by Amy Isan
“No I’m actually really hungry. I think that sounds really nice. What did you have in mind?”
“I know a good place downtown. I can get us reservations,” he snapped his fingers, “like that. You should wear your dress.”
I laughed, “I have to use it for something I suppose. I’ll get ready.”
***
Dinner was just a little bit across town. The building was silhouetted against the setting sun. Inside, the atmosphere was dark but warm, a kind of nostalgic sensation pricked the back of my neck when I stepped into the air conditioned entry. My hair was brought up into a bun, keeping it off my sticky neck.
The host didn’t look pleased to see us. There were already some people waiting near the front door, albeit in comfortable seating. After Hugh told the host who we were, the host’s expression brightened immediately.
“Right this way Mr. Evans.” The host grabbed two menus and led us to our table, another secluded spot near the back of the restaurant. It was a little warm to be sitting outside.
I stared at my menu, feeling overwhelmed with the choices. “What should I get?”
“Don’t worry about picking, I’ll make sure it's good.” He winked at me. I sighed with relief and gave him my menu. I just wanted to turn off for the night and enjoy. After the waiter came back, Hugh ordered us both the bison filet.
“That’s an excellent choice, how would you like those steaks done?”
Hugh glanced at me and nodded. “I’ll have mine medium and she’ll have her’s medium-rare.” As the waiter scribbled down the order and collected our menus, I grinned at Hugh. “We’ll also have a bottle of your finest cabernet sauvignon.” Our waiter nodded silently and left us alone.
I leaned forward. “You remembered that I like my steak to be able to kick off the plate?”
“Of course,” he said. He cleared his throat. “I try to remember everything.”
I mused. “That’s quite a responsibility.”
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
***
The steaks came and were delicious. Melt-in-my-mouth delicious. I savored each bite, giving Hugh a performance with my exaggerated moans.
“Ha-ha,” he joked. “Is it actually good?”
I nodded hard and swallowed. “It’s way too good honestly. You’re spoiling me.”
“Impossible.” He clenched his hand into a fist. I noticed his breathing seemed a little shallow.
“What’s wrong?”
He shook his head hard, and pushed away from the table. He moved closer to me, and knelt down on one knee. My heart started racing, blood pounding in my ears. My hands grew clammy and weak. I squeezed my knees together with my hands.
He pulled a small box out of his pocket, and presented it to me. He clicked it open.
“Caitlin Winters, I know this seems rushed and crazy, but I didn’t think I’d find happiness again.” I gulped down another swallow of wine. My hands were shaking, so I squeezed my thighs through my dress. “Will you marry me?”
His hand was still wearing his wedding ring, from before, from Marcia Evans. I thought about the photo album I found.
“Hugh... stand up.” My voice betrayed my nervousness. I wanted to sound powerful, but I couldn’t. I felt weak, and on the verge of tears. Wasn’t this what I wanted? What I was dreaming of?
He stood up, slowly. His expression changed, and he frowned heavily.
“I don’t think I can Hugh,” I whispered. I pointed at his hand, mine shaking from the tide of emotions I was trying to hold back. “You’re still wearing your wedding band... I’ve been terrified to bring it up, but now I feel forced to.” He put the box with the ring in it, still open, on the table. “I can’t marry you if you’re still in love with Marcia.”
Tears welled up in my eyes, exactly what I was afraid would happen. I fought to try and keep them down, clenching my eyes shut. It only made them worse. The knotted ball in my chest rose, and I choked it down. “I want to say yes, god knows I want to say yes. Until I met you I thought I would be doomed to float from man to man, never satisfied with what I found in each one. No one in college could fill the hole you left me with, Hugh.” I pounded my fist on my leg, trying to stem back the flow. “No one.”
He looked at his lap, and was probably touching his wedding ring. “I thought I’d never be happy after Marcia.” He took off his wedding band. The first time I had ever seen him do that.
He put it on the table. “Until I met you again.”
