Everything We Are

by Janci Patterson

  Cecily nods. “Good. How’s that going?”

  I hesitate. My impulse is not to tell her about Jenna. I can hide it, and I won’t have to hear about how I’m violating that life changes rule I was just using as an excuse for sponsor avoidance. But if I rationalize keeping this secret, my secrets will inevitably eventually be about drugs. All I need is to believe the lie that no one needs to know and I’ll be right back to the needle.

  “Well,” I say. “I met this girl.”

  Cecily looks surprised. “Really.”

  I roll my eyes. “Thanks for the confidence.”

  She laughs. “I’m sure you’re fully capable of finding women who are interested in you. You’ve made that quite clear.”

  I sit back on the couch. In our first session back when I was in rehab, I had been mostly interested in hitting on Cecily, which she quickly pointed out was a deflection of treatment. When I got over wanting to avoid the work, it occurred to me that Cecily is simultaneously too old for me and way too serious. She’s good for me as a therapist, even though I don’t always like the things she says. But as a girlfriend? No, thanks.

  “Tell me about this girl,” she says.

  I can’t tell her the details. She’s ethically required not to repeat them, of course, unless she thinks my life or someone else’s is in immediate danger. But I can give her enough of the situation without those details to be honest about what’s going on.

  “She’s in the band,” I say.

  “Ah,” Cecily says. “So you had an ulterior motive in joining.”

  “I’d have done it anyway. It’s a legitimately fantastic opportunity. But yeah, she’s the one who invited me to join.”

  “So you’ve known her for a while.”

  “No,” I say. “She heard me play the other day, and they were kind of in a bind.”

  Cecily sits back in her chair, playing it cool, but I can already tell she thinks this is bad news.

  “I know, I know,” I say. “No big life changes for at least a year. Of course, I’m supposed to turn my whole life upside down for clinic visits, therapy appointments, and daily meetings, all the while cutting out all my old friends and places that might make me nostalgic for my junkie days, become best buddies with a bunch of recovered addicts, plus the tiny detail of not, you know, shooting heroin. So I’m not sure how I’m supposed to manage all that without adding anything to my life without driving myself insane.”

  Cecily sidesteps my rant, when really I wish she’d wade into it with me, because I’d rather talk about the abstract merits of consistency than hear a lecture about Jenna.

  “This girl. Does she have a name?”

  “Jenna,” I say. If Cecily followed music, she’d be more likely to put the pieces together, but I know from past conversations that she only listens to show tunes, which lately means Hamilton on endless repeat.

  If she does put it together, joke’s on her, because she can’t say a word to anyone.

  “And is Jenna aware of your interest?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “She feels the same way, but she’s not really ready for a relationship right now. And, you know, neither am I. What with the recovery stuff and all.”

  Cecily smiles. “That’s mature of you to realize that.”

  Somehow, if I tell her I was making out with Jenna in a hotel room mere days ago, I think she’d find me less mature.

  “Do you think her unavailability for a relationship is something you like about her?”

  “I’m really not sure what the hell that’s supposed to mean. But no. I’m not that mature. I’d date her if I could.”

  “And you don’t think that might put your recovery in jeopardy?”

  “Look,” I say. “Walking down the street puts my recovery in jeopardy. Living anywhere outside of a locked-down facility. Having friends. Being alone. Being overwhelmed. Getting bored. Living my life. I’m doing the best I can to avoid old friends and old habits. Back doors locked and all that. But I can’t avoid everything that might cause me to slip.”

  This rant, too, Cecily sidesteps. “Have you ever heard the term limerance?”

  “Is it the state of speaking in limericks?”

  That earns me a tiny smile, but no comment. “It’s that feeling you get when you’re in a new relationship, or when you have a crush on someone. The elated, obsessive, can’t-think-about-anything-else feeling. You know what that feels like?”

  Um, yeah. “I’m familiar.”

  “So one reason you’re advised not to jump into new relationships is because that feeling—limerence—can be addictive, especially while you’re looking to form new patterns of behavior. You can become dependent on those feelings, so much so that you chase that high the same way you did with the drugs.”

  I soak that in for a minute. I can see what she means. The feelings of happiness that come with being near Jenna are intense and euphoric, not unlike the happiness of being on drugs.

  “This morning when I woke up and decided not to get high, it wasn’t because I was thinking of her. I did it for me.”

  “That’s good,” Cecily says. “But it’s still something to keep an eye on.”

  “But it’s not wrong to like someone. It’s if I’m skipping from person to person chasing the high, that’s the problem.”

  She nods. “Or if you become dependent on attention from one person who is unavailable enough never to give you what you need.”

  Okay, so that sounds a little more like what’s happening.

  “It’s not like she doesn’t like me,” I say.

  “Is she in a relationship?”

  She is, but not like Cecily means. “No, it’s a work commitment thing. Like she’s not supposed to be with me because we’re in the band together, and it makes things complicated.”

  Cecily seems to think that sounds reasonable, even though it probably isn’t without the rest of the circumstances. “So if you weren’t in the band, she could date you.”

