Page 6 of Caught in Us
“All addicts are capable of change,” I say, quick to defend him. Aching for his success. Even if I can’t be there to see him realize it, I want him to stay sober.
“Yes. Sorry.” Her breath scatters static through the line. “I didn’t mean—” She clears her throat. “That’s not the way I see you. You’re so responsible. I’d never—” Her reasoning prickles my irritation.
“Do you know how many times I got behind the wheel after I’d been drinking? It wasn’t that long ago.” It’s something I’ve never admitted aloud, not outside of therapy or meetings. “What if I was the one to paralyze a friend? What if it’d been Callie or you with me? He’s not a monster; you know that, right? This disease, it eats away at all the good in our lives when it has complete control.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I need to do better. Have more empathy. It’s just really hard giving him a second chance after everything. I mean, first he hurt Callie. He’s the reason you and Callie didn’t talk for a month. He’s constantly caused Cam worry. I guess I’ve spent so much time dealing with the aftermath of his careless actions and it’s hard to give him a pass.”
“Get to know sober Chase. He might surprise you.”
“I didn’t realize you two had a chance to do that this summer.”
Here’s the moment. The perfect opportunity to come clean about everything that happened. To tell her there hasn’t been a day or hour since I left Richmond that I don’t think of him. How scared I am. If I’m being honest, I love him and I’m worried I’ll never be able to stop. But that wouldn’t be fair. Not to him. Not to Jill, either. The last thing she needs is another reason to hate him. He deserves a fresh start. A chance to make things right with his brother.
“We aren’t that close.” The lie fills my mouth with an acidic taste. “Just speaking from experience.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry again. I’m a horrible person.”
“You are not.” I cut her off with a sharp burst of laughter. “God, I miss you.”
“Fuck. I miss you, too,” she says on a sigh. “But you’re really okay?” She’s not asking to be polite. She doesn’t expect a canned response. She deserves the whole truth, but I’m afraid if I let it all out I might break down. Being in a new country without my friends or family has been harder than I ever imagined. Not that I’m giving up. I’m much too stubborn to quit and move back home in defeat.
“I’m okay. I should probably get going. I have a paper due tomorrow. But it was really great to hear your voice. Send everyone my love.”
“Love you, too. Kick ass, okay? We’ll talk soon.”
I end the call and close my eyes. Memories wash over me like waves, pulling me back to days I try to forget—to the man I’m dying to get over. You’d think an ocean between us—completely cut off from communication—would be enough, but I can’t bring myself to fully move on. If I do, my heart might break.
Instead of reaching for my laptop, I retrieve my notebook and flip to a fresh page. My gut coils into a knot, thick with tension ready to snap. I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s not healthy. I need to move on. But I can’t, so instead of listening to reason I position my pen on the paper.
Dear Chase,
Can you feel how I miss you? How every day brings on a deep longing for more time together. I said I was leaving and that you needed to move on, but the more time that passes, the more I wonder if I made a huge mistake. Do you think of me, too? Does your heart sometimes feel as if it’s beating for someone else? If I asked you to drop everything and come find me, would you?
Are you well? Are you still in therapy and going to meetings? I hope with my entire soul that you are. You are worthy of a rich, full life. Of happiness and joy. We found that together, didn’t we? This summer felt like the first time I was truly living since giving up alcohol. Not just going through the motions, but living life as though I was meant to. If I’m being honest, it scared me. You scared me. It felt reckless, being with you. Irresponsible for both your sobriety and mine.
Do you hate me for leaving? Or is there a part of you that’s relieved I didn’t stay. I wanted to fight for you—for us—but I’m afraid there’s too much between us. Too much history. Too much hurt. In Kitty Hawk we were in a bubble, but it was never meant to last. Still. I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me. I still love you. Even after everything.
These are the thoughts that keep me up at night. That make it impossible to move forward. I asked for space, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe what I really need is for you to fight. For you to refuse to let me give up on us.
Yours always,
Alicia
4
Alicia
Present Day
“Hey, Mom.” I step into the sunroom of my parents’ house. Simon is upstairs with Matthew getting settled in one of the bedrooms. I was surprised my mom wasn’t waiting to greet us at the front door. If not for me, then for her grandson. This is the first time I’ve been home in years, after all. But after talking with Mari and Joanne, my family’s housekeeping staff, I realize why. It’s the reason I showed the boys to our rooms before heading out to find her. “Mom?”
Her head jerks at my voice. She lifts her gaze across the room. Her eyes are bloodshot, her gaze unsteady. “‘Lisha, baby, that you?” She’s drunk. Or hung over. I don’t know which is worse.
My gut clenches with unease. I knew it was bad. My brothers warned me. But hearing and seeing are two different experiences. “It’s me.” I step forward, but our reunion isn’t rushed. Something holds me back from running into her embrace. There’s a fear that maybe she doesn’t want me to. Or maybe it’s the collection of wine bottles that clutter the table. If I’m not careful, I’ll make myself vulnerable to a relapse, and I’ll do anything to avoid that.
Mom isn’t herself. She hasn’t been in a while. It’s something my brothers have been saying since Daddy’s stroke. It’s part of why I always came up with an excuse to not visit. I think she resents me for leaving. I know she still hasn’t accepted the reality of my father’s condition. She’s always been an alcoholic, but by her current state, she’s less functioning than ever.
“When did you get here?” She reaches for the drink cart to her right, picking out two empty glasses and almost knocking them over in the process. She sets them on the coffee table and attempts to fill them, but each of the open bottles of wine offers nothing more than a few drops of liquid. “Let me get you something to drink.” She tries to push onto her feet, but doesn’t gain her balance, falling back into her chair with a grimace.
