"Does Jan know what you're doing...with the drinking?"
"Not yet."
"You should have a plan for how you're going to handle it before you get there," Aidan says as the bus pulls up. We climb aboard and take a seat near the front.
"I guess I do," I say, rustling the bag in his arms. "I'm planning on having breakfast."
He peeks into the bag.
"I thought maybe you met someone for breakfast."
"Nope, just the cashier down at the grocery store."
"Oh," he says and he grins at me.
We get off the bus and make our way to Jan's salon. I knock on the glass. It takes a minute before Jan appears and opens the door. His mascara has run down his face and he looks like hell. The smell of the booze hits me straight in the face as I step inside, but I catch Jan in a huge hug anyway.
"I didn't think you'd bring anyone," he says in my ear.
"It's okay, Aidan's great."
"I can see that," Jan says with a sniffly laugh. He wipes the mascara landslide from his cheeks. "It's just not the way I was hoping to meet him. But thank you for coming, honey. Drink?"
"No, I haven't even had breakfast yet," I say.
"That's never stopped you before," Jan giggles. I laugh with him, but I move toward the back break room.
"You caught me at the grocery store when you called. I brought cereal. Do you have bowls around here?"
"Mugs," Jan says, raising his mug in the air. Some of his drink sloshes over the lip. "None for me though. I have everything I need right here. How about you, Aidan? Would you like a drink?"
I watch Aidan swallow. "No thanks," he says.
It hasn't occurred to me that being around the stuff would still affect Aidan. He seems like such a rock, but as I watch his eyes swing to the Jan's bottle and linger a bit too long, I realize this is hard on him too. I walk back to him, giving him an understanding smile as I hand him one of the mugs in Jan's stash. I slide my hand up and down his bicep and he grins, as if I'm the one here to comfort him and help him out. Maybe I am.
We sit in the stylist chairs, Aidan and I drinking out cereal from the mugs as Jan paces, ranting about Rob and the bitch he ran off with. It takes Jan a solid hour before he begins to wind down. By that time, Aidan and I have polished off the whole box of cereal and my stomach is painfully full.
"Thank you two for coming when I called," Jan says for the hundredth time. The booze has got him monologue in circles. "Thank you for listening to my mess. Robert and I are so trapped in this cycle..."
"Not anymore," I say, but Jan sighs. He collapses in a chair and it spins until he drags his foot along the floor to stop it.
"You know me, Lydia, probably better than anybody else does. Even that fool man of mine. You know how I am. I'll be here for him. I always am."
"Maybe you shouldn't," Aidan says and Jan gives him a sad little smile.
"It's a lovely thought, but Robert is me and I am Robert. We've been together, doing this to each other for too long. He knows I won't walk away over some little twat. Literally." Jan's laugh is as sad as his smile.
"You've done it for me how many times before," I say and Jan perks up.
"I wish I had your courage, Lydia. What did Des say about the papers?"
"Even drunk, you've got the memory of a hairdresser," I say and Jan laughs. "I don't think he's gotten them yet. The court said they might be delayed because of Christmas."
"Well, it's about time. It's about damn time you did it! This calls for a drink!" Jan roar, holding his bottle high in the air.
"And, I quit drinking," I say.
"Seriously?" Jan says. He tries to focus on my face, scrutinizing. It makes me uneasy. I realize that this is what Jan and I are to each other, people who share a bottle over the constant mountain slides that we call our lives. Our relationship might not work the same without the booze.
But Jan takes my chin in his soft fingers and shakes it a little. His eyes gloss over as he speaks.
"I'm so proud of you, honey. You keep going, Lydia, you keep going. You're growing so far past Des, he'll never be able to catch you again. And don't you let him, my girl, you hear me?" His voice cracks. "Don't you dare let him."
<<<<>>>>
I draw an X over another day in my planner, close up the pleather binder and set it on my bedside table. A heap of my displaced jewelry falls onto the floor. Aidan reaches for me from beneath the sheets, his hand warm through the thin silk of my nightgown.
"It's been two weeks," I say. "Fourteen days."
