Friend Is a Four Letter Word (21 page)

“I’m Randy, and I’m an alcoholic,” a man says from the small podium. I feel like I should cover my ears, like I’m not supposed to be hearing such sacred, privileged things. But the tighter Carter grips my hand, the more I relax. Because I’m here for one reason only, and that reason is holding onto me for dear life. “I’d like to welcome you to tonight’s meeting, and give a special welcome to new attendees.”

What should be an awkward hour or so instead, passes quickly. The speakers are actually quite funny, and there is way more laughter than I expected. I thought it would be a somber affair. Carter whispered to me during one of the speeches that people in AA know how to have a good time—that’s what got them in here in the first place.

And even though we’re in a crowded room, I can’t help but feel like Carter and I are sharing this intimate experience—even more so than out under the stars at the deserted camp site.

“Anyone else who would like to speak before I close the meeting?” Randy asks. He’s wearing an expensive looking dress shirt and nicely tailored pants. He reminds me of my father, which makes me realize even more that anyone could end up in need of one of these meetings. Even the people that you least expect. Normal people with good families and good jobs. Lonely people. Anyone.

“I would,” Carter says. He drops my hand for the first time since the meeting began.

“Do you want to come up, or stay seated?” Randy asks.

Carter sucks in a big breath before saying, “I’ll come up.”

I’m a little surprised that Carter opted to go up in front of everyone, rather than speak from the comfort of his seat, but he pats my leg as he stands and then walks to the podium.

He clears his throat before he begins. “Hi, my name is Carter, and…” he clears it once more and speaks the words clearly. “I’m an alcoholic.”

“Hi, Carter,”
everyone in the room replies.

“I’ve been sober now for eighty-four days. I know that doesn’t sound like a lot, but that’s the longest I can remember not having taken a drink since I was thirteen and I would sneak liquor from my mom’s cabinet. She was out of it so much, she never noticed. It wasn’t a lot at first, but it was always something. Even as a kid I knew that my drinking almost every day was a problem, but I didn’t care. I didn’t have any reason to stop. And I functioned just fine, so I didn’t see a problem with it until much later on. I graduated from high school, got into a good college. I got an internship that many of my friends would have killed for. I got a good job—that if you ask my boss, I did better as a drunk.

But I always had this secret.

And as my sponsor has told me before, we’re only as sick as our secrets. I had a few bad moments, of course. Waking up places I didn’t remember being, finding myself back at my apartment and not knowing how I got there—and realizing that I must have been stupid enough to have driven myself. All of these things started chipping away at what I thought was a manageable thing. But I didn’t ever have that rock bottom, epiphany moment that everyone says you’ll have when you decide it’s finally time to get help.

Until last year.

I went home to be with my family for the holidays, which we all know is stressful as hell. My sister was going through some pretty serious stuff of her own, and I wanted to be there for her like an older brother should. Which is laughable because it’s around that time that I realized how screwed up I was. She didn’t need me preaching to her. It was the first time that I knew for certain that I had a problem. Plain and simple. I couldn’t go more than a day without having a drink.

And as my sponsor has also told me, admitting it to you if the first step. But you still have to have that light bulb moment. That moment came for me on Christmas Eve last year.”

Carter pauses and wets his lips. “Last year, I met a girl.”

The room fills with
“ahhh’s”
and knowing chuckles. Carter locks eyes with me for a moment but looks away quickly.

“I met a girl who understood me without even realizing it. I met a girl whose presence shook me to my core. Who did all of those clichéd things like make me want to be a better man, just to have a shot with her.

My rock bottom came when I knew that I couldn’t have her. Because this secret—this addiction living in me would take her down with it. My rock bottom came when I had to say good-bye to her that night, even though I wanted to spend that night—and every night after that with her. My rock bottom came with having to speak the words, ‘we can only be friends.’

My throat goes completely dry. I grip the bottom of the metal chair for support. I can’t believe he’s doing this. I can’t believe he’s confessing this in front of everyone. I can’t believe he’s felt all of these things for me for so long. How many texts, how many calls did we exchange and he never said a word.

Both of our lives have been built around keeping secrets. And he’s tearing down that wall right now. I’ve never been so proud of anyone in my life.

“Today wasn’t a good day. Today was the closest I’ve come to taking a drink in eighty four days. But I didn’t. I went to a bar, I admit that. But I never stepped through the door. I sat on the curb outside and thought about how far I’ve come. All I’ve got to lose. Because that’s what it’s all about, right? If I take a drink, that’d be saying that that drink is more important than my job, than my relationships. And really, it just isn’t. So I sat there, thought about calling my sponsor, felt sorry for myself for a while.

It’s been a hard road. I’ve fallen off of it a few times along the way. And even though I had to head the advice from the program and not get involved with anyone serious for a while, I had to focus on what I could do—what my goals were. I had to base my recovery on myself not on someone else—I know that eventually, I want that road to lead back to that girl.”

Carter steps away from the podium and quietly makes his way back to his seat. I glance over at Jane and she’s wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. I wish I was doing the same. I wish I had tears, or any clear emotion. Right now, I’m just—stunned.