  Not really. “I see the predicament you’re in here,” I say. “You don’t think I should be in the band, and you don’t think I should be in a relationship. If they’re mutually exclusive, which are you going to pick?”

  Cecily folds her arms. “It doesn’t matter what I’d pick. It’s about what you’d pick.”

  “I’m in the band,” I say. “I signed a contract. And Jenna and I can be close, we just can’t be physical. So that’s good, right?”

  “Maybe,” Cecily says. “Unless that just lets you stay in the place of intense feelings you can never requite, and you become dependent on her for that.”

  I see her point. “I had an opportunity to sleep with her. One of the other guys in the band, he said we should just do it and get it out of our system, so that it could be over with. And we were going to, but I was paying attention to how I feel, and it just felt wrong. So I didn’t. I told her how I felt about her, but I didn’t have sex with her, even though I had the chance. Does that sound awful? Like I’m doing something that will damage my sobriety?”

  “It sounds like a lot at once,” Cecily says. “But also like a solid decision. Do you think you can keep making it?”

  I take a deep breath. “Honestly? I don’t know. I’m just taking it one day at a time.”

  She narrows her eyes at me again, like she does when I use program language to dodge her questions. Which I’m good at.

  “You could still consider a sponsor,” she says. “Someone who can help you sort this out, in addition to talking to me.”

  “Ah. Sick of me already?”

  “You’re deflecting,” Cecily says.

  “So I am.”

  “You could also consider if you’re really ready for such a tumultuous career, and you could think about what we talked about before, about pursuing a career outside of music. Or going back to school, perhaps with a new major.�
�

  “I’m not going back to school,” I say. “I just got a fantastic job. Aren’t you supposed to be happy about that?”

  Cecily nods. “I think it’s great you’ve found something to give you purpose, and to support yourself.”

  “And it’ll be enough to start paying my dad back for rehab.”

  “Which is important to you.”

  “Yes,” I say. “Damn right it’s important to me. You forgot to ask me how things are going with my family. Isn’t that on your list?”

  She ignores the sarcasm in my tone. “How are things going with your family?”

  “Great. My dad’s letting me crash at his place, but he asks me about meetings and stuff every day, to check up on me. And I’ve been hanging out with Gabby again. It’s really great to talk to her, almost like old times. But not the old times that I’m supposed to avoid, so you can check the box off there.” My tone is getting more and more angry the longer I talk, and Cecily shifts defensively, even if her response is calculated.

  “You seem upset,” Cecily says.

  “I am upset. See? Look at me being more in touch with my emotions. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Cecily says. “Does it feel like it’s being a trigger for your addiction?”

  I think about that, and she waits for my answer. As much as I hate to admit it, it’s an important question.

  I’m surprised to find I actually want to use less than I did when I walked in the door. The craving is still there, but it’s weak now. Like a dull ache that isn’t even worth popping a Tylenol for.

  “No,” I say. “At this moment it feels like more of an annoyance. Like my body wants to use, but I know I don’t, because I have too much to lose.”

  Cecily looks happy about that, at least. “And what happens if you do lose those things? Relationships fail, especially early ones, and most especially ones with complications. Bands break up. Tours fall apart. Jobs end.”

  “Then I’m no worse off than I was before,” I say. “And I don’t have to start using again. It’s my choice, right? No one can make me.”

  “That’s true. I’m glad you think of it that way.”

  We stare at each other, at an impasse. And I get where she’s coming from. My life seems crazy right now, even to me.

  “I’m keeping the job,” I say. “And I’m going to take things with Jenna as they come, and see how it goes. It’s not like we’re jumping into a committed relationship right away.”

  “No one can make those decisions but you, either,” Cecily says. “But I hope you’ll continue to keep our appointments, and attend your meetings.”

  “I will. I’m not stupid.”

  “I know,” she says. “You’re very smart. But I’ve seen very smart people do stupid things in the face of their addictions. Even good swimmers get pulled under by the riptide.”

  I nod. She’s right. I know she’s right.

  But I can’t—I won’t—dismiss the feeling I have when I’m with Jenna. Not the elation or the infatuation—although there’s certainly plenty of that—or even the sexual attraction, but the way it feels to just talk to her, like I’m saying crazy things and being perfectly understood.

  “I’m not going back to the drugs,” I say. “That’s what matters.”

  “Yes,” Cecily says. “I can help you figure out how to maximize your chances of success, but in the end, everything comes down to that.”

  Sometimes, that one thing seems impossible, and it has to be broken down to the decisions I’m making each hour, each minute, each second at a time.

  But at this moment, it feels easier than before.

  “I’m going to do it. I’m going to stay clean.”

  “Excellent,” Cecily says. “I’ll see you again next week.”

  Twelve

  Felix

  Later that day, I’m at the studio with Roxie when Jenna calls me. Roxie is playing her heart out, and I’m trying to follow her lead no matter what she does. She’s getting into the game of Mother May I, slowing up and speeding down like she’s shot a cocktail of uppers and downers that are taking turns controlling her before they kill her.

