Lola Carlyle's 12-Step Romance

by Danielle Younge-Ullman

  I have work to do and I either have to start pretending to do it, or I need to bite the bullet and actually do it. Based on my experience so far, pretending is just as hard as the real thing—maybe harder.

  Plus…I really want to go to Disneyland. I mean, I am a kid who lives in California who, despite numerous parental promises, has never been to Disneyland. It’s practically traumatizing.

  Finally, I really, really need my roommates to settle down and the people in this place to start trusting me so I can stop going through all this extra drama.

  After dinner and Reflection, I notice that Talia’s left my missing stuff in a neat pile on my bed. I put on jeans and a thin gray T-shirt with a giant floppy gray flower on the chest, and silver sandals.

  Then I go to the AA meeting where I stand up…and reconfess.

  It’s not my proudest moment, but Dr. Koch made his expectations abundantly clear, and anyway, a girl’s got to be practical.

  Besides, my confession isn’t even really a lie.

  It goes something like this: “My name is Lola and I might actually be…an addict…of some kind. And I am certainly as flawed and messed up and confused as anyone else here and could use some life lessons and coping mechanisms and so on. So…I thank you all for your support and patience as I…as I work this out and work…on it. And, uh, I’m sorry if I’ve been a pain in anyone’s ass.”

  The reaction is awesome.

  People cheer.

  Dr. Koch gives me a wink and a thumbs-up.

  Adam claps, though his expression remains serious, almost puzzled.

  Talia cries, though that is her first response to almost everything.

  Jade studies me instead of glaring.

  Wade smiles a super high-voltage smile.

  It’s a big moment, and when the meeting is over, I’m practically mobbed with people coming up to embrace me or thump me on the back, to offer their time if I want to talk, and so on. They’re happy for me, supportive and sweet.

  Except Adam. He’s the only one I still can’t read. I thought he’d be happy—proud of me, or at least relieved. Of all the people in the room, he’s the one I most want to come congratulate me, ideally with a long, tight hug, which would be okay (right?) because everyone is all about the hugs here and it would be public and therefore aboveboard and yet still get me nice and close to him, at least for a few seconds. But he doesn’t come over. Instead, he leaves. And as the door thuds closed behind him, I am disappointed, confused, hurt.

  After all, I’m only trying to do what he does and follow what feels like the right thing.

  But fine. Screw him. It’s not my fault he decided to confess his feelings for me and that now we’re both all messed up about it—he did that. And now he doesn’t want to do it. Like, ever. So, fine.

  Meanwhile, Wade is standing at the back of the mob, waiting his turn and never taking his eyes off me until finally there are only a few of us left in the chapel.

  “Carlyle,” he says, finally coming over and wrapping me in a big, more-than-friendly hug—tight and warm and just a little bit sexy, the exact kind I wanted from Adam. “Nice job.”

  “Well, I’m not totally comfortable about it all yet, but it felt…good, I guess.”

  “Excellent. Now, I just have one question for you.”

  “Yes?”

  “How do you feel about roller coasters, Carlyle?”

  I gaze at him, purposely summoning up the old feelings, giving him a sly smile. I know I can’t rescue the guy, and the old feelings, while easy to recall, aren’t necessarily as strong as they could be. But a little flirtation can’t hurt, and might even help. “Same way I feel about carrots, Miller.”

  I enter my room that night with a mix of dread and determination. It may be that I’ve recommitted myself to rehab, but I’ve still got Talia (thief) and Jade (psycho) to deal with and there has to be some way to make peace. When it comes to Jade I’m even willing to eat a bit of crow to make it happen.

  “Okay,” I say to Talia as soon as I’m in the door, “you first. Let’s talk.”

  “I think it should be me first,” Jade says.

  Meanwhile, Talia kind of shrinks into her pillow.

  “Making up for lost time with the talking, huh, Jade?” I say.

  “Fuck,” she says. “Why do you do that?”

