by C. Desir
“I’ll try to keep this incident from your father,” she says in a tight voice.
I shrug. I don’t give a shit. He can go fuck himself. I pace my room for hours. Kathy calls at dinnertime—the home phone since I don’t have mine—but I don’t want to talk to her. It’s not just Mrs. Hunt, who I frankly don’t give two shits about, it’s everything. I miss Joe with an unexpected ache worse than anything I’ve ever felt. Worse even than when I gave up Jerry and the gym.
I don’t even have the patience to go online. I’m sure it’s shut down anyway. Finally I lie on top of my covers and fall into a restless sleep.
I’m woken by arguing.
“We can’t keep coddling her,” Dad says. “She’s seventeen. We’ve spoiled her and all this acting out needs to stop.”
“She’s hurting,” Mom answers.
“Bullshit. She doesn’t know what to do with herself. She’s had it too easy for too long. She needs to start pulling her weight or leave.”
“What do you mean ‘pulling her weight’? She’s our daughter, not a soldier. She needs our love.”
“She needs tough love. When she’s done with this community service, she needs a job and some discipline. I have a colleague who has sent his kids to work for the Youth Conservation Corps every summer and says it has been an invaluable experience.”
Mom gasps so loud I can hear it through the walls. “You want to send her away? Even before college? That’s a terrible idea. She’s just getting sober. She needs us now more than ever. I don’t even think she should go away to school next year.”
“I can’t have her in this house another year, Sarah. We need some semblance of a life back. There are expectations at work. I can’t keep dodging parties and bowing out of obligations because I’m worried about my daughter’s choices.”
“That’s a horrible thing to say,” Mom snaps. It’s a voice I rarely hear from her. She’s a pleaser and she generally can carefully maneuver Dad into agreeing with her. Or she rolls over and lets him have his way. But now she’s all venom and spite. “She’s your daughter, not an inconvenience that keeps you from cocktail parties. She needs us. She needs you.”
“Jesus Christ. What more do you want from me? I’ve broken my back for this family.”
“Fuck you, Tom. Fuck. You. Everything you’ve ever done is for yourself. Stop pretending you’re a saint. You think Natalie or I care about your money? You were the only one who wanted it. Wanted this life. All I wanted was a family.”
Dad mumbles something, but it’s too low for me to hear. Then a door slams and Mom starts crying. I should go to her. Should try to comfort her like she’s always trying to comfort me. But there’s nothing I can do. I’m a disappointment to her, a misshapen piece that doesn’t fit quite right in the puzzle. It would be best for all of us if I found a way out.
* * *
In the morning, I don’t even pretend I didn’t hear anything from last night. I grab a cup of coffee and sit across from Mom at the kitchen table.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods. “Yeah. It’ll be fine.”
“You were pretty loud.”
“I was pretty mad.”
I laugh at this and Mom joins me for a second. “You going to be okay?”
“Did you lash out at Mrs. Hunt because of Joe?”
I take a gulp of coffee. “I don’t know. Sort of. She’s a bitch.”
Mom shakes her head. “You spit on her, Natalie.”
“Well, technically, I spit at her feet. If it wasn’t going to matter either way, I should’ve thought to spit in her face.”
“No. You would’ve been expelled. You never used to be this angry.”
I lift a shoulder. “I was a fighter before. You don’t get angry when you box. You have a place to put it all.”
There’s a long pause and I think maybe the conversation is done, but when I stand, Mom puts her hand on my wrist and tugs me back down.
“Do you hate us?” she asks.
“For what?”
“Keeping you from boxing.”
“You didn’t want it for me. It was my choice to give it up.”
“But we pressured you. If I had known . . . Well, it doesn’t matter. Hindsight is twenty-twenty.”
“It’s not terrible to be angry sometimes,” I say, and I’m speaking for her as much as me.
“I know. But not about things you can’t control.”
I snort. “Mom. Look at you. Working the program.”
She smiles, but it’s a little sad. “Your father won’t go after Joe. But you can’t be with him. Not permanently. Not if you want to live in this house.”
I don’t want to argue about this. She’s wrong, but she wouldn’t understand my logic. She has no idea what it’s like to need something so desperately. “I have to see him, though. To make sure he’s okay.”
“Natalie. I can probably talk your father into the boxing. If you really want it, but this . . .”
Mom’s not stupid. She knows I’m close enough to eighteen to be able to do whatever I want. And for all that she is, she doesn’t want to lose me by pushing me away. So yeah, maybe I suck for taking advantage of her, but I don’t give a shit. I need Joe.
“Mom. Please. I have to see him.”
She stares at me, then slowly nods. “Okay. Go see him. But that’s it. Find a way to say good-bye.”
There’s no way in hell I’m doing that. But at least she’s offering enough of a green light for me to formulate a plan. “I’m going to get dressed. He’ll be home now.”
I have no idea if this is true, but he’s got to be home sometime. And I’ve got a three-day vacation on my hands.
“I’ll drive you over,” Mom says.
“No. Mom. I won’t do anything. I just need to talk to him. You need to trust me.”