  She’s loving it, and I’m sweating trying to keep up, but I think it’s helping. Still, when my secret phone rings, I jump at the chance to answer it.

  “Hang on,” I say to Roxie, though she nods and keeps on drumming, so I have to plug one ear and go upstairs before I can hear a thing.

  “Is there a practice I don’t know about?” Jenna asks.

  “It’s just me and Roxie. I wanted to practice the way you guys play, but I didn’t want to bother everyone.”

  “Should I be jealous?” she asks, a teasing note in her voice.

  I laugh. “Only if you’re into Leo.”

  She giggles, and I lean back against the wall, glad for the soundproof studio door now closed behind me.

  “But hey,” she says, “I need to ask you something. And you can totally say no if you want to. Like, really. Don’t feel like you have to.”

  “I do have some practice saying no to you.”

  “Hmm,” she says. “So you do. All right, were you serious about being willing to watch Ty for me?”

  This is the last place I thought this conversation was going. “Of course. Why? Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” Jenna says. “I mean, it is for me. My dad got food poisoning from some bad tuna salad and my mom has this ladies Bunco night she’s obsessed with and Alec and I have this scheduled date thing tonight at this big private party at a club, and Phil really wants us to be there for some press before the show—”

  “Jenna,” I say. “Did you rehearse that? Because all you have to say is, hey, would you come over and watch Ty tonight? And I’ll say, yeah, sure. No problem.”

  She takes a deep breath. “I just feel horrible asking you to do this.”

  “I offered.”

  “You didn’t offer to watch my son while I go out dancing with the guy I’m pretending to be in love with.”

  I press my lips together. “I knew the score when I got into this. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

  She’s quiet for a second. “I know. But it doesn’t feel that way.”

  I want to put my arms around her, to hold her and tell her it’s going to be okay. But I can’t. “This sucks,” I tell her. “But I can watch your kid and not be a jealous asshole, all right?”

  “Okay,” she says.

  “Though I make no promises about your lead in Angry Birds.”

  “I passed him up by a wide margin. And I won’t give you the password to the iPad.”

  I smile. “As long as you’ve secured the important things.”

  “Be aware,” she says, “that Ty wants to play a concert for you on the piano. So you may be hearing a lot of ‘Merrily We Roll Along.’”

  “I’ll bring my cello. We can jam together. I happen to know that one.”

  We arrange a time, and Jenna texts me her address. I’m feeling giddy when I go back downstairs, mostly that Jenna would trust me with Ty. The distraction seems to help more than it hurts, or else Roxie and I are starting to gel. Possibly both.

  When I arrive at Jenna’s house, I’m struck by how normal it looks. It’s in a nice neighborhood in Orange, and has a wide driveway and a row of tiny palm trees lining the fence. It looks like the kind of house where a single mom and her boyfriend might live if they both have good jobs—but not so much if they’re pop sensations. I know their success is recent, but I’m pretty sure Jenna could afford better than this.

  The fact that her first priority wasn’t to move them all to a place like Brentwood to live in ostentation makes me happy.

  I knock on the front door and Jenna answers wearing a tight black dress with knee-high boots and fishnet stockings. Her hair is pulled back in this funk
y silver clip and she’s got a silver chain around her neck with large, thick links.

  My mouth falls open a little, and I’m glad Alec isn’t there to see. “Hey,” I say. “You look amazing.”

  Jenna winces. “Thanks. And sorry.”

  I smile. I understand what she means. We both wish she was dressed up to go out with me, but I get it. It’s a performance. I don’t begrudge her looking the part. I have a hard time imagining Jenna looking less than beautiful, no matter what she’s wearing.

  Ty comes around the corner. He’s actually in regular kid clothes today; a t-shirt with Squirtle on the front and jeans. “Felix! You’re here!”

  “I am.” I step in and set June down in the entryway. Ty grabs me by the arm and pulls me into the house. Jenna gives me an apologetic look, but I follow Ty into the living room. He lets go and launches himself into a belly-flop on the couch.

  Opposite the door is a tall bookshelf, atop which sits a set of light-up marquee letters. Two of them.

  AJ.

  I look at Jenna.

  “Yeah,” she says. “Alec and I disagree about decorating, so we take turns bringing home things to annoy each other. Those are my fault.”

  I shake my head. “I guess now I can’t say I’m living in Alec’s shadow. More like his limelight.”

  Jenna smiles, but her eyes look sad. And she’s right. It isn’t funny. Her hands hang by her sides, and I want to reach out and take one. Technically, the only one who could catch us here is Alec.

  But it doesn’t matter if we’re alone. I’m not allowed to touch her. Those are the rules. I realize we’re both standing there looking at each other, neither of us saying anything. But it’s not awkward. More like intense. Which I’m pretty sure is that limerick thing Cecily was talking about.

  I believe her that it can be addictive, but it doesn’t feel anything like heroin.

  “So,” Alec says, and we both startle, looking up to see him at the bottom of the stairs. He eyes Jenna. “You ready?”

  “Yes,” she says. “Let me just show Felix around.”