  “Why does it bother you?”

  “Because it’s so…just so…”

  “It’s my sense of humor, that’s all,” I say, and move to stand in front of my dresser so I can see them both. “I’m trying to survive and get through the day like everyone else. And yeah, I’m not too into showing my vulnerable side so I make a lot of jokes. You’re not exactly an open book yourself.”

  “But I’m not bothering anybody.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “No. And I don’t spend all my time bragging about my fabulous life either.”

  “I don’t…I’m not…”

  “I hate to say it because I love you and all,” Talia pipes up from the depths of her bed, “but Jade has a point.”

  “Look, my life isn’t that fabulous,” I admit. “I talk about the good parts because that’s what I want to focus on. What’s wrong with that?”

  What’s wrong with it is I’m full of shit, just as Jade said when she freaked on me earlier, and it looks like maybe I’m working a little too hard at hiding the things I don’t want people to know about.

  “What’s wrong is nobody wants to hear it,” Jade says, almost spitting. “Because some of us are in pain.”

  “How do you know I’m not?”

  “How would I know you are?” she counters.

  “Just because I’m not playing the my-life-is-worse-than-yours game some of you people seem to be into, doesn’t mean there aren’t incredibly shitty things happening in my life sometimes.”

  “Actually, I don’t really care if there are.”

  “Fine. That works just fine for me. I don’t need you to care. But we have to live together for the next few weeks, and I don’t want to be worrying you’re going to stab me in the middle of the night, so I’m going to try to annoy you less. Okay?”

  “There you go again with the jokes.”

  “It’s not really a joke. You’re scary sometimes. You’re like some kind of psycho-goth-ninja. I never know what you might do.”

  At this, she chuckles. Progress.

  “Okay, what else? You don’t like me talking about my family. Right?”

  “My parents just died.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Don’t get sympathetic,” she snaps. “I can’t handle it.”

  “Fine,” I say, schooling my emotions and trying to present a blank face. “Fine, no sympathy.”

  “And Talia told you the very first day what an ass her dad is and yet you go on about what great buddies you and your dad are. Get a fucking clue.”

  I breathe in slowly through my nostrils and out through my mouth, reminding myself my job is not to delve into any of this or, conversely, to pick any more fights. “I won’t talk about them, then. Unless I have to in class or whatever.”

  “All right,” Jade says, and I can see her relaxing. A bit.

  “I can’t promise not to annoy you, though. You know, just in general. But I’ll try to cut down.”

  She rolls her eyes.

  “But you have to stop doing that. And giving me the finger all the time because that’s rude, not to mention it provokes me.”

  “Fine. I’ll try,” she says.

  “All right. Me too.”

  “But I don’t want to be your friend.”

  “Yeah, I got that. Ditto.”

  “Done.” And with that, Jade gets off her bed, grabs her cigarettes, and goes out to the freshly unlocked balcony, leaving me alone with Talia.

  I push away from the dresser and sit on the edge of my bed, facing her.

  She pulls her duvet over her and closes her eyes.

  “Look, Talia, if you can’t explain…whate
ver. I mean, I’m not happy you stole from me, but if you could just assure me it won’t happen again, I guess that’ll do.”

  “It’s not because I don’t like you,” she says in a small voice. “It’s more because I do.”

  “I… Okay, I don’t get it.”

  “I know. It’s weird. It’s complicated.”

  “Well…if you want to borrow something, just tell me. I don’t care. You can keep some of the stuff, even. I mean, I have tons of clothes. I can just order new ones.”

  Talia gives me a look, and suddenly I get it.

  “Oh,” I say. “That was one of those moments, right?”

  She nods.

  “I don’t mean it… I don’t really mean it to… Okay, but I’ll work on it. And you can tell me when I’m doing it. Yes?”

  “Hey, I know this time you were actually trying to be nice,” she says.