“You can’t do that. Put it back on.”
He shook his head.
“Hugh. If you really were ready to marry me, to propose to me of all things, you wouldn’t have forgotten to take that off first. It only betrays you. I’m sorry, I can’t marry you, and feel like I’m...” My voice cracked, “just replacing someone who isn’t here anymore.”
He nodded slowly, and grabbed the box. “That’s not true... you know,” he mumbled. He dragged the box back across the table, leaving ripples in the tablecloth.
After it fell back into his lap, he put it in his pocket.
My makeup was ruined, black mascara smeared on my napkin. I poured another glass of wine, and sat in silence.
I managed to finish the bottle of wine, almost entirely by myself. I ordered another bottle and started drinking that too. Hugh protested, but I brushed him off. I wanted it. I needed it.
The rest of the dinner was a wash, Hugh didn’t speak much. I almost felt bad, like I might have cut into him too deep. But I couldn’t forgive him at that moment.
What was he thinking anyway? What was I thinking?
***
Hugh unlocked the door to his condo and I stumbled in, my arm wrapped around his neck. He wasn’t as amused as I was. Or as drunk.
“Caitlin?” He seemed worried.
I smiled at him, oblivious. “Hey stud.”
He seemed to be looking through me. “Are you okay?”
I pawed at him, grabbing his shirt. “What would make it right? What if I pretend I’m Marcia? Should I dye my hair? Would that make you happy?”
“You’re being ridiculous. You aren’t here to replace her.”
“Aren’t I though?” I started unbuttoning his shirt. “How did she talk?” I adopted a bad british accent, “How would you like it Mr. Evans?”
“Stop,” Hugh said, but he didn’t move. I finished unbuttoning his shirt, and I started pulling it off his shoulders. I left it gathered at his wrists.
“’Stop, you’re drunk, you’re not replacing her,’ I mimicked him. “I thought you were the rich and powerful Hugh Evans? The man who left me for college, who is the vice president of a company?”
“Not tonight, I’m not.” He wasn’t looking at me anymore. I kissed his neck, biting him a little. He pushed into me, and I felt him growing again. His member pushed against my thighs.
I had to hold onto his arms to keep my balance on top of him, otherwise I’d fall over.
He stared at me, his lips parted.
“Don’t you like me, Hugh?” I said, “Why aren’t you taking those clothes off?”
He was growing irritated. “Why do you think I proposed to you?”
I looked at him, confused.
“You’ve had too much.”
I went into the kitchen, bumping against the counter. I pulled down a bottle of rum, managing to slip the cap off and take a swallow before Hugh seized it from me.
I glared at him. “W-What are you doing?” I still had my hand out, as if he’d give it back to me.
He slipped his arms under me again, jostling me. The room was spinning, and the motion sent me reeling even more. Suddenly I felt faint and all wrong inside.
“Bathroom. I need the bathroom.” I motioned for the bedroom. He carried me into the bathroom, and set me down in front of the toilet. “I think if I puke I’ll feel better.”
“I think I need to take you to the hospital.”
“God damn I won’t. Alright?” I gripped the edges of the toilet ba
sin. “Just get me some aspirin or something,” I pointed at the cabinet, before losing my balance and swinging my face down into the toilet. He moved away from me to retrieve some medicine. Everything was numb and dark. I only knew he moved because the heat that he was giving off vanished.
He came back after what felt like hours. I was getting worse. Any sense of jubilation was fading quickly. My heart was racing, and I felt like my entire body needed to curl up and die.
“I need to take you.” He tried to slip an arm under me and lift me.
“Now now, I’ve been worse off before.” I tried to wave him away. I groaned, leaning deeper into the basin.
“No!” His voice startled me. He looked frantic, confused, upset. “You’re blue Caitlin. I’m taking you.”
I vomited, feeling almost nothing move. The water was tinged red.
“Oh my god,” I shook, adrenaline coursing through me. “Is that blood?”