It’s a huge fucking ask. I know it is. I’ve hardly proven myself trustworthy. But still, it’s Joe, and I have to see him. Alone.
“Be home by three o’clock. No exceptions. I don’t want to regret this.”
Relief spills over me, and out of nowhere I lean forward and hug my mom. She hugs back, too tight, too long, but it’s like she’s putting everything into that hug. And it feels like something real has passed between us, and for the first time in a really long time, I think our relationship will be okay.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
The only thing I can think to do is set up camp on Joe’s front steps. I sit there for two hours, smoking cigarettes and thinking what I want to say. Mom made me wear extra layers and my long down coat, and I’m glad for it now. It’s fucking freezing. Two and a half hours in and I’m considering going out to hunt bars, when his truck pulls up. Fucking finally.
Joe steps out and looks like he’s aged a hundred years since I last saw him. But he’s sober, thank God. He stops when he sees me, then plows forward toward his front door.
“Not today, Natalie,” he says.
“I just want to talk,” I whisper. I slide in behind him as he fumbles his key, shoving it too hard into the lock.
“No,” he says. But he doesn’t stop me from following when he pushes the door open and goes in. “I’m exhausted. I can’t do this right now.”
“Let me . . .” I don’t say any more. Just take the keys from his hand and put them on the table before guiding him to his room. He drops prone onto his bed and I pull his boots off. He smells like a mix of body odor and cigarettes and I hold my breath as I’m pulling his shirt and pants off and wrapping his comforter around him.
“You look wrecked. Where have you been?”
“Staying at my sponsor’s, drying out.”
“How many days were you out?”
He shrugs. “Three or four. Don’t know. Blackout drunk, remember?”
I touch his hair, but he draws back, tugging the comforter up. “You’re sober now, though.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you want some water? Or . . .”
“Don’t need your
help. Just need sleep,” he mumbles, but then he lets me press a glass of water from his side table into his hand. As soon as he finishes the glass he shuts his eyes and I have nothing to do but wait.
I consider calling Mom when it becomes clear I won’t be home by three, but I know her worry will add more guilt onto my shoulders and I can only deal with one thing at a time. I text Kathy instead.
Found Joe. With him now. He’s been with his sponsor. He’s sober, but exhausted.
Should I come over?
Give me some time. We need to work some stuff out. Can you call my mom?
What’s he doing now?
Sleeping.
Fine. I’ll call her. Text me when he’s awake. And don’t fuck this up.
For a second I’m breathless. The reality of the situation comes crashing down on me along with an almost unbearable weight of responsibility. This is the hard stuff and I’m diving in headfirst. And Kathy isn’t intervening. She’s letting me go. Letting me fix this. Trusting me.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a second and pray. Then I slip on top of the covers next to Joe and watch him sleep.
* * *
It’s five o’clock by the time he wakes. I’ve dozed off a few times but always jolted awake when he shifted or made a noise. When he finally blinks his eyes open, he stares at me with such empty sadness I want to crack in half.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says, and pulls at one of my curls before tucking it behind my ear.
“I know.”
“Should I be expecting the cops?”
I shake my head. “I’m seventeen. That’s the age of consent in Illinois. My dad was just talking shit. I looked it up on the Internet at school.”
He flinches. “Natalie. That’s not the point.”
“No. You’re right. But even if it were possible, Mom wouldn’t let Dad press charges. It was a stupid threat to keep you from being with me.”
Joe rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. “He wasn’t wrong.”
I lift up on my elbows and tap his chest. “He was. He wouldn’t understand us. He wouldn’t understand what we have.”
He sighs. “Natalie. You’re so young.”
“It’s not about that and you know it. I’ve had just as much life experience as you.”
He rolls over and faces me. “No, you haven’t. You’re just getting started. Yeah, you’ve probably experienced more than the average seventeen-year-old, but you’ve still got the safety net. You need the net.”
I cup his cheek in my hand. “You can be my safety net.”
He pulls away. “I can’t. Look at me. I relapsed. I’m okay now, but I don’t have years of sobriety anymore, I have days. You need your parents.”
“No. I really don’t. They haven’t done nearly as much as you have for me these past few months.”
“Because they’re not alcoholics. That’s not something to hold against them.”
I sit up and he follows so both our feet are hanging off the side of his bed. I take his hand and he lets me, twining our fingers together. “Why’d you drink? I mean, after everything, after so many years of sobriety, did my dad’s stupid threat really push you over the edge?”
He rakes the fingers from his free hand through his hair. He still smells like he needs a shower, but his face is clearer. “It’s complicated.”
I let that sit between us for long enough that he sighs again.
“About a year ago, there was a girl who came through the program a lot like you. A bit younger, but with the same kind of chip on her shoulder. Entitled, bratty, I liked her right away.”
I laugh.
“She liked me too.”
I freeze for a second and shut my eyes, releasing his hand. “Tell me you didn’t sleep with her.”
“What? No. It wasn’t like that.”
I open my eyes again. “Well, there’s that at least.”
He blinks at me. “Do you really think so little of me? Five minutes ago you were going on about how your parents don’t understand us and now you’re accusing me of sleeping with every young girl who I become friends with.”