"Are you feeling good?"
"I still want to drink, but I think it's getting a little better," I lay with my back against him, the heat of his body activating mine. My hips press against his, release, and press again. I've been walking so much--miles and miles a day, even in the sleet and freezing temperatures--that I think I've even gotten a little more buff. One solid hip thrust and we could be making love.
"Still worried about when Des gets back?"
"Yes," I say, freezing my excitement.
"No point in worrying until you have to." Aidan pulls me close, kissing my neck. "I think we should have a Christmas party."
"When?"
"On Christmas, duh." He ruffles my hair.
"Who's going to come to that? Everybody's got families to go to on Christmas."
"Do you?"
"No."
"Me either. And most of the people we know don't. Let's have a party."
I snort. "That would suck. Everybody sitting around the room, staring at each other."
"C'mon," his voice slithers, just like his finger, down my rib cage. "I'll show you how to party without the substance crutches."
"I know how it goes. I've been to one of your parties, remember?"
"You only walked in on one. Being at one is a lot better."
"I don't want to talk about drinking and drugging the whole night..."
"Lydia, they're all normal people, with other things to talk about. You'll see."
I make a sound that says he's wrong, but he just laughs, the sound as settling as muted wind chimes through my hair.
"Who do you want to invite?" he says.
"Nobody."
"Okay, sooo...Edith...and I was thinking Mrs. Lowt might want to come."
"I don't want Mrs. Lowt to know what's going on."
"You think she doesn't by now? I think she'd be happy to hear it." He nestles his jaw against mine. When he talks, his stubble brushes my skin and the hum of his voice transfers into my mouth as if it were his tongue. The warmth of his body, the melodic tone of his words--it's got to be why I finally agree to having the party.
To celebrate my flexibility, we have sex--with him on top, guiding his long, strong strokes against me like a classically-trained violinist. He strokes my hair in a way that feels much more like making love than just having sex. We've gone so far past three dates, it is impossible to convince myself that any of my old rules even apply anymore.
<<<<>>>>
It is Christmas Eve, and thinking of the party tomorrow, I am the exact opposite of excited. My anxiety piles up like a brick wall. It's not because I haven't thrown or attended a party, while being both straight and sober, since elementary school. It's not that I'm nervous about the judgments Aidan's friends will probably bring about our relationship, wrapped up tight when they walk in the door, but slowly unfurling as they get comfortable over dinner. It's none of that.
What is getting me is that Des will be back soon. He'll know about the divorce papers, if he doesn't already. I can't even imagine what kind of fury that is going to bring to my front door.
I was so strong when I went to the courthouse to file, but as the time keeps passing, my resolve is fading. The worry has set in. I've got to make a life without Des. I don't know how to do that.
I'm trying to make eggs when all my anxiety is put on hold by the ring of Aidan's phone.
He answers the call as he leans a shoulder on the fridge as I make eggs. "Hey Shane, you're out of bed ear
ly..."
He pushes off the fridge suddenly, staring at the floor. His back is so rigid and his stare so intense, I switch off the burner.
"I'll be right there," he says and flicks off the phone.
"What's going on?"
"Natalie," he says grimly. He's already on his way to my front door. "She tried committing suicide last night. I've got to get down to the hospital."
"Holy shit," I say. Aidan frowns, pushing on his shoes. He's out the door, circling back for his coat, and dropping a kiss on my cheek--like we're some old married couple--before he leaves. I watch him go down the hall from my door. He rubs the back of his neck as curses the elevator for taking so long and finally bolts down the stairwell instead.
Mrs. Lowt's door opens before I close mine.
"What's going on now, Lydia?" she asks. "Everything is so busy here lately."
"A friend of Aidan's...Shane...his wife tried to kill herself last night." The words are all hollow and strange coming off my tongue. They feel like lies, since I knew Natalie too. She wanted to be my sponsor. Maybe I did this to her by turning her down. It couldn't be that. But maybe that added to it.
"Poor thing," Mrs. Lowt says as my mind races to determine if I am responsible for this. Suddenly, Mrs. Lowt's hand is on my arm and I realize the poor thing she means is me, not Natalie. "Are you alright?"