Randy closes the meeting with everyone joining hands and saying the serenity prayer. We’ve said it at church many times, but this time is different. This time I feel the words in me. This time I hope that God will grant me that serenity. I believe he will.

Afterward, a few people come up to pat Carter on the back, and tell them they were glad to finally hear him tell his story. I can tell by the way his shoulders tense up that he isn’t entirely comfortable.

“You ready to head out? I’m pretty tired,” I say.

Carter smiles with relief, says his goodbyes and clutches my hand once more.

This isn’t perfect.

This is real.

This… is
home.

“I think you should tell Quinn,” Shayna says. She’s sitting cross-legged on the countertop picking at an English muffin.

“I think…
no
,” I say, shaking my head.

“She’d understand, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I don’t doubt that she will, but I’m not ready to tell her.”

“Why?”

I blow out a long breath. “If you weren’t so damn beautiful, you’d piss me off with your pushiness.”

I kiss her lightly on the nose. That’s about as far as we’ve gone since the meeting two weeks ago. It’s disappointing, but I understand. Shayna doesn’t want to feel responsible for interfering with my recovery, and I don’t want to push. But I want her. Good God do I want this girl.

Immediately after the meeting where I confessed to her that she was one of the biggest reasons that I joined the program in the first place, she came home with me—and emptied every bit of alcohol in the place down the sink. It was pure torture having it here, but I kept it around for when friends came or Ben was over… and if I’m honest, I kept it just in case I fell off the deep end.

“You shouldn’t have that stuff in your house,” Shayna said. “It’s only tempting you.”

“You’re in my house, too,” I shrugged.

I was trying to be funny. Instead, Shayna took it as a sign that she should give me a little space. So she’s been crashing at Quinn’s and getting settled in town. She got a job as a hostess at the restaurant Quinn works at. She’s really pulling herself together—even if it isn’t together with me. Yet.

“I think if you told her, it’d be a step in the right direction.”

“Which direction is that?”

This time, she pecks a small kiss on my cheek. It’s a tease, and she’s good at it. I crave her touch almost more than I ever craved alcohol. I laugh and go to the pantry to grab some cereal.

“The direction that maybe brings my bags back into your apartment,” she says.

“Oh really?” I stop mid-step.

“Maybe.”

“Uh-uh. Maybe’s not really good enough,” I say. I lean in close to her and take a shot at being a little more bold than normal. I nip at her bottom lip and wait for her to pull away. She doesn’t. Instead, she parts her lips and lets me kiss her. Really kiss her for the first time since the meeting. It’s hot enough that she lets one, tiny moan slip out, but soft enough that it still feels intimate as hell.

There’s nothing I miss more than being able to touch her.

“I’m going to need some sort of security that if I tell my sister that you’re not going anywhere.”

“Carter,” Shayna says. I step in closer to the counter and she puts her hands on my shoulders and lets her legs swing down around my hips. “I want you to tell Quinn because
you
think it’s the right thing to do. I think you need your family behind you on this.”

“I’m not telling my family.”

“Fine, not your mom and dad. But your sister? Come on. You saw her after her overdose—that was officially her worst, Carter. You can tell her about AA.”

Shayna is right, of course. If anyone, I owe Quinn my honesty.

“Okay,” I say. “Okay. I’ll tell her. And, Shay, I won’t hold you to moving in with me until you’re ready. You have a home here whenever you want.”

“Good. Because classes start soon and I’m going to need a real bed. Quinn’s place is alright, but the couch isn’t as comfortable as that California King.” She lifts her chin to motion to my bedroom.

“Classes?”

Shayna smirks. “I’m a later register so I probably won’t get a single class I want this semester, but I got in.”

“Got in where?”

Shayna pulls her lips together, trying to conceal the big ass grin that is bursting underneath. “USC.”

“What?” I pull her into my chest and squeeze her tiny frame until she’s yelping. “That’s incredible, doll!”

“Thank you.” She lifts her chin and looks proud. Hell, I’m more than proud of her.

“You’re doing it, Shayna. You’re doing all the things you wanted. On your own. I’m really proud of you.”

She picks off a piece of the English muffin and chews thoughtfully for a minute before saying, “And you’ll be fine with me moving back in? I’m underemployed. I’m only racking up more and more student loans by the day. I’m really nothing more than a parasite.”

“I’ll put you to work,” I say.

“I bet you will,” she laughs.

“Listen, there’s one more thing I want to talk to you about.”

“I don’t do windows. Or toilets. Or cooking, come to think of it.”

“Very funny. I want to throw you a party. A birthday party. And I guess a congratulatory party as well.”

Shayna swallows hard and crooks and eyebrow. “Yeah?”

I pick up her hand and kiss each of her knuckles before continuing. “I think you’ve earned a special night.”

“Well, I never say no to a party!”

“I’d like to invite your parents.” I say it quickly and her reply slips out just as fast.

“No.” She tosses the plate into the sink next to her and hops down off of the counter. “You just killed a perfectly good moment, you know that Carter.”

I rub the back of my head. “Well, wouldn’t be the first one. Just hear me out, though.” I grasp onto her forearm and pull her into my chest.

“You’ve been through a lot. I get it. I’m coming out of something, too. But listen to me when I tell you that once you shed those secrets—your life will change for the better. I promise.”