  I nod. “But…”

  She nods. “Yeah. Oh, you know, your jeans didn’t even fit me, by the way.”

  “Sorry to hear it.”

  “And I could never pull off those feather earrings.”

  “Sure you could.”

  “Matter of opinion.”

  “Or the Ray-Bans—the Fat-Asses—you should keep those. I have two pair, exactly the same.”

  “Fat Asses…?”

  “Yeah, my mom told me they make me look fat.”

  “What…?”

  “So I bought two pairs just to piss her off and I call then the Fat-Asses. See? There’s a nice little tidbit from my less than fabulous life. Here, take them,” I say, handing them to her.

  “We can be twin fat-asses, then,” Talia says with a pleased smile.

  “But back to the reason,” I say. “I still don’t understand why you took them in the first place.”

  “I just…I kept thinking you were going to leave. I don’t like it when people leave me.”

  I stare at her, trying to see behind the words to something that makes sense.

  “So…taking my stuff was supposed to stop me from going?”

  “No. It’s just…objects are permanent. And sometimes you just need something. It doesn’t make sense but you need it.”

  “Oh wow, I know that. I know that feeling. I had that feeling today. I…I think I have it all the time but I just never was aware of it before. It’s like you just…” I reach out my hands in a grasping motion, trying to demonstrate. “It’s like hunger, but…more. Worse.”

  “Yes,” she says. “Oh my God.”

  “All right. So I get that part—you needed something.”

  “I did. That’s how I felt. I would have returned it all, though, I swear.”

  “I still can’t say I completely get it,” I tell her. “But, I mean, did it help?”

  “Temporarily.”

  “Ah. Yeah. Like everything.”

  She nods.

  I sit down beside her, wrap an arm around her shoulders, and squeeze her to me. “I feel better that it wasn’t malicious. That makes a big difference.”

  “Never,” she says, leaning her head against mine. “But I’m really sorry.”

  I nod. “Me, too.”

  Thursday morning, I am in the lounge before Adam. I see him in my peripheral vision when he arrives—as always with slightly damp hair, face clean-shaven and wearing his no-nonsense T-shirt and jeans. I don’t look up. He doesn’t stop to greet me, either. He just goes to the front of the room and opens the binder.

  “‘I know a new freedom,’” he says, and then finally meets my eyes, almost as if he’s giving me a challenge.

  Then Dr. Koch arrives and hands me a new Level Three card.

  Apropos, as Talia would say.

  As we’re dispersing to our Contemplations, I can’t help drifting to where he still stands, near the door to the balcony.

  “So,” I say, “happy?”

  “About what?”

  “Your new freedom? Or,” I continue when he frowns, “my new freedom?”

  “My freedom’s irrelevant,” he says, eyes boring into me. “As for yours…”

  “Yes?”

  He shrugs. “I just want you to use it wisely.”

  “But…why are you acting so weird? I thought you’d be proud of me. I thought you’d be happy.”

  “Lola…” He closes his eyes for a second, lets out a sharp sigh, opens them. “Everything’s fine, okay? I’m fine, you’re fine, you’re ready to do the work and that does make me happy. It’s all good.”

  “But I just…” One of my hands reaches out, almost of its own volition, to touch his forearm. He looks down at it, then back to me, and steps away with a quick shake of his head.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake,” I say, pissed off but whispering, just in case anyone is close enough to hear me. “I can’t touch your arm?”

  “Go,” he says, his voice harsher and deeper than usual. “Go Contemplate. I’ll see you later.”

  I only see Adam a couple more times that day, and only in passing. It’s weird, but a relief, I guess, since we apparently can’t have even the simplest of interactions without things going sideways. His demeanor is friendly, if a little formal, and for a while I follow his lead because really, what else can I do?

  Friday, though, he shows up to escort me to therapy, still obviously not trusting I’ll go.

  We walk there in silence.

  I survive the session and hate it a little bit less.

  To my surprise, he’s there when I come out.