"Yes, I hardly knew her...I only met her a couple times," I say. And none of them were good. I don't say that, even though I'm thinking it. The guilt accumulates, hovers.
And immediately, the haunting thought surfaces--the liquor store is only down the street.
"Would you like to come in and sit for a while?" Mrs. Lowt asks.
I could be there and back and drunk before Aidan returns. I could hide the bottle; he'd never know. He might not be back until late.
"That would be good," I tell her and let her lead me into her apartment, instead of retreating back into the emptiness of mine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Merry?
I stay at Mrs. Lowt's probably longer than what is polite, but she makes me homemade potato soup for lunch and then, when I tell her I should go, she insists on me staying for dessert with her. I'm relieved.
"I made cookies," she says, pulling a platter from the cold oven. She sets it down in front of me; a pile of red and white twists, shaped like candy canes. "Tonight is probably off, so we should enjoy them now. Have one."
I take one, close my eyes and savor the almond taste that melts on my tongue. My reaction leaves a proud smile on my neighbor's face.
"I leave the peppermint sprinkles off," Mrs. Lowt says. "They're better this way, I think."
"Me too," I say. "How many can I eat before you throw me out?"
"Oh no, I would never throw you out, Lydia," she says. The warmth in her voice attracts my eyes and I see the sparkle of lonely tears in hers. She's been my neighbor for years, watching over me and getting my door open when I was too drunk to do it myself, shouting her advise to me as she goosed the rears of the trouble I always brought home. In her funny way, Mrs. Lowt has always been there for me. I can hardly help myself as I reach across the counter and grasp her hand. Her fingers are softly pleated with age, but when she squeezes my hand back, she's got the strength of a man.
"Thank you, Mrs. Lowt."
"Eleanor, Lydia. My name is Eleanor Esmeralda Lowt, but my real friends have always called me Merry."
"That's perfect." It's hard to take another bite around my wide smile. Mrs. Lowt's reflects my own.
"Sometimes, things are," she says, saluting me with a candy cane cookie.
<<<<>>>>
We hear Aidan call my name from across the hall and Mrs. Lowt picks up the cookie tray.
"Take the cookies," she says. "I'll make something for you kids to eat later too."
I do something I never expected to do. I hug her goodbye. And she hugs back, as warm and steady as any mother. I never expected that either.
"Alright, go," she says, releasing me. "Aidan needs you."
I step into the hallway with the cookies, pulling Mrs. Lowt door closed behind me. Aidan's facing into the open door of my apartment, his back to me. Something isn't right.
"Aidan?" I say when he doesn't turn around right away. I cross the hall and put my free hand on his arm.
He turns. His eyes are swollen and red. The scent of whiskey rolls of him like storm clouds.
"I didn't mean to," he says. My gaze travels down to the paper bag he's clutching in his hand. The open mouth of the bottle, poking from the rolled edge of the bag, forms oh lips, as if it is as shocked as I am.
The whiskey is a sour cloud he exhumes with a small sob. He is broken, I see it all over him, but I can't help the anger that wells up inside me.
He is the strong one.
He is the rock, dammit.
If he's going to sink so easily, how am I going to make it? Who am I going to rely on?
I snatch the bottle and pound my shoulder against his as I pass into my apartment. I stomp straight into the lighted kitchen, slamming the cookie platter down on the counter. He drifts in behind me like a fading ghost. I hold my breath as I drain the rich, amber whiskey into the sink. I turn on the water full gush to wash it all away.
"I'm sorry," he says.
I rinse out the bottle and drop it in the sink. I catch sight of my ring finger then, and the tender commitment I had tattooed up my finger only a week ago. Leaning on the sink, I allow myself to droop over the empty bottle a moment longer. Then I pull up my head and take a deep breath.
"How is Natalie?" I ask.
"I'm sorry," Aidan says again. I know what he wants: absolution. When he's sober again, he'll realize that I'm not the one he needs it from.
"You need to call Leonard. If you don't, I will," I say. "But before you do, how's Natalie?"