Hugh was already on the phone, calling an ambulance to pick me up. I tried to focus on him, but I was too dizzy. I collapsed on the the floor.
Chapter 9
The beeping of the EKG monitor roused me. I slowly opened my eyes, and tried to turn my head to look around. I felt heavy, like I had been tranquilized or paralyzed.
There was a throbbing ache in my neck, so I stopped moving. My eyes scanned the room. A sterile hospital room, which was preferable to a disgusting one. Hugh was cradling his forehead in his palms, his elbows planted on the bed.
“Wh-what happened?” I said. My voice was hoarse.
“Caitlin!” Hugh said, his voice crackly. He scooted closer to the head of the bed, and took my hand. “I thought... I don’t know what I thought. Do you remember what happened?”
“I think so... we went to dinner... and came home. I puked... blood?”
“Good. The doctor said you might not remember. You had a case of alcohol poisoning. You didn’t puke blood though, it was just the wine, thank god.”
I barely believed it. I sighed. “I guess this was going to happen someday.”
“I’m so glad... you’re still alive.”
“Alive? Was I not going to be?”
“You almost died. The ER doctor said if I wasn’t there, you would have... been gone. Your alcohol level was getting worse by the minute after they picked you up.” He stared out the window into the hallway. “I basically caught you just as you went unconscious. Your breathing was extremely slow, and if there wasn’t anyone to perform CPR...”
“Oh...” I said. I looked at my arms that were laying on top of the sheets. They were all wired up and filled with needles. It made me a little queasy. “Are you okay?”
“I think. I think I will be,” he said. He was silent for a moment. I remembered the proposal. How could I have forgotten. My chest felt tight. How could I put him through this?
“It’s really hard for me. I felt like I almost lost you earlier. I don’t know what I would have done if I did.”
“You didn’t though.” I sensed something coming from him. He was never like this before. Maybe only when he told me about Marcia that one night. “It just feels... like it’s my fault.”
“It wasn’t, Hugh.” I touched his hand, but he shrunk away from me. My stomach twisted. “You can’t control this,” I said.
“I should be able to. What’s the point in having wealth if I can’t help people? If I can’t prevent the people I care about from getting sick or — nearly dying?”
I was silent. I didn’t know what to say. I could barely remember what happened, how could I expect to really answer any of his questions. I still felt groggy too, my mouth was dry.
“Hugh, just... don’t worry about it today okay?” He looked at me, tears coating his face. The sight nearly made me break down. I choked up, trying to hold back my own emotions. “Just, be with me okay?”
“I’ll try.” He swallowed hard. “I’ll try.”
He stared into the bed sheets. “They said if I hadn’t found you, you might’ve died.”
I squeezed my chest, the thought of it twisting me. Tears pooled, and I started to sob.
“I don’t feel right. I don’t know what’s right,” I said. I sniffed hard, trying to not soak my shirt or the sheets. “I just saw my mom in a hospital, what’s wrong with me?”
A man in a white coat approached the door and peered inside. He let himself in.
“Hi, I’m Doctor Stephenson. I’ve been taking care of you since you came in Ms. Winters.”
I tried to smile, my damp face embarrassing me.
“Hello Doctor.”
Hugh turned and watched him as he sat down next to us. He swiveled toward me, and double checked my monitors. “You look like you’re doing okay. Did Mr. Evans explain to you what happened?”
“Yes, I had alcohol poisoning.”
He frowned, “Severely. Like I told him when the ambulance got here, you would have died if you didn’t have your stomach pumped immediately. That alcohol would’ve kept festering, eventually being absorbed by your intensities. You would’ve passed out, and either stopped breathing, or choked to death. Maybe both.”
I held my hand to my throat. “What do I do now?”
He leaned closer to me, turning more serious. “Ms. Winters, would you describe yourself as having a drinking problem?”
I looked away from him, still wrestling with my turmoil. I barely wanted to admit I actually had some kind of problem. I never drank that much, and I didn’t think that I would fall into that same trap.
