Other Broken Things (18 page)

She flinches when I say the word “sex” but I need her help on this one. Dad is a dog with a bone when it comes to his decisions. It's practically impossible to talk him out of something, and my only hope is that his threat was just talk, not something he'd actually consider.

“Get some sleep,” she says in answer. “We'll talk more in the morning.”

Then, because she doesn't know what else to do, she pulls the covers up and helps me slide beneath them. I'm still in my jeans and T-shirt, but I don't say anything. I let her tuck me in, kiss my forehead, and slip quietly from the room. My mind is racing but my body is heavy, and before I can figure out what to do, I drop into a deep sleep.

I walk into school
the next day, after a tense breakfast with my mom, and search out Amy and Amanda. They're both at Amy's locker, sipping from their water bottles. Amanda is sitting on the floor, back against the locker next to Amy's, with her legs stretched out.

“Give me your phone,” I tell Amanda.

She looks up at me. “Where's yours?”

“My dad took it. I need yours.”

The two of them exchange a glance. Amanda shakes her head. “So you only come around when you need something from us?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then no. Go ask for help from your new sober pals.”

I snatch her bag and rifle through it for her phone. I shove the bag back at her. “How many times did I sneak you past your mom? Don't be a bitch. You owe me.”

“Whatever.”

“I'll be back with it in a few minutes,” I say.

I head down the hall to the newspaper office. It's usually empty in the morning, with all the journalism nerds waiting until after school to geek out together. I slip in and shut the door behind me.

I pull out Joe's card and punch in his number. It takes him four rings to answer.

“Yo,” he says, and with just that one word, I know he's drunk. “Who's this?”

“You're drunk. Jesus, Joe.”

“Ah. Natalie. You're not supposed to call. Statutory rape.” His words are slurred, but I can make them out well enough.

“Where are you?”

“Not your business. We're done.” There's a strange tremble in his voice and I wonder if he's maybe been crying too.

“Joe. Listen. I talked to my mom. It's going to be okay. We'll figure it out.”

“No. Your dad's right. I never should've . . .”

There's a beat of silence while I'm thinking what to say. What can make this better. How to sober him up. “Joe . . .”

Then before I can come up with anything, he hangs up on me. I dial him back but it goes straight to voice mail. I try two more times. Finally I text him.

This is Amanda's phone. I don't have mine. Don't do anything stupid. Call your sponsor. I'll figure this out.

Of course he doesn't respond. I don't expect him to. I don't have any idea how far gone he is, but if he's drunk this early, I'm guessing it started sometime last night.

The first bell rings and I know I should get Amanda's phone back to her, but it feels like a lifeline. I fish through my purse and find the AA pocket guide. Kathy's cell number is scribbled inside. I take a deep breath and call her. It goes straight to voice mail so I leave a message.

“It's Nat. Things are shitty. I don't have my phone. You need to find Joe. He's in bad shape and sounds pretty wasted. He shouldn't be driving. And he needs to call his sponsor. I've made a mess out of everything. I'll try to call you from home later.”

My voice doesn't even sound like my own by the end of the message. My heart is cracking and I can't breathe right. I've done this to Joe. And I don't know how to undo it. I slump to the floor and press my face into my knees. Tears leak from my eyes for almost the entirety of first period as I go over the events of yesterday in my head. As I think of Joe's years of sobriety and how one stupid thing ruined that.

I want to be sorry for sleeping with him, but I'm not. That moment, when he held me and told me to let go, it was better than almost anything I've experienced. And not because it felt good, but because it felt right. Like Joe and I fit more perfectly than anyone I've ever been with. And I hate that my parents ruined that.

By the end of first period, I've pulled myself together enough to go to the rest of my classes. I don't talk to anyone. I pass Amanda her phone at lunch and then walk out of the cafeteria, past Camille and her questioning gaze, past Brent and his concerned face. I spend the rest of the period in the library. My mind keeps clinging to the things I have control over. And praying for the things I don't.

