complex than just that."
With my legs drawn up to my chest on the other end of the couch, I just nod against my knees.
"Well, there's no sense in being worried about it until you have an answer," Edith says.
I nod again.
"So let's talk about Aidan."
"What about him?" I say.
"What's the deal with you two? Have you been together a while?"
"Sort of."
"I don't really care either way," Edith sniffs. "It's none of my business and frankly, I don't care if you two are going with the program or bucking it. What I do care about is that if I sponsor you, you are doing everything you can to get sober."
"And that means staying away from Aidan?"
Edith shakes her head. "I just said, I don't care about that."
"Then what do you want me to do?"
"Everything I tell you. If you want what I've got, which is a successful, clean and sober life, with solid and real relationships in it, then you'll do what I say. I know how to get you there, but you've got to commit to doing as I tell you."
"What's that mean? That I'm your personal assistant or something?"
"I'm doing something for you here, you're not doing it for me." She puffs like I'm an idiot. "It means that you don't drink. You come to meetings. You call me every single day and check in with me on how you're doing."
The last two sound easy at least, but what choice do I have?
"I want to drink," I whisper. "Bad."
"All you gotta do," she says, leaning toward me like she's about to impart a secret, "is stay away from the first one."
She stands up and goes to my dismal stick of a Christmas tree. She slides a soft hand beneath one of the ornaments. "You make these?"
"Yes. When I stopped drinking, Aidan had me do them."
"Ahhh, to keep your mind off things. Smart man," she says.
"Take it, if you want. I've got hundreds of them."
"Don't mind if I do," she inspects each of them on the tree carefully, before removing one from a branch. She finally holds up a yellow Christmas tree with pinched outer branches, a blue star, and green bulbs. "I'll take this one. It'll remind me of the day Lydia finally started living her life again."
Her words fill my eyes with tears. At least they don't sting.
CHAPTER TWENTY
A MILLION REASONS
I sleep, curled up like an ear.
When I open my door in the morning, I fully expect Aidan to fall into my apartment, but the hall is empty. The urge to drink lingers, it nags me like a tiny headache, but it's not so hard for me to push off this morning. All I really want right now is food--a bowl of Cheerios, to be exact.
Not that I mean to tiptoe past Aidan's door, but I do. I ride the elevator to ground level and walk out into the wintery mess of the city, breathing deep. Left is the way to the meetings, to the liquor store. I turn right and head for the market.
This morning I have on the hat I used to wear. Stretched from holding my dreads, it used to look like a sagging beehive at the back of my head, but now it looks like a huge, empty sock. My blond hair spills from the edges and over the shoulders of my coat. I wonder if Aidan is watching my back as I walk down the sidewalk from his window. I kind of wish he was trailing me, or even walking beside me, cracking his jokes or giving me his unsolicited insights into the world.
I'm in line with my cereal and milk and a bag full of other stuff I found, when my phone rings. I freeze in place, listening again for the ringtone. Des couldn't have gotten the papers already. The clerk at the courthouse said Christmas might even delay them a little and with Claudia and Des away on their cruise, it can't be him--
The ringtone blasts a jersey accent, Yo haaaairdressa is callin', pick it up!
I let out a relieved sigh as I pull out the phone, juggling my groceries to answer.
"He's gone. Rob's gone." Jan bawls on the other end.
"It's going to be okay," I say. "What happened?"
"The bastard cheated on me..."
"He always cheats. He'll be back..."
"WITH A WOMAN!" Jan shouts in my ear. "He's cheated on me with a woman!"
"Oh my God, are you kidding me?"
"Nooo!" He breaks down crying again.
"Okay, listen, I'm coming. Where are you?"
"At the salon, I've put up the closed sign and I'm sitting here getting drunk all by myself."
"Oh. Okay," I say. Oh shit. He blows his nose and I can hear his heartbroken sobs. But an open bottle...it might as well be a burning stick of dynamite waiting for me.
"Can you come, honey? I could use a shoulder..."
Jan's been my shoulder through just about everything with Des. I can't fail him now, but I don't know how I'm going to do this without failing myself.
"I'm coming," I say. "Stay where you are, I'm on my way."
<<<<>>>>
"I need your help," I say into the phone. My thumb paused over Edith's number, but it was Aidan's digits that I hit.
"What's going on?" he asks. It sounds like he just woke up from a rough night and it probably was, if he sat outside my door most of the time.
"My friend Jan needs me, but he's getting drunk..."
"Then don't go."
"I have to. He just broke up with his boyfriend and he's devastated..."
"What you're trying to do is more important than..."
"Just listen to me, Aidan. I'm going to go see him. I was just wondering if you'd come with me. I won't drink if you're there."
"When are you going?"
"Now. I'm almost to the lobby."
"Our lobby? You went out?"
"Yeah, for breakfast. You suck at guarding doors."
"I'll be right down," he says and hangs up.
He's down in less than three minutes. He takes my bag of groceries as we walk down to the bus stop.
"I'm sorry about yesterday," I begin. "It hit me all at once."
"You did the right thing. You called for help," he says, but there's an edge in his tone, as if he's beating himself up that it wasn't him that got the call.
"Next time, I'll just open my door." I say and his brow lifts.
"You could. So this friend of yours that we're going to see? He's the hair guy?"
"His boyfriend, Robert, is an asshole. He's been cheating on Jan forever, but this time, he did it with a chick."
"Ouch."
"Exactly."
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