He sniffles behind me, pulling in a breath. "She's going to be okay. They pumped her stomach." His footsteps turn, retreat, and I whip around from the sink.
"Where are you going?" I ask.
"Home."
"No you're not," I tell him. "You're staying here and sobering up."
"It's over," he says softly. "I blew it."
A fast-moving panic pierces my heart. I imagine losing Aidan--losing him lying beside me in bed, sitting at the end of my couch as he works on his computer, making dough ornaments, and walking me to meetings. When I try to erase his presence from my life, I can hardly breathe. If it's over, we're both lost.
A second wave of panic crashes into me. I really thought I could quit seeing Aidan at any time and just go about my business. I figured it might be a little sad, a little uncomfortable in the halls, but I had no idea that it might make me feel like this. Paralyzed. Destitute. Impossible.
Addicted.
In love.
I go to him, laying a hand on his shoulder, and he turns to me. His face is wet with tears. Mine quickly reflects it.
"You're staying here," I tell him as I draw him into my arms. "You need to be here, with me."
<<<<>>>>
Mrs. Lowt delivers more potato soup, with biscuits, through the sliver of my open door, without questions.
"Merry Christmas, Lydia," she says. "Don't forget, I'm right across the hall if you need me."
She is like a fairy godmother without the wand or sparkles or musical number. As I juggle the food to close the door, I realize that Mrs. Lowt is more magical than any of that. She is more like a mother.
Aidan reeks, but I don't shove him under a shower. I don't prolong his drunkenness with coffee. Instead, I watch him laugh as struggles to feed himself, dumping a load of biscuit crumbs down the front of himself and drooling soup from the corner of his mouth.
I've never really seen this side of drunkenness before--the part where stupid, nothing things are hysterical and where every moronic, useless thought seems insightful. Only one of us thinks he's brilliant right now and it's not me.
I think he's repulsive this way. The Aidan I know and
his appeal is completely gone. He's gone from remorseful to happy, horny drunk and I can't stand him. I shove and push him off, I can't even bring myself to laugh at this version of him.
He appears at the door of my bedroom, his belt undone.
"Fuck me," he slurs. "Come on, Lydia. You're beautiful and pretty and you smell like...cake. Fuck me."
"Shut up and go lie down," I tell him.
"You're going to come and fuck me then?"
"Yep," I say flatly. "Go lie down on the couch and wait for me. I'll be there in a few minutes."
He moans my name a few times and I ignore it. I'm relieved when he finally passes out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
NOT JUST SNOW FALLS
I didn't expect any of my Christmases to start like this. I wake up to Aidan, still fully clothed and sitting on the opposite edge of the bed, rubbing his skull as if he can buff out his hangover. He pushes off the bed and I hear the call to Leonard minutes later, going on in my bathroom. I hear the whole story, of how he saw Natalie and it blasted him because he'd contemplated the same thing. I had no idea. His humiliation leaks through the locked door.
He emerges almost an hour and a half later, following a long shower, but his eyes are still swollen. I'm on the couch, a bowl of cereal waiting for him on the coffee table.
"Merry Christmas. I made you breakfast," I say, nudging the bowl toward him with my toe. He falls onto his usual cushion at the opposite end from mine.
"I'm not that hungry."
"You've got to eat. You have to re-learn the right habits," I say. I give him a tiny grin as he takes the bowl. He stares into the cereal.
"Aren't you going to ask me about yesterday?"
"No."
"I fucked up."
"I know."
"I think you should know why it happened though," he says, putting down the cereal bowl.
"I'll listen if you want to tell me."
He nods. "I was okay being there for Shane. It was awful seeing Natalie, but I was still alright until I was riding the bus back home. There's something I haven't told you, Lydia. That first night I spent with you over a year ago, I was where Natalie is right now. That night I met you, I expected that you were going to be the last fling of my life. Everything about that night was going to be the last night of my life. That girl, Marta? Her whole family is a bunch of gun enthusiasts. I had a loaded gun waiting in a drawer at her house, waiting for me to come home that night."
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