  “Am I in trouble?” I say, trying unsuccessfully not to sound sarcastic.

  “Not that I know of,” he says. “Let’s go. I’ll walk you.”

  “I have a free period,” I say, following him down the long corridor overlooking the ocean where I tried to charm him that first day. “I don’t think you need to worry about my attending it.”

  “You’re doing well, Lola. I’m impressed with your compliance,” he says stiffly.

  “Adam.” I stop walking.

  “Yes?” he says.

  “Can you…do you want to hang out with me?”

  He hesitates, not quite meeting my eyes.

  “You’re mad,” I say. “You seem mad.”

  “No,” he says. “I’m really not.”

  “Listen, it affects my mental health if my mentor isn’t on his game, you know. Or if he’s bullshitting me. You’re lucky I don’t have Dr. Owens’s bell.”

  “I’m not mad at you,” he says, more convincingly this time.

  “All right then, come on,” I say, and point to the courtyards below. “Let’s go sit. You’re my mentor and I want to talk.”

  “All right,” he says, and we head down the stairs and to the door.

  “Your card or mine?” I say, holding up my Level card and cocking an eyebrow.

  “Go ahead,” he says, shaking his head and trying not to smile.

  I hide my own smile at this hint of progress, and use my card to take us outside to one of the many peaceful, empty courtyards, which may or may not stay empty, but hopefully will.

  He looks around, chooses a bench in the shade, and sits.

  “Okay, spill,” I say, swinging my denim-clad leg across the bench so I can sit straddled, facing him, but not too close, even though at the moment he’s facing dutifully forward, so it’s only the side of his face I’m looking at. “Clarice would say your energy is heavy.”

  “Ha,” he says, not really laughing, but smiling a little.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m just mad at myself.”

  “Right. So, Adam, I know the subject is technically closed, but—”

  “It’s okay,” he says. “We can open it. For a short time.”

  “Really?”

  “A short time.”

  “Awesome. I can do short. Because while you’ve been learning lots of things about me, I’ve also been learning about you, and I think I can sum it up—the problem you’re having. Then it’ll be out in the open, which might help. And then we can just…close the su
bject back up. Deal?”

  “Go for it,” he says, glancing sideways at me, both amused and skeptical at the same time.

  “You regret it,” I say matter-of-factly, but in a low enough voice that no passerby would hear me. “Telling me, kissing me back when I kissed you, all of it. And now you’re having a crisis because you don’t know if you can trust yourself to do this job—so you’re questioning your entire future.”

  “Huh,” he says, turning to face me finally, drawing one knee onto the bench and dropping it down on the other side. “Impressive.”

  “Am I right?”

  “On some of it. I am having a bit of a crisis, especially about this career—the future, as you said. But I’ve put two years of school in already and it’s still what I want.”

  I nod, and gesture him to continue.

  “Regarding us—no, I shouldn’t have let anything happen.”

  The word “us” sounds so good it makes me ache. Lame, short-term boyfriends like Trevor of the smushed-bug-on-the-windshield kisses aside, I’ve never been part of an us, even a not-happening us.

  “But?” I say.

  “But I don’t regret it.”

  At this, I let go of a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

  “I’m supposed to,” he continues, looking at me in that super-honest and direct way he has that used to make me nervous and now makes me feel weak in the knees, “but I can’t make myself, and it would be such a lie to say I did. I don’t.”

  “I’m so…” I look down for a moment, worried he’s going to see all the mess of emotion I’m trying to keep in check. “I don’t either,” I say, then look back up again. “I’m so happy, so relieved; I mean, it shouldn’t make a difference, but I…I don’t want you to regret it.”

  Though we’re a few feet apart and clearly nothing is going to happen, we are both very still, very still and staring at each other, and in my case hardly breathing. It feels like my stomach is full of tiny, tumbling acrobats, maybe an aerial act or two.

  Someone has to say something or the tension might kill us both.