Brent finds me after school.

“Sorry . . . about showing up at your house drunk,” he starts, but I wave him off.

“You had your reasons.”

He pulls his hand through his hair and I zip up my coat to signal that we're not getting into this now. “The thing is, Nat . . . I mean, you didn't really ask me what I thought. You didn't let me even work through all of it. You just decided.”

“You thought you were owed something?”

He shakes his head. “I thought I was owed the truth a little earlier. I mean, how long had you known? Long enough to know you didn't want it.”

I shrug. “I can't do this right now. It's really a bad time. I get you've been trying to talk to me, and I know I owe it to you, but not now.”

“Jesus, Natalie, what the hell do you think is more important than this?” He looks so sad I almost want to hug him. But that's completely ridiculous. It didn't happen to
him
.

“Brent, a lot is more important than this. This isn't even a thing anymore. It's not an issue, so I'm not sure why you're making it one.”

He flinches and I feel horrible. I want to see it from his perspective, but I honestly can't. Not with the shit storm brewing in my brain over Joe.

“Look. I gotta go. If you want to talk more about this, or whatever, I'll sit and listen, but not now. I need to deal with some other stuff first.”

He looks at his feet for a second, then fixes his gaze back on me. “I've given you a lot of time already.”

“I know. I need more. Just a little more. Please.”

He steps forward and squeezes my shoulder. “Okay. But don't blow this off. The least you can do is listen.”

I nod and then spin out of his grip and in the direction of the exit. I need out. I need to talk to Kathy. I need to find Joe.

*  *  *

I beeline home, and when I enter the front door, I'm surprised to find Kathy in my living room, having coffee with my mom.

“I was going to call you,” I say.

She nods. “I know. I got your message. That's why I'm here.”

I look at Mom, wondering if she's given Kathy the lowdown on what she and Dad stumbled onto yesterday, but she shakes her head at me so I guess not.

“I'm gonna need more cigarettes.”

Mom frowns and opens her mouth to start on probably yet another anti-smoking lecture but Kathy cuts her off.

“I've got some. You want to go to the coffeehouse?” Kathy is already tugging on her coat and grabbing her bag. I like this about her. She knows that I don't want my mom hovering while I debrief the mess of last night.

“Yeah.” I look at Mom. “Is that okay?”

“Of course. She's your sponsor,” Mom says, waving me off. But I can see the tension in her face and I'm sure she's wondering if Joe will be part of this little outing. I'm hoping with everything I have that he actually will.

“I'll be home in a few hours,” I say.

“Try to make it before your dad gets home from basketball.” This is more of a warning than a request. Dad does a basketball league with a bunch of other aging traders on Monday nights. He's usually not home until eight thirty.

I nod and follow Kathy out the door and into her car.

“I don't know where Joe is,” she says as soon as she starts the car. “He didn't answer his phone and he's not home. I called his sponsor. He's checking the bars.”

“It's my fault.”

Kathy shrugs. “You didn't force him to drink again. You didn't funnel booze down his throat. He made his choice.”

“But it was because of me.”

“Maybe. Still. It's not your responsibility. The people who hurt us, they aren't responsible for our drinking. That's all on us. Remember the Fourth Step? You can resent people all you want, but in the end, it's your problem how you deal with that resentment.”

I nod. I get it and I don't at the same time. Yeah, I might not technically be responsible for Joe's drinking, but the fact is he'd be sober right now if I didn't go to his trailer yesterday.

“But I
did
hurt him,” I whisper. “I didn't mean to.”

“Wait till I get some more coffee before you tell me what happened. I had a hell of a night myself.”

“Your ex?”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “I should probably tell him Joe slipped.”

“Don't. Joe wouldn't want you to. He thinks he's put too much on his brother already.”

Her face drops into a frown. “There's not a limit on love from your family.”

“Of course there is.”