When I didn’t answer, he continued. “How many drinks do you have a day?”
I clenched my jaw. “Two or three...?”
“Are you sure? Is that only during the weekend?”
“Weekdays...” I broke eye contact with him. “I’ve had entire bottles of rum during the weekends. Usually when I’m stressed.”
“I see,” he scribbled something on his clipboard. “How often do you binge?”
“Binge? Like, black out?”
“You don’t have to black out. How about this, do you ever wake up in the morning and crave a drink? How often do you abstain from drinking simply because you don’t want people to think you’re an alcoholic? Do you ever hide your drinking?”
It hit home. I shuddered as I put my hands under the sheets, squeezing my thigh to steady myself. I looked at Hugh, his own face betraying his realization of what I really was.
“I do. That’s me.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Do you want to keep that up?”
I stared through him. “Do I even have a choice? I mean, I’m here aren’t I?”
“It’s always your choice, Ms. Winters. I can’t make you do anything. I’ve treated you, and you’ll be free to go later this afternoon. I only ask you these things out of medical necessity.” He crossed his legs, and clasped his hands together. “If you are willing to seek treatment, I can point you in the right direction and give referrals.”
I looked at Hugh again, who was shaking his head. I don’t know if it was because of what the doctor said, or something I said.
“I need to think about it.”
“Think about if you have a problem?” Hugh burst into the conversation. He was completely silent before then, not even mumbling. I stared at him. “The question was simple, Cay! Do you have a problem with alcohol?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, “Don’t — don’t yell at me. I don’t even know why you’re so mad.”
He sighed heavily, and stood up from beside the bed. He moved towards the window and put his hand on the wall.
“I think this might be evidence enough that you do, Ms. Winters,” the doctor said.
I nodded slowly, letting myself try to say the words I had been avoiding.
“I have a problem with...” I glanced at Hugh, who was still staring out the window. “With alcohol.”
“Good. That’s good. Well,” the doctor paused. “It’s not good but it’s a start. I have a number of clinics I can refer you to, if you’d like. There is alway
s your own personal choice too. I have all the brochures right here.” He lifted his clipboard, and revealed a stack of brochures. I nodded, and he set them on the table beside my bed. “I’ll leave these for you then. I’ll check up on you soon, and then we’ll be able to discharge you.”
“Thanks, Doctor,” I said.
After he left, I breathed deeply. It felt nice, good to admit something I had been trying so hard to lie to myself about for so long. Something I had been struggling with. It already felt like a enormous weight had been lifted off my chest.
Hugh’s eyes were still fixed out the window, and I studied him.
“What’s wrong?”
He shook his head, and when he spoke, his voice threatened to crack. “A lot of things. I just have to spend some time thinking is all.”
“Me too, it sounds like.”
I laid back into my pillows, and realized how tired I was. There was a small clock on the opposite wall from my bed, and I watched the second hand move around, imagining the ticking in my head.
As it circled, my eyes grew heavy, and I fell asleep.
***
I was discharged from the hospital later the next day, after they decided I was stable enough to leave. My parting gift was a stack of brochures for rehabilitation clinics tucked under my arm. Hugh was silent as we climbed into a cab and made it back to his house.
He left me in his bedroom so I could look at the brochures while he clanged around the kitchen. Unscrewing caps and knocking glasses together as he poured drink after drink down the drain. He was doing too much for me. I felt like a burden.
The first place I looked at seemed nice enough, it touted a safe atmosphere with love and support. It sounded sweet, but the pictures looked fake. Everyone’s teeth were too white and their hair all done just right.
These people didn’t need help. I glanced at the mirror next to Hugh’s bedroom door, and studied myself. That’s the face of someone who needs help. Bags under my eyes and lines creasing my face, my hair in disarray. I looked haggard.
Hugh appeared in the doorway, surprising me from my trance.
“Are you hungry at all?” he asked, but without the same level of enthusiasm he had yesterday. Could I expect any different?