I flinch at the harshness of his words, but raise my chin anyway. “We’re alcoholics, Joe. We don’t always make the best choices.”
He stares at me for a long moment. “Exactly. We. Are. Alcoholics. You said it. Finally acknowledged it, for real. We’re alcoholics. And we don’t make the best choices. Remember that, Natalie.”
He’s spun my words on me and I want to punch him. It’s infuriating how quick he is to give up on us, to give up on what could be something great. “So this girl . . .”
“Yeah, well, she was doing really well. She had a sponsor. She was working the steps and getting her life together. I don’t think she had the kind of money you do. And her parents weren’t so invested, but she was doing good.”
“So what happened?”
“She disappeared. All of a sudden. Stopped coming to meetings. Stopped calling. Wouldn’t return my texts. She dropped off the face of the earth.”
“Jesus.” I release a breath. “That sucks. What does that have to do with me, though? I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I looked for her a long time when she stopped coming around. Even went by her house, but her parents said she ran away. They’d filed a missing persons report and everything. But no one could find her.”
“So do you think they were right? Do you think she ran away?”
“I don’t really know,” he says. “But I realized something then. And I’d almost forgotten it until I saw the look on your dad’s face.”
“What’s that?”
“I realized I can’t save people. I can’t be an anchor for someone. I couldn’t be that for her and I can’t be that for you.”
“I didn’t ask you to save me.”
He shakes his head. “All you do is ask. Everything you do cries out in desperation to be saved. You said it yourself. I’m the reason you stay sober. I can’t be that. Don’t you see? I want to take care of you. I want to make all the bad shit go away. I want to protect you from this life, from your shitty friends, from your absent parents. I want to give you everything, make you happy again. But it’s not my job.”
“I never said you had to.”
“And that’s the problem, Natalie.” He takes my hand in his again. “You never asked me to, but I did it anyway. I wanted to. Christ, I still want to. And I can’t be that. Because if it keeps going like this and I lose you one day, just like I lost her, it’ll tear me apart.”
“You won’t lose me,” I whisper.
He stands up. “You can’t promise that. Not how you are right now. You haven’t even been sober for six months. You’re young and you have so much life ahead of you. But you have a road you have to take and I can’t take it with you.”
I stand up and take a step closer to him. “I’m going to prove myself to you, Joe.”
“You don’t have to . . .”
“No.” I hold up my hand. “You said what you think. That’s fine. Don’t believe in me. Don’t believe in us. I can believe enough for both of us. It’s hard as hell, but I’m not bailing. I’m not taking the easy way out. Not this time. I’m going to fight for us. Because this is right. Just don’t give up completely. You’re a few days sober. Good. It was a slip. That’s it. Stay sober. Fucking show up to meetings. Be here. And wait for me.”
“Natalie . . .”
I press a kiss on his mouth, but he doesn’t return it. “I’ll prove it to you,” I whisper again. Then before he can say anything else, I gather my stuff and walk out his door, texting Kathy to come over. I take two deep breaths, open and close my fists, then I breathe into the Breathalyzer, start my car, and drive home.
Chapter
Twenty-Six
I’m standing in the center of the gym before anyone notices me. Josh puts down his weight bar and takes a step in my direction, but Jerry grumbles at him from the opposite side of the room and waves him off.
Jerry’s steps are long, measured strides. My heart is hammering so much I barely register all the other activity in the gym. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
I speak before he can say anything. “A long time ago, you told me you thought I could make it. Do you still think I can?”
“You’re out of shape and fatter,” he says, but the look on his face is enough to make my heart drum faster.
“What will it take?”
“Gotta get back here every day.”
I shake my head. “I have AA three times a week.”
He shrugs. “Come in the mornings. This summer you’ll need to be here four hours a day, minimum.”
I nod. “I might have to get a job.”
“Your mom seems like she’d be flexible.”
“Yeah. Maybe. But not my dad. He wants me to work some conservation corps to build character.”
Jerry huffs. “Boxing builds character. Talk to your mom again.”
I look up at the fluorescent lights, shutting my eyes for just a second and listening to the sounds of the gym. The grunts and the flesh smacking against gloves and the dance of feet skipping rope. It’s so familiar. I return my gaze to Jerry and say, “What if she doesn’t go for it?”
His mouth dips in a frown. “Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? You’re going to need to decide what to do with that. You’re eighteen soon. I was on my own at eighteen, but you’re softer than me. I don’t want problems with your parents. It’s on you to decide how much you want it and how much it’s worth.”
I look past him at the two guys sparring in the ring. Two years ago I could’ve beat both of them.
“Do you think I was addicted to boxing?”
He laughs. “Probably. Doesn’t mean you weren’t good at it.”
“I’m trying to work on balance.”
He shrugs. “So don’t come back.” But it’s there, even if he won’t say it.
“I want to, though. I want this. I don’t want to let this go. I never really did. I was afraid, I guess.”
The smallest grin flashes on his face. “Well, what do you know about that? Seems like you figured a few things out while you were gone.”