She looks at me sideways. “Do you really think that? That if you push too much or ask for too much, your family will suddenly withhold love? That's not how it works.”

“Yeah. It really is.”

“No, Nat, it really isn't. Your family might be done with enabling you, but they're never done loving you. Robert, my ex, Joe's brother, he'd want to know if something was wrong with Joe. And he's a good enough guy that he'd even try to help. No matter what Joe wanted.”

“Joe doesn't want to be a burden on his brother.”

Kathy pulls over to the side of the road. She shuts off the car and stares at me. I look out the window at the fat flakes of snow that are just starting to fall. “Are we talking about Joe or you here?” she asks.

“Joe. Me. You. It doesn't matter. It's the same for all of us. We're burdens on our family.”

“Everyone's a burden sometimes. Even when you're not a drunk. People get old and they need their kids to shovel the sidewalks for them. They get sick and they need someone to make them soup. When we're babies we need our parents to wipe our butts and feed us. When we're teenagers, we need our parents to bail us out of DUIs and send us to rehab.” She smiles at me. “Or maybe just buy us trombones so we can be in the marching band. Whatever. It doesn't matter. There're going to be times when you're a burden. Just like there're going to be times when you're not. That's life. Your parents chose to have you.”

I take a steady breath. She's wrong, I think. It's why I gave up boxing. Family can take love away. Everything is conditional. But I understand what she's trying to say and the partial truth of her words wiggles beneath my skin. Mom
does
love me, in her way. I mean, if that fucking elf didn't tip me off, I don't know what would.

“I slept with Joe,” I blurt out.

“Ah.” There's no judgment on her face, just a look of sadness. “Bad idea for you both.”

“I'm sort of in love with him.”

She raises a shoulder. “It happens. That's why they suggest sponsors of the same sex. Not that that means anything. But I don't think Bill W. was totally down with the gay community when he was drying out and coming up with his program, you know?” She starts the car back up again and pulls onto the road.

I blink at her. “ ‘It happens'? That's all you're going to say? I tell you I love Joe and you tell me ‘it happens'?”

She cracks her window and lights a cigarette. I light one too. “Of course it happens. We're addicts, Natalie. We glom on to things that make us feel good and don't let go. There's an entire section in the
Twelve and Twelve
about it.”

I haven't gotten very far in reading the
Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions
book, partly because I'm still baffled by the traditions and partly because I've been swamped with reading for school. Making up for that month in rehab is sort of killing me. Even if I'm not in super-hard classes.

“So you're saying I'm addicted to Joe now?”

She shrugs and takes another drag off her cigarette. “Maybe. He's a nice guy. He's been around for you. You've become sort of a project for him.”

“Don't start with the project thing. I've heard it already.”

“I don't know, Natalie. What do you want me to say? Being around him makes you feel good. I'm sure being around you makes him feel good. For most people this isn't a problem. But he's a lot older. How many teenagers do you know dating guys twice their age?”

“I'm not a typical teenager.”

“That's right. You're more like an infant, learning to make good choices all over again. Learning that if you touch the oven, your hand is gonna burn.”

“I'm not an infant. I know what I want. I'm clearheaded. I see what I'm getting into. I know it's going to be hard, but I want Joe.”

She sighs and for a second I see all the exhaustion of years of battling addiction in her face. And a part of me says a prayer that I might have a different life than hers, which is cruel, but still. “Natalie. You're so young. So new to the program. All I'm saying is it's not uncommon for addicts to avoid dealing with their shit by replacing booze with a person. Getting wrapped up in love, lust, whatever, as a means to a different kind of high.”

I puff on my cigarette for a few minutes in silence. I don't know what to say at first. I don't think Joe's an addiction like booze. And yet he is something I've held on to, needed even, when I wanted the shitty feelings inside to go away.

“By that logic, everything could be an addiction. Food, exercise, surfing the Internet, calling